[Oh... headpats... He halts for a second, obviously taken aback, before chuckling weakly.]
Ah -- no need for that, Lovecraft. Please, just... sit, if you'd like.
[He'll pat a spot next to him in the gardens.]
Yes, I'd say it is better. Though I could have lived without it, I'm much more resolved with it in place. It makes things feel less... pointless, in a way.
The country I grew up in... magic was a fearful thing. To know it, to practice it. It would send entire families to be executed.
I'd had a gift since before I was old enough to know what to call it. But my family, afraid as they were... they knew what would happen if it was caught. They didn't encourage it. But my gift kept growing.
So I was kept in a basement. My parents told people I was ill. Plague was going around, so no one ever questioned why I was never seen. Many assumed me to be dead.
...
[His expression grows distant.]
I remember a little latticed window near the ceiling was all I had. You could just barely see the people that walked by. The reflections of the sky, sometimes.
They were just a child. They found me on accident, while waiting for a family member. [His lips quirk.] We both screamed the first time we realized someone was looking back at us.
But they weren't scared. They just... talked with me. As odd as I was. We sat there at that window for hours and hours.
And they came back. Over and over, just to talk. I was always frightened someone would catch us, but... they wanted to know so much. And when they learned of my gift... there was no judgement.
They thought I could do amazing things. They believed I was a good person.
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But it's better to have them back. Isn't it?
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Ah -- no need for that, Lovecraft. Please, just... sit, if you'd like.
[He'll pat a spot next to him in the gardens.]
Yes, I'd say it is better. Though I could have lived without it, I'm much more resolved with it in place. It makes things feel less... pointless, in a way.
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[He sits down, slouching over.]
Well. You now know your goal. And....I suppose...nothing can sway you from it.
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I always knew at least parts of my goal. The inspiration for it was all that was taken from me, that's all.
Remembering someone's belief in you is a powerful thing.
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What was that person like? The one who gave you...such inspiration.
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Friendly. Incredibly bright and curious. I remember their eyes shone like diamonds. Always seeing right where I was.
We were only children at the time. And I was...
...
I was used to different treatment.
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[Who saw him with different eyes.]
You were treated differently? Why?
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I'd had a gift since before I was old enough to know what to call it. But my family, afraid as they were... they knew what would happen if it was caught. They didn't encourage it. But my gift kept growing.
So I was kept in a basement. My parents told people I was ill. Plague was going around, so no one ever questioned why I was never seen. Many assumed me to be dead.
...
[His expression grows distant.]
I remember a little latticed window near the ceiling was all I had. You could just barely see the people that walked by. The reflections of the sky, sometimes.
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[Kept away. Like an animal.]
And this person...came by to save you?
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They were just a child. They found me on accident, while waiting for a family member. [His lips quirk.] We both screamed the first time we realized someone was looking back at us.
But they weren't scared. They just... talked with me. As odd as I was. We sat there at that window for hours and hours.
And they came back. Over and over, just to talk. I was always frightened someone would catch us, but... they wanted to know so much. And when they learned of my gift... there was no judgement.
They thought I could do amazing things. They believed I was a good person.
no subject
They sound like...a very good friend. To think such things.