[The emptiness is new. Even if her own beginnings were drenched in darkness, of helplessnes and rage, there was feeling to it. Of the knowledge of a hole to fill. The wound would never be healed but - this sense of the odds turning against them.
Of knowing that the task is too much. That it's utterly useless to continue. To batter at a wall that breaks only to be rebuilt again. She knows that almost too well.
Why don't you act like a daughter that I could be seen in public with?!
It was the feeling that led to her own, for lack of a better term, birth.]
Sometimes the wound can't be healed, right? Then it festers. It can still be fixed but...at that point the question is whether you want it fixed or not.
no subject
Of knowing that the task is too much. That it's utterly useless to continue. To batter at a wall that breaks only to be rebuilt again. She knows that almost too well.
Why don't you act like a daughter that I could be seen in public with?!
It was the feeling that led to her own, for lack of a better term, birth.]
Sometimes the wound can't be healed, right? Then it festers. It can still be fixed but...at that point the question is whether you want it fixed or not.