( he stops what he's doing—freezes, more or less, caught off-guard by the influx of emotion. grief. terrible, overwhelming grief the likes of which he'd barely understood before coming here.
now, he did, and the helplessness he feels in the face of it is unbearable. )
I'm sorry, Mavis. ( if he could, he'd hold her now. would pull her tight against his chest and bury his face in her hair. he can't do that — not yet. words will have to do. )
I'm sorry so many have failed you. You deserved better.
[ it's a cold comfort. condolences for damage that can't be undone, a life that can't be salvaged. years lost, and for what? nothing. there had been no purpose. no real argument to support her exile.
the response can hardly be called that. it's not a message so much as her own thought, revisited over and over, but finally able to surface as something intelligible that boils down at the root of all of this: it's not fair. ]
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now, he did, and the helplessness he feels in the face of it is unbearable. )
I'm sorry, Mavis. ( if he could, he'd hold her now. would pull her tight against his chest and bury his face in her hair. he can't do that — not yet. words will have to do. )
I'm sorry so many have failed you. You deserved better.
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the response can hardly be called that. it's not a message so much as her own thought, revisited over and over, but finally able to surface as something intelligible that boils down at the root of all of this: it's not fair. ]
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