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Marion's arms fell to her side once more, her fisted hand absentmindedly turning to let her fingers dance across the surface of the glass. Guarded eyes watched Hirem. There was a hum on the air, a vibration she had almost missed in her own aggravation. It was a fleeting thing, disappearing before her own lips had parted to speak, but the echo of it lingered long enough for her to notice it in retrospect: a sense of horror that had fluttered away along with the silence between them. It should have satisfied her on some base level, accomplishing what she set out to do, but each time this man left her company rattled it was of his own doing. She supposed that was the point -- she'd already come to the conclusion that this man, at his core, feared himself. But if she took herself out of the equation, she was sure Hirem would have no trouble bringing about the same results. She was only a catalyst.
She needed to be more than that. Marion regarded the man before her through a blank mask, struggling after her short outburst to stay in control, to prove she was better than this man and his tangled web of fear and sadness. And sorriness.
She didn't want his apologies. She hated his apologies and everything they stood for. His good conscience. Her failure to follow through. After his first attack, she'd wanted nothing more than to be gone. Now she'd endured another, an assault less violent but equally dangerous and revealing, and she did not care for how sorry he might be. She did not care for how horrified or desperate or furious or alone he might be. She did not care to press on with her task. She wanted Hirem gone. She wanted silence. She wanted to stare into the glacial eyes of her reflection, reassure herself that what she did was right, and let a wiser Marion remind her of her real purpose here. She'd spent too much time and energy trying to... (to what? Break Hirem? Guide him?)... time and energy that could have been better spent on more promising prospects.
Now he was supposed to leave. He'd said his piece, apologized for his past transgressions, contrived another transgression, and apologized some more. It was a cycle, and a sad one at that, but one to which he seemed ready to conform. Now she expected him to slip out while he had to mind to do so. But Hirem loved his anecdotes, she realized, and as he quietly lofted into another, Marion couldn't help wondering if he'd ever tried being a storyteller before taking up the mantle of professional bruiser.
Still, she found herself listening closely, her gaze trailing to watch her reflection on the opposite wall. And as his words wore on, a coldness seized her heart and the steely expression she wore was no longer a mask. She felt a new kind of anger rise in her throat, tainted by a deep sadness. Hirem thought he understood. He did not.
But Marion wanted him to. More than she wanted him shattered and more than she wanted him gone, she wanted him to understand, and it occurred to her in a moment of wistful thought that that was her... her... She didn't even have the word for it. Her drive. Her flaw. Her dream. Her source. Her core. The simple need to be understood. It was what had driven her to seek the company of others as a child, and it had been denied to her even then. It was what had driven her away from Alvadas. She thought she'd found it in Sunberth, but even there she was allotted only hollow glimpses of what she sought. She certainly hadn't been expecting to find it in Riverfall, but this Hirem thought he could do what no one else could.
His words rolled across her mind like water on wax, though one idea did find its way to the forefront of her mind.
Why did Hirem assume this Savra girl was wrong? For all they knew, she could have very well been right. Was it his own faith that told him otherwise? Of course it was. Her beliefs did not line up with his beliefs, thus they must be wrong, was that it? Because if the point of his story was that faith made one blind, that was a sword that could cut both ways. He accused her of arrogance, but she could have pointed him to a mirror. Who was he, to declare falsities of what he did not know? Who was he to assume he knew anything of her motivations, her faiths, her desires?
She did not embrace the darkness because she thought it was the truth. It embraced her because she knew it as the truth. He would call her blind, mad, and misled for her belief, and she would gladly return the favor. So who was right?
Whoever won, in the end.
And Marion was not in the business of losing.
He closed with a threat that he did not even try to veil, and as he took his leave, Marion made no move. Her jaw ached from being clenched into silence, the same wondrous silence that finally befell the room in the man's absence, and her eyes were fixed on her reflected image across the room. Distant. Furious. And something else.
It wasn't until she heard his heavy footsteps on the other side of the closed door that she realized she was trembling. It was a sensation she hadn't felt in years, not since her last panic. It was back with a renewed vigor, shaking her to her very foundation. It wasn't from fear, that much she knew beyond a doubt, but there was a quaking in her gut, a buzz she could not identify. Perhaps the aftershocks of her stifled indignation.
The leather of his unwanted gift still dug in to her skin, and the realization of this interrupted her attempt to steady herself with a deep breath. As soon as her attention could turn inward once more, its constricting bind drew it. Marion brushed a stray stand of hair from her face and looked down to glare at the thing, her heated breathing breaking the stillness in the air as her free hand slowly traced over to the bracer and began to work at its laces. She could not calm herself. Instead, her eyes traced the weapon, its blade glimmering in the mirrored light of the room, and she wondered why she hadn't simply run Hirem through and be done with it.
Because you're not a killer, she explained to herself bitterly, Unlike him and the girl Savra. The thought elicited another wave of frustration and suddenly Marion couldn't get the thing off fast enough, slender fingers tearing at the last few strings that bound the weapon to her body. Ticks later, and she held it in the air, her grip a vice around it as if to fling it at her mirror self on the far wall. She looked up hard into her own gaze, muscles tensed. But her hand did not release though the motion, and rather than sending it crashing against her reflection, she instead slammed the base of the bracer onto the tabletop of the nearby vanity. The impact jarred her hand, but her grip refused to release the weapon until it had settled.
From there Marion gave one deep exhale, her gaze fixing on the blade which now jutted defiantly upward. That's why you're better.
The angry tension melted from her shoulders then, but apparently whatever feeling caused her to tremble remained and continued. She withdrew her hand and turned to brace herself against the edge of the vanity, leaning forward with her weight on her arms. It was not anger with which she shook, but something entirely different. Something that brought a fiendish grin tugging at the corner of her lips. Something that set her breath to racing. Marion stared down at the tip of the blade she now leaned over, then up into her reflection, her breath heaving against the restrictive fabric of her dress, her face brighter than it should have been after such an unfortunate encounter.
Excitement. That's what it was. She had asked for a challenge, and she had been answered. She'd likened him to a labyrinth before, but perhaps she had been more correct in her first comparison -- he really was more of a puzzle. Just when she thought she'd had him figured out, he proved her wrong. But she would be right, in the end. She was better. She was winning. Of course, he certainly wasn't gong down without a fight. So she'd give him one. One way or another, whether he truly wanted to or not Hirem was going to understand why she did what she did. And she looked forward to that day.
For now, though, she had a show to perform.
She needed to be more than that. Marion regarded the man before her through a blank mask, struggling after her short outburst to stay in control, to prove she was better than this man and his tangled web of fear and sadness. And sorriness.
She didn't want his apologies. She hated his apologies and everything they stood for. His good conscience. Her failure to follow through. After his first attack, she'd wanted nothing more than to be gone. Now she'd endured another, an assault less violent but equally dangerous and revealing, and she did not care for how sorry he might be. She did not care for how horrified or desperate or furious or alone he might be. She did not care to press on with her task. She wanted Hirem gone. She wanted silence. She wanted to stare into the glacial eyes of her reflection, reassure herself that what she did was right, and let a wiser Marion remind her of her real purpose here. She'd spent too much time and energy trying to... (to what? Break Hirem? Guide him?)... time and energy that could have been better spent on more promising prospects.
Now he was supposed to leave. He'd said his piece, apologized for his past transgressions, contrived another transgression, and apologized some more. It was a cycle, and a sad one at that, but one to which he seemed ready to conform. Now she expected him to slip out while he had to mind to do so. But Hirem loved his anecdotes, she realized, and as he quietly lofted into another, Marion couldn't help wondering if he'd ever tried being a storyteller before taking up the mantle of professional bruiser.
Still, she found herself listening closely, her gaze trailing to watch her reflection on the opposite wall. And as his words wore on, a coldness seized her heart and the steely expression she wore was no longer a mask. She felt a new kind of anger rise in her throat, tainted by a deep sadness. Hirem thought he understood. He did not.
But Marion wanted him to. More than she wanted him shattered and more than she wanted him gone, she wanted him to understand, and it occurred to her in a moment of wistful thought that that was her... her... She didn't even have the word for it. Her drive. Her flaw. Her dream. Her source. Her core. The simple need to be understood. It was what had driven her to seek the company of others as a child, and it had been denied to her even then. It was what had driven her away from Alvadas. She thought she'd found it in Sunberth, but even there she was allotted only hollow glimpses of what she sought. She certainly hadn't been expecting to find it in Riverfall, but this Hirem thought he could do what no one else could.
His words rolled across her mind like water on wax, though one idea did find its way to the forefront of her mind.
Why did Hirem assume this Savra girl was wrong? For all they knew, she could have very well been right. Was it his own faith that told him otherwise? Of course it was. Her beliefs did not line up with his beliefs, thus they must be wrong, was that it? Because if the point of his story was that faith made one blind, that was a sword that could cut both ways. He accused her of arrogance, but she could have pointed him to a mirror. Who was he, to declare falsities of what he did not know? Who was he to assume he knew anything of her motivations, her faiths, her desires?
She did not embrace the darkness because she thought it was the truth. It embraced her because she knew it as the truth. He would call her blind, mad, and misled for her belief, and she would gladly return the favor. So who was right?
Whoever won, in the end.
And Marion was not in the business of losing.
He closed with a threat that he did not even try to veil, and as he took his leave, Marion made no move. Her jaw ached from being clenched into silence, the same wondrous silence that finally befell the room in the man's absence, and her eyes were fixed on her reflected image across the room. Distant. Furious. And something else.
It wasn't until she heard his heavy footsteps on the other side of the closed door that she realized she was trembling. It was a sensation she hadn't felt in years, not since her last panic. It was back with a renewed vigor, shaking her to her very foundation. It wasn't from fear, that much she knew beyond a doubt, but there was a quaking in her gut, a buzz she could not identify. Perhaps the aftershocks of her stifled indignation.
The leather of his unwanted gift still dug in to her skin, and the realization of this interrupted her attempt to steady herself with a deep breath. As soon as her attention could turn inward once more, its constricting bind drew it. Marion brushed a stray stand of hair from her face and looked down to glare at the thing, her heated breathing breaking the stillness in the air as her free hand slowly traced over to the bracer and began to work at its laces. She could not calm herself. Instead, her eyes traced the weapon, its blade glimmering in the mirrored light of the room, and she wondered why she hadn't simply run Hirem through and be done with it.
Because you're not a killer, she explained to herself bitterly, Unlike him and the girl Savra. The thought elicited another wave of frustration and suddenly Marion couldn't get the thing off fast enough, slender fingers tearing at the last few strings that bound the weapon to her body. Ticks later, and she held it in the air, her grip a vice around it as if to fling it at her mirror self on the far wall. She looked up hard into her own gaze, muscles tensed. But her hand did not release though the motion, and rather than sending it crashing against her reflection, she instead slammed the base of the bracer onto the tabletop of the nearby vanity. The impact jarred her hand, but her grip refused to release the weapon until it had settled.
From there Marion gave one deep exhale, her gaze fixing on the blade which now jutted defiantly upward. That's why you're better.
The angry tension melted from her shoulders then, but apparently whatever feeling caused her to tremble remained and continued. She withdrew her hand and turned to brace herself against the edge of the vanity, leaning forward with her weight on her arms. It was not anger with which she shook, but something entirely different. Something that brought a fiendish grin tugging at the corner of her lips. Something that set her breath to racing. Marion stared down at the tip of the blade she now leaned over, then up into her reflection, her breath heaving against the restrictive fabric of her dress, her face brighter than it should have been after such an unfortunate encounter.
Excitement. That's what it was. She had asked for a challenge, and she had been answered. She'd likened him to a labyrinth before, but perhaps she had been more correct in her first comparison -- he really was more of a puzzle. Just when she thought she'd had him figured out, he proved her wrong. But she would be right, in the end. She was better. She was winning. Of course, he certainly wasn't gong down without a fight. So she'd give him one. One way or another, whether he truly wanted to or not Hirem was going to understand why she did what she did. And she looked forward to that day.
For now, though, she had a show to perform.
