I have an inkling, but I'm not sure if I'll ever really know.
[ navia walks forward, kneeling beside her father for a moment. her face is indescribable—a mixture of happiness, grief, and a little bit of relief after years of needing the truth. it wasn't too many years after that that her father's trial and everything that came with it happened. she lost her best friend, her father... then so soon after that, melus and silver.
she just as quickly stands, turning to face wriothesley. there's a glimmer in her eyes, and a tear falls down her cheek. there's a rush to wipe it away. ]
I'm glad I got to share it with you. It's one of my more happier memories.
[ wriothesley remains at the edges of the scene, careful not to weave through the space or pass as one of the partygoers. as moments like this belong entirely to navia—best left untouched and without even the faintest trace of him in her recollections. although it's nice to hear navia's words, there ought to be no place for him in this milestone within her life. ]
Of course.
[ is all he can say once everything settles. the memory is already thinning at the edges, though it holds for a while longer, long enough to where wriothesley gives navia a few more undisturbed breaths with the figures. since he knows, as well as anyone, that silver and melus rest under headstones with empty caskets.
though it’s also a shame that a memory so warm—so intimate in the way she's relives it as a spectator—exists only because of the jagged katalyth growth that soon overtakes the cozy space of her childhood living room. sobering, certainly, though it doesn’t cut too deeply. as at least the memory itself remains untouched by the katalyth’s usual corruption and influence.
so wriothesley lets the vision collapse on its own, with the familiar distortions of karteria—alongside their corrupted features—settling back over them both as they find themselves back in the fields outside of the barrier. and only after a few quiet heartbeats does he speak again, giving navia time to find her bearings before easing back into the sort of banter they share. ]
Rest assured, Navia—your memory and our brief brush with Katalyth, will stay with me. Why, I won’t even breathe a word of it.
[ he laughs lightly, the lilt in his voice carrying a gentle ribbing at her expense for being just as susceptible to katalyth as he’d been at the pillar. thankfully, she shows none of the lingering effects he’d endured and is mostly alright, if not only slightly unsettled. ]
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[ navia walks forward, kneeling beside her father for a moment. her face is indescribable—a mixture of happiness, grief, and a little bit of relief after years of needing the truth. it wasn't too many years after that that her father's trial and everything that came with it happened. she lost her best friend, her father... then so soon after that, melus and silver.
she just as quickly stands, turning to face wriothesley. there's a glimmer in her eyes, and a tear falls down her cheek. there's a rush to wipe it away. ]
I'm glad I got to share it with you. It's one of my more happier memories.
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Of course.
[ is all he can say once everything settles. the memory is already thinning at the edges, though it holds for a while longer, long enough to where wriothesley gives navia a few more undisturbed breaths with the figures. since he knows, as well as anyone, that silver and melus rest under headstones with empty caskets.
though it’s also a shame that a memory so warm—so intimate in the way she's relives it as a spectator—exists only because of the jagged katalyth growth that soon overtakes the cozy space of her childhood living room. sobering, certainly, though it doesn’t cut too deeply. as at least the memory itself remains untouched by the katalyth’s usual corruption and influence.
so wriothesley lets the vision collapse on its own, with the familiar distortions of karteria—alongside their corrupted features—settling back over them both as they find themselves back in the fields outside of the barrier. and only after a few quiet heartbeats does he speak again, giving navia time to find her bearings before easing back into the sort of banter they share. ]
Rest assured, Navia—your memory and our brief brush with Katalyth, will stay with me. Why, I won’t even breathe a word of it.
[ he laughs lightly, the lilt in his voice carrying a gentle ribbing at her expense for being just as susceptible to katalyth as he’d been at the pillar. thankfully, she shows none of the lingering effects he’d endured and is mostly alright, if not only slightly unsettled. ]