[A man like Nyx collects regrets the way some walk a beach and collect seashells, and taking that last step into Lunafreya's doorway to see her propped up in the stark white bed adds a few more to the pile. They land like boulders, knocking the air from his lungs. For one stricken second, just looking at her, a reunion that neither of them were supposed to live to see, no words come to mind.
Barely noticing the dogs, his gaze goes to her and stays there, riveted. When he'd left her in Libertus' care, the princess been bruised and weary, but still mostly in one piece. Still standing. The figure in the bed is a pale ghost of the young woman he'd last seen giving a speech to thousands at a podium, as unyielding as Insomnian steel.
To put it bluntly, she looks like fresh hell. Alive and awake, though, which is better than the jaded soldier in him had been expecting.
I should've gotten her to Altissia. It's that jaded part of him talking, the place where his regrets live. Seeing the smudges of exhaustion under her eyes is like a punch. None of this should have happened.
It's the apology that finally breaks him out of his trance at the door. She's sorry?]
Whoa, hey--
[He's at her bedside before she can get another breath in. His hair and leather are still greyed with dust from the debris in the air, but the sleeve of his armor hides the worst of the burns he'd been dealt in Insomnia as he rests a hand on the bed railing.]
You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who should be apologizing--it looks like I was late to the party. [An attempt at a smile quirks his mouth, but it doesn't mask the thickness in his voice, a rasp that's rougher than usual behind the words.] Long time, no see.
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Barely noticing the dogs, his gaze goes to her and stays there, riveted. When he'd left her in Libertus' care, the princess been bruised and weary, but still mostly in one piece. Still standing. The figure in the bed is a pale ghost of the young woman he'd last seen giving a speech to thousands at a podium, as unyielding as Insomnian steel.
To put it bluntly, she looks like fresh hell. Alive and awake, though, which is better than the jaded soldier in him had been expecting.
I should've gotten her to Altissia. It's that jaded part of him talking, the place where his regrets live. Seeing the smudges of exhaustion under her eyes is like a punch. None of this should have happened.
It's the apology that finally breaks him out of his trance at the door. She's sorry?]
Whoa, hey--
[He's at her bedside before she can get another breath in. His hair and leather are still greyed with dust from the debris in the air, but the sleeve of his armor hides the worst of the burns he'd been dealt in Insomnia as he rests a hand on the bed railing.]
You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who should be apologizing--it looks like I was late to the party. [An attempt at a smile quirks his mouth, but it doesn't mask the thickness in his voice, a rasp that's rougher than usual behind the words.] Long time, no see.