Moonspear The line is where the night lies

Something twisted in her the pit of her stomach when Alaric asked for a moment due to the weight of the topic. Was it really such a heavy thought? Treepie swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat and sat there, her heart sinking slowly in her chest with every passing second. She remained absolutely still and silent, though she flinched a little when he broke the silence with her formal name.

He asked her to just listen, so she did. By the time Alaric finished, her heart felt like it had plummeted to the depths of the underworld. She couldn’t have known about any of this, of course, but Tiuttuk wished she could take her own words and stuff them back in her mouth. She was horrified for him, more than anything, but also horrified by what he implied about them.

She didn’t know what to say. She should probably tell him there was no need to apologize. If anyone owed an apology, it was her. But Pie could barely gather her thoughts, much less articulate them. Her brow furrowed as the tension built between them, an invisible piano wire that was about to snap and cut them both deeply if she didn’t stop it.

I don’t—I don’t know what to say, Pie admitted, then continued haltingly, I mean… I don’t want you—or anyone—just for their body. She shuddered at the thought, not to mention what had been done to him. You… I… we both deserve true love. That’s what I—

She shook her head, unable to finish her sentence. She drew in a few steadying breaths, surprised to feel the thudding beat of her heart against her rib cage rather than somewhere in the vicinity of the bowels of hell.

I—I’m sorry, Alaric, she said with a note of finality. Sorry I asked. Sorry about what happened to you. Sorry for everything. I didn’t know, she whispered too quietly to be heard.