Cerulean Cape I can’t tell you anything

To expect to be greeted by joyous words was a fool’s dream, he knew, but knowing that made her response sting not a hair less. A part of him wanted to strike out at her, demand to know of Laurel’s whereabouts and that she eats her own words, but he knew he lacked any right to do so. Indra, as much as he was loath to admit it, had a point: his time was off by a long shot. Months should not have been allowed to go by with him stewing over the misfortunes of his life, not when he was far from the only one to feel so. “I know,” was all he could manage to say, tongue-tied and grasping for some footing. How would he achieve that which he travelled there to do when even he was no longer sure of himself. Should he have come, or would life had been better for all of them if he’d just stayed away? Ah, but for him, life would have begun to fade, he was certain.

“I know I waited too long,” he started again. “I know I should have believed her the first time she said anything. I shouldn’t have tried to convince myself that she was confused or lying—I know that now.” Had he changed? Perhaps not—Alexander was still just as foolish as he’d always been, confused and lacking any true self-confidence, despite the guise he wore. Only now he was ready to change, to grow, but not alone. “Can you just take me to her?” he asked, wholly undemanding; he was not able to demand anything of her, after all. He could only ask and hope.