[Eventually, her cries fade away and die in her throat, replaced by a melancholy silence and the spillover of hot tears from her eyes as she watches the creatures — chimeras — work. It hurts to look at them and know what they once were, juxtaposed with what the necromancer had made them into, and never moreso than when they begin to catch and subdue the forgemaster's last desperate efforts to save himself through his shadows, because she recognizes that kindness so acutely, so deeply, moreso than Alucard and even moreso than Trevor.
Because it's the same steady kindness that came naturally to her grandfather's hands, the same to the elders of her caravan who took the place of her parents as she grew. She knows those stalwart hands from how they'd clasped onto her little fingers as they led her through smoky cities filled with people who shunned them; she knows that steady dignity from the set of shoulders that bore up even under the danger and threats of the little towns filled with suspicion and homegrown justice.
She doesn't know these Speakers, doesn't know their names, but Speakers have never prized individuality over identity, and so deep down she does know them.
How could she not, when they are her?
Her knees wobble, and she leans heavily against Alucard, slipping almost to the point of falling, if he weren't there to hold her up. Her tears come fiercely now, streaming down her face even as she stays silent, watching the ones wronged most by the necromancer still offer the small sliver of mercy that she herself can't find in herself to give.
But of course, she's never been a very good Speaker, has she.]
no subject
Because it's the same steady kindness that came naturally to her grandfather's hands, the same to the elders of her caravan who took the place of her parents as she grew. She knows those stalwart hands from how they'd clasped onto her little fingers as they led her through smoky cities filled with people who shunned them; she knows that steady dignity from the set of shoulders that bore up even under the danger and threats of the little towns filled with suspicion and homegrown justice.
She doesn't know these Speakers, doesn't know their names, but Speakers have never prized individuality over identity, and so deep down she does know them.
How could she not, when they are her?
Her knees wobble, and she leans heavily against Alucard, slipping almost to the point of falling, if he weren't there to hold her up. Her tears come fiercely now, streaming down her face even as she stays silent, watching the ones wronged most by the necromancer still offer the small sliver of mercy that she herself can't find in herself to give.
But of course, she's never been a very good Speaker, has she.]