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“So...that’s the whole story,” Steven finishes, back against the washing machine.
“Wow.” Connie eyes him—the creases in his forehead, the bags beneath his eyes. Jam, it seems, isn’t the only sticky thing in her friend’s small fingers. “That’s a lot.”
“Yeah.”
If she were feeling generous, perhaps she’d be more prone to sympathy. She knows, after all, the rush of freedom that comes with gripping the hilt of a sword, and what it is to lie to a domineering family to protect it. Even if her own mother had ultimately listened, it hadn’t been painless, and in the months before the hospital, Connie could feel the roots of her own secret identity starting to flower somewhere in her; her Crystal Gem self was fighting for justice, was stronger than she’d ever been, and if her mom couldn’t accept that…
Rose Quartz—Pink Diamond—had run all the way to Earth with that same lurch of defiance.
But then Steven was always the empathetic one, not her. To Connie, Rose Quartz is nothing but a painting, a ghost in her best friend’s eyes.
“It’s not your fault,” she murmurs.
Steven won’t meet her gaze. “That’s what they keep saying.”