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The ability to read another’s mind is truly the cruelest gift one could be given.
Do you know what your mother is afraid of, Sin? More than anything in the world? Oh, of course, she has plenty of fears, plural, but do you know what tops them all? Being killed for what she is? Losing everything? Losing you?
She is afraid of watching your father die.
Even moreso, she’s terrified of watching him wither away. She’s happy he isn’t human anymore, and she feels guilty about it. But it’s a relief to her, in an odd way. The Gear cells will keep him young, keep him healthy, keep his mind intact. She doesn’t have to watch him succumb to dementia. She won’t have to look at him one day and have him wonder if she’s a niece or cousin whose name has slipped his mind, or a demon he should have killed if his elderly hand didn’t tremble from the weight of a sword. Every so often, the nightmare putters off to a corner of her mind, but something always makes it come back. I always know when it comes back.
I can hear them all. If I put all my strength into blocking them out, it’s enough, but it’s a constant, exhausting effort. Their thoughts bleed into mine. I’ve gotten better at pruning them apart. At first, I had a tendency to blur my world and theirs, until I realized I don’t have a boss that may secretly be planning on killing me, or a distant wife whom I fear will leave me for the handsome electrician who fixes my porch lamps. But their feelings are all the same. They whimper. They scream. It doesn’t matter how rational or irrational they may be, everyone has a little secret terror in the back of their mind that they just can’t ever seem to shoo away forever.
Some of them, I’ll admit, are somewhat ridiculous. Those Secret Service-types that have been coming by are riddled with them. Is it an American thing? A cultural divide? How shallow. The big one with the coffin is afraid of aliens. He thinks they’ll have laser weapons and use humans for gardening soil. The woman with the dog is afraid of having her vacation hours cut.
I don’t like your grandfather. If I tried to pity him, I know it would only make him despise me more. He cares about you, you know, in his own bizarre way. He’s afraid I’m going to do something bad to you, but doesn’t know how to make me go away without it upsetting you. He wants what’s best for you, but he knows that he has no idea what that is, or how to do it. That tends to be when he leaves. He can’t stand to look at you, can’t stand to acknowledge that he’s failing you, so he thinks everything will be better if he takes himself out of the equation altogether.
Ah. My mistake, I took a tangent. Your grandfather, your ‘Old Man.’ Flame of Corruption, God of War, Sol Badguy. What an ironic thing, that a nigh-invulnerable being is so terrified of living. He’s had nearly two centuries to think of ways to try and kill himself. You and your father and your mother frighten him, not because he doesn’t want the responsibility, but because he can’t convince himself that living is a choice. He makes excuses in weeks and months and on-a-dime promises- after this bounty, after he visits your mother one last time, when this beer is finished, maybe after one more drink, isn’t it going to be spring soon? He was always a fan of rhubarb, maybe it would be worth it to wait and see how it tastes this year.
Your father is afraid for you. It’s tacky, but it’s true. He has nightmares about things happening to you, actual nightmares. I told myself I wasn’t going to get involved with peoples’ dreams anymore, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. Nobody can convince him you’re ever completely safe. Someone wants his baby dead, but he doesn’t know who it is. That’s why he always sleeps better when you stay at the castle.
The second king, at least, is honest. There are many things I despise about that tacky, self-important blowhard, but he doesn’t pretend he isn’t exactly that. And he doesn’t pretend that the lives of others aren’t painfully, painfully important to him. You know he’s broken, don’t you? Anyone could see it. They just don’t want to look. Illyria wants a king. They don’t want a battered veteran who cries himself to sleep in his own grief. He still sends letters to the widows. The guilt never lessens.
The third. I hate him even more. And yet, I pity him. The walls he has put up work too well. How many know what the war took from him? Of course, everyone lost something in the crusades. But he has nothing. Any relatives that weren’t stabbed or maimed or slaughtered or eaten alive didn’t last long. They threw themselves off cliffs, or drank until their insides rotted, or flew headfirst into fights they couldn’t win and didn’t want to. The stony face protects him. Suicide runs in the family. He’s desperate to not take after his father.
Elphelt doesn’t want to be alone. She doesn’t want to disappear and have nobody notice.
Ramlethal wants things to make sense, to have a reason for it all, or else she’s going to drown in an endless series of choices that don’t even matter.
The pirate is just waiting for something to go wrong, because he has nine little girls, and he knows there’s one day he won’t be able to keep his eyes on all of them until it’s too late. The blood mage is waiting for the pirate to leave, because they’re convinced one day he’ll wake up and realize he could do better. The little girl in the orange hat doesn’t want anyone to know that she likes girls as much as she likes boys.
Sometimes I don’t like it when you hug me. You squeeze too hard, and it digs into my ribs. How often do I have to remind you how strong you are? But…other times, I let you do it anyway. I know you need the security. You need to feel like you aren’t a monster. And monsters don’t have friends, do they? They don’t have families or friends or loved ones. It’s a silly line of logic, I know you think that, but it’s enough for the time being. I can always hear the way your stormy thoughts quiet down and just focus on where we are. Just you and I, cozy and safe. A momentary peace of mind.
Sore ribs. It’s a cheap price to pay for that. I just wish it lasted longer.