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Summary
“The anger never goes away, does it?” Thira murmured.
The sympathy on his face transmuted into an expression of pain, deeply felt and rarely understood. But, she realized that he DID understand. Perhaps that was why he chose not to speak; he knew that it was easier to suffer and act in total silence than to endure platitudes and infantilizing from those around him.
'Time heals all, scars fade, they wouldn’t want you to suffer.' All of it was insulting. All of it served to drive the knife deeper, to rip the stitches out. And, like a beast in a cage, with every barb it grew more and more difficult not to bite. The hatred never faded, the fire never dimmed. With every person she tried to share it with, the edges of her love for them wore away as the cinders threatened to ignite and reduce them to ash.
Thira was glad to have left the lights off. No one deserved to witness what she shared with the Slayer. Even the daylight would have defiled the emotion, no–the doctrine–that they held in the space between their hands–
Supreme, all-consuming rage.