Work Text:
It was a strange thing, to know yourself to be truly, completely unrecognisable. Mathildis had stood before a woman who she had once loved, who long ago had held her heart in her hands, and had been greeted as a stranger.
She had recognised Damaris on sight, of course, but it had become clear that Damaris didn’t recognise her even through the course of the conversation. She knew she looked different now, but she hasn’t realised it was to this degree. Damaris looked much the same as ever, just with slight signs of age. Her manner had changed, though. Not as much as Mathildis’ own, but it was notable nonetheless.
The Damaris she had known, in those long ago, near forgotten days, was far more open and generous with strangers than the woman before her now. Of course, the Mathildis that Damaris had known had been a fool of a girl, who knew nothing of power nor how to wield it. A part of her that clung to that girl of old had been hurt by Damaris’ lack of recognition, but Mathildis knew she was better off without her. She had done what she needed to do. The cost was irrelevant.