( she tenses at the first tapping echo, expected as it is. it's stupid, really, because she knows what it represents: alia's attempt to make herself smaller, softer, unthreatening. a patient wait for an invitation into her bedroom to atone for carelessly ransacking the borders of alina's mind. alina, spitefully, almost resents it — almost wishes alia would breeze through like an autumn wind, stirring through the room with the air of a woman who believes everything she touches is her rightful domain. at least then alina could pretend away the rupture inside of her. at least then she could fall into the illusion that this is normal, just-alina and just-alia, not — the sun summoner, and the reminder of the man that had obscured her in his shadow. at least then she might be allowed the mercy of forgetting.
punishingly, she scrubs a washcloth over her cheeks, mopping up the last rivers of sinkwater-tears, and tosses it carelessly aside. there's nothing mousey and skittering in alina's strides toward the door — trying to prove to herself and to alia, in equal measure, that she isn't opening her private sanctuary to welcome in the harbinger of its destruction. that she isn't afraid of a wolf at her side, whether its claws are sharp or sheathed. that she's not some scared little girl anymore, cowering at the first sign of darkness.
it doesn't completely work. she can't fully meet alia's eyes for longer than a moment when she opens the door and steps aside. steps away, and back into the room's homey warmth, scattered candles burnishing the room with light, face turned away to keep it from shining on the weary weakness crowding alina's expression. )
I'm fine. ( she has to inject it with something firmer — not quite steel, not quite porcelain — to make it sound even mildly convincing. i'll always be fine. i've always been fine. i have to be fine, because it's too dangerous to consider a world where the opposite is true, where she's just a coward sinking into a void. her arms hug tighter around her midsection, folding herself into a reassuring embrace. ) You didn't have to come all this way to see that for yourself.
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punishingly, she scrubs a washcloth over her cheeks, mopping up the last rivers of sinkwater-tears, and tosses it carelessly aside. there's nothing mousey and skittering in alina's strides toward the door — trying to prove to herself and to alia, in equal measure, that she isn't opening her private sanctuary to welcome in the harbinger of its destruction. that she isn't afraid of a wolf at her side, whether its claws are sharp or sheathed. that she's not some scared little girl anymore, cowering at the first sign of darkness.
it doesn't completely work. she can't fully meet alia's eyes for longer than a moment when she opens the door and steps aside. steps away, and back into the room's homey warmth, scattered candles burnishing the room with light, face turned away to keep it from shining on the weary weakness crowding alina's expression. )
I'm fine. ( she has to inject it with something firmer — not quite steel, not quite porcelain — to make it sound even mildly convincing. i'll always be fine. i've always been fine. i have to be fine, because it's too dangerous to consider a world where the opposite is true, where she's just a coward sinking into a void. her arms hug tighter around her midsection, folding herself into a reassuring embrace. ) You didn't have to come all this way to see that for yourself.