[There is a pause, while Alia considers this, thoughtful, careful. Would she accept forgiveness for her acts, for the ways she has manipulated and connived and murdered her way into her role as sister, goddess, seer, saint? Would Paul extend it, for that matter, if he knew the full extent of blood shed in his name? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it isn’t his to give, just as it isn’t hers to ask. What’s done is dead, what’s dead is done.
Besides, the fact of the matter: she doesn’t care what blood is on Alina’s hands. She doesn’t care what terrible acts she may have committed, what marvelous and deadly and horrible depths are contained within the same chest Alia has slept against, the same heart she has heard throb with life, with blood, with vibrant beautiful power. Alina is Alina, and there is no world in which Alia does not love all that she contains.]
I am Saint no longer. I cannot give absolution, and I do not offer it. You do not need my forgiveness, Alina. I only give this: if you told me to turn my blade on myself, walk into the lake, step into the fire, and you told me you would keep me safe, I would not hesitate.
There are two things in life I trust, and you are one of them.
no subject
Besides, the fact of the matter: she doesn’t care what blood is on Alina’s hands. She doesn’t care what terrible acts she may have committed, what marvelous and deadly and horrible depths are contained within the same chest Alia has slept against, the same heart she has heard throb with life, with blood, with vibrant beautiful power. Alina is Alina, and there is no world in which Alia does not love all that she contains.]
I am Saint no longer. I cannot give absolution, and I do not offer it. You do not need my forgiveness, Alina.
I only give this: if you told me to turn my blade on myself, walk into the lake, step into the fire, and you told me you would keep me safe, I would not hesitate.
There are two things in life I trust, and you are one of them.