[ That admission - though Sunday was not exactly moving before, the weight of it somehow stills him further as he watches Emet-Selch. A weight both within the words but also the action of saying them, and one he acknowledges in himself as having lessened when he'd said his own truth of his actions.
Wonweek was right, Sunday thinks absently. It isn't the being judged for it which brings any relief for what he seeks, but the confessing which relieves some of the frightfully tangled knot in his chest of too many things intricately linked. There's been one conversation he's already had about this, and now here is a second. More steps towards honesty he has not practiced for years.
Years, however, which do not total up to the ones Emet-Selch has spent. ]
Thousands and thousands of years? [ It's more a curious echo than anything with a question concealed within it since it's possible more explanation will follow even without prompting. ] I cannot imagine such a thing when my own time was a fraction of that.
[ And it'd broken him in some ways he knows of and others he's yet to discover, but Sunday allows himself to consider the implication of millennia. He shakes his head as if to reprimand himself and the quiet chime of his earrings does the same with their ever weighted reminder. ]
I cannot imagine that was easy to bear. What I did... what I have done, [ he corrects himself when it sounds too much like minimizing the burden he must now bear, ] cost me everything. I left with the hope of finding a new path, though I know not yet what it will be.
no subject
Wonweek was right, Sunday thinks absently. It isn't the being judged for it which brings any relief for what he seeks, but the confessing which relieves some of the frightfully tangled knot in his chest of too many things intricately linked. There's been one conversation he's already had about this, and now here is a second. More steps towards honesty he has not practiced for years.
Years, however, which do not total up to the ones Emet-Selch has spent. ]
Thousands and thousands of years? [ It's more a curious echo than anything with a question concealed within it since it's possible more explanation will follow even without prompting. ] I cannot imagine such a thing when my own time was a fraction of that.
[ And it'd broken him in some ways he knows of and others he's yet to discover, but Sunday allows himself to consider the implication of millennia. He shakes his head as if to reprimand himself and the quiet chime of his earrings does the same with their ever weighted reminder. ]
I cannot imagine that was easy to bear. What I did... what I have done, [ he corrects himself when it sounds too much like minimizing the burden he must now bear, ] cost me everything. I left with the hope of finding a new path, though I know not yet what it will be.