Honestly? [Another sharp smile only tempered enough to be within some boundary of decency, a wolf grin for a girl that is so much worse than any beast in the wild. A witch is truthful, it drives the hurt deeper.] Yes. I think you are weak and pathetic, that you would do terrible things to get what you want because I saw what you see, I saw all the way inside, past the skin, past the flesh, I scraped my fingers against the pit. You have it in you to do such terrible things that even I would be appalled. [Family is paramount to the witch and those dark thoughts she saw disgusted her. Do you know how much she loves her family? More than anything, above all other things in this world and she would fight tooth and nail for them. You never covet what your family has that isn’t yours, no matter if it’s the blood of friendship or the water of the womb.]
You aren’t him. You’ll never be him. [No, she doesn’t need to know Cecil to know because she knows Kain, inside and out because Kain has her fingerprints everywhere now, in places no one else will ever see. There’s an intimacy to magic and it wrings you out if you go scrabbling for it - how else do you rid yourself of it without cutting off limbs and peeling back flesh?] You have a spine that bends and bends, not something made to stand or snap. You are weak. You think witches know only darkness? It’s light that casts the shadow, we know all things but you only know yourself and the hand of your betters scruffing you with their voice at your ear. Those who know the shadows and master them? We do it by acceptance. There is no world where you accept it. You will fight it or succumb.
[She leans forward and there’s something about her mood that makes the person sob pitifully in the background, not even a human cry, the cry of an animal lost and alone, too far gone to remember to be silent, to lie still in the long grass and wait.]
But doesn’t giving up that control feel so satisfying?
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You aren’t him. You’ll never be him. [No, she doesn’t need to know Cecil to know because she knows Kain, inside and out because Kain has her fingerprints everywhere now, in places no one else will ever see. There’s an intimacy to magic and it wrings you out if you go scrabbling for it - how else do you rid yourself of it without cutting off limbs and peeling back flesh?] You have a spine that bends and bends, not something made to stand or snap. You are weak. You think witches know only darkness? It’s light that casts the shadow, we know all things but you only know yourself and the hand of your betters scruffing you with their voice at your ear. Those who know the shadows and master them? We do it by acceptance. There is no world where you accept it. You will fight it or succumb.
[She leans forward and there’s something about her mood that makes the person sob pitifully in the background, not even a human cry, the cry of an animal lost and alone, too far gone to remember to be silent, to lie still in the long grass and wait.]
But doesn’t giving up that control feel so satisfying?