[attr="class","mila2"] Did she?

[break][break] Heart stuttering in her chest like a trembling hummingbird, Mila's inner mind warred both with the temptation to know what he meant, to push him further and further until he eventually cracked, and the terrifying fear of actually hearing those very things said allowed. Because hearing them outloud would make them real, and making them real meant that she would lose them one day eventually.

[break][break] Her mouth opened and she wasn't prepared for what she would say —

[break][break] Only to find out that he was swerving the topic into another question.

[break][break] The feeling that she experienced then was hard to explain, somewhere half-way between disappointment and relief, and her words cut on her tongue like the taste of fresh blood.

[break][break] She could still see herself standing protectively in front of lykaios athanasia, as they hid in a corner in their small Rustboro apartment, hiding from the wrath of Ambrois Alexopoulos.

[break][break] "I was born into it," she said, swallowing, clutching his shirt.

[break][break] Many Rockets were. Some of course weaseled their way into it, craving ambition and power. Her father had likely been such a creature. But so many others were simply collateral, an example forged into the malevolent organization that was the League's longest enemy.

[break][break] She focused on the feeling of his muscles beneath her fingers as she ran her hands across the thin fabric of his hospital gown, ghosting shapes along his abs.

[break][break] "My father was -" Her voice hitched. "Not a kind man."

[break]

[attr="class","ooc"] Gunner Graves [break]
POST-TSDT

☉