It's dead easy PV Evelynn Decipio Finished

𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
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The Thread 1st of September 2024

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Ｂoys aren't supposed to cry. Not like this, not in front of anyone but their mums, and even then, it’s painful and awkward. He was made of sterner stuff, wasn't he? Clench your jaw, bat your eyes, seek out a private corner if you have to, just never show it. That's how he'd always done it. But the tears come anyway, mingling with streaks of rain. Lumpy sobs claw their way up his throat. He tries to swallow them but they won't go back down. I’m not crying, I’m not crying, he repeats over and over in his mind. Evelynn must think him a silly, childish little boy for letting his emotions spill over. It would never happen to her. She might brood in the window sill, she might keep to herself, but she would never ever break down. She's steel and he's soggy cardboard. He almost wants her to push him away, to give him reason to flee, to withdraw deeply within himself, to snap shut like an clam and let the rough waters wash over him and past him. Boys aren't supposed to cry, but the raw hitches in his breathing betray him. He notices her cold hand against the back of his head, her fingers pressing against his matted hair. She says nothing, doesn't shush him, doesn't tell him off, just holds him there—firm in her resolve, but gentle with her touch. All he can think of is how he’s ruining her robes. Her darkened robes that smell of rain and feel sticky against his cheek. He’s cold and weak, drained of any strength to resist. It’s easier to give up, easier to let the tears flow. Bleary-eyed, he looks up once, then sags against her and buries his face where she can’t see it twist into something red and scrunched and ugly. Why? Why him? Why did it hurt so much? He wasn't even sure why he was hurting anymore. There was nothing there, nothing to see. How could he be sure it'd been real at all? His thoughts are a kite snapped loose, a plaything of the seaside wind, aimless until it inevitably plummets back down. Seconds stretch into minutes. The jagged fits and starts ease, his sobs ebb away, his ragged breaths become whimpering hiccups. After a while, there are no tears because he has squandered them all. When he finally turns his head to dry his eyes with his sleeve, he regards Evelynn with bone-deep shame. Wordlessly, he pulls out of her embrace and rises to his full height again, wiping his face dry with the crook of his elbow. He wishes he knows a spell to make her forget what he said, what he called her; to make her forget how weak and feeble he'd proven himself to be. Maybe tomorrow he can get a forgetfulness potion and slip it into her juice at breakfast. Unable to meet her gaze, he props himself up against the opposite doorpost and tilts his head up toward the ceiling. “I'm sorry- I-" his shoulders slump a little while his arms dangle uselessly by his side. He can't muster the strength for questions or another apology. "I’m tired, Eve. I’m just so tired...” A low, distant rumble punctuates the silence, causing his head to turn toward the tall, dark windows. "We should head back," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

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Stamina 10 ✶ Evasion 10 ✶ Strength 2 ✶ Wisdom 4 ✶ Arcane Power 5 ✶ Accuracy 10