[ Ilde's own thoughts are a restless struggle to remain present. To not think about death, which is a wretched dissonance when she knows the purpose of the weapons before her. She can't quite imagine what it would feel like to be shot. It seems as though it might not hurt at all, cleanly penetrated by lead, left to bleed. Nothing so terrible as being ripped apart by a shadow, or burned alive by Dreus.
He had done worse to some, to simply burn was a blessing. Something terrible flickers in her mind, an image burned into her memory of the horrors that had been preformed upon one witch whose name Ilde still knows: Camille. Pretty and vivacious hateful of the Godkind. And then... meat is still kind a word for what had been left.
The impression it leaves for her companion is like a shadow play, a suggestion of horror with its details blurry. (Perhaps it would not be incorrect to say that was how Ilde preferred to see it as well... to think little on its intricacies if she could not wholly scrub the memory from herself.) ]
If you like, you are more knowledgeable than I understood.
[ Kind of a compliment, Ilde's not great at those. ]
no subject
He had done worse to some, to simply burn was a blessing. Something terrible flickers in her mind, an image burned into her memory of the horrors that had been preformed upon one witch whose name Ilde still knows: Camille. Pretty and vivacious hateful of the Godkind. And then... meat is still kind a word for what had been left.
The impression it leaves for her companion is like a shadow play, a suggestion of horror with its details blurry. (Perhaps it would not be incorrect to say that was how Ilde preferred to see it as well... to think little on its intricacies if she could not wholly scrub the memory from herself.) ]
If you like, you are more knowledgeable than I understood.
[ Kind of a compliment, Ilde's not great at those. ]