Then tell me how you are thinking you will change your world! By killing everyone in it?! Is it any wonder you feel so alone? You have convinced yourself of cruelty and monotony and dispassion, and yet you see something different here and it makes you just as angry!
[Is it possible to feel the white heat of screaming nerves and a cold numbness, all at once? Maybe.]
Of course it makes me angry.
[He leans in, his good palm flat against the disc.]
You think I want to be proven wrong? To learn that years and years and years of hatred was little more than misunderstanding? A narrowed focus? That the reason nothing feels right or welcoming or makes sense is because of me?
[ that scant movement has her shooting up and onto her back foot—like she's expecting him to retaliate with more than words. he's said they almost raised Basilisk. he's all but said he'll kill again. so what's stopping him, really? what's stopping him. ]
[ if he was going to hurt her, she doesn't think a few feet would make a difference. his abilities... she wonders just what they could do to a person. ]
[Quiet. So, so quiet. How ridiculous that for all of his arguing, those two words seem to be the crux that he cannot shatter. The one piece of the argument that doesn’t unravel so easily.
The day has been too much. A part of it doesn’t even feel real. Henry loses his fire, now, sharp edges no longer as sharp, eyes cutting to the side as a palm raises to scrub at his face, then cards messily through his hair.]
It sounded like you were.
[The only measly retort he has. So much like a child, really.]
[Broken and shattered, uncertain how to feel, yo-yoing back and forth. One more instance of such cracks across his face, an almost unbelieving (appreciative? It's so hard to tell.) smile. Not all there, but far from facetious.]
Glad to see that thread hasn't severed. Even after everything.
[Their sameness, somehow still keeping them wound together.]
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Mine? What do you mean?
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Your entire life has been defined by connivers. Liars. Very narrow lens, wasn't it? Only what they wanted you to see.
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This was something I believed before the lab, Sprezzatura.
[But the lab did not help.]
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Then tell me how you are thinking you will change your world! By killing everyone in it?! Is it any wonder you feel so alone? You have convinced yourself of cruelty and monotony and dispassion, and yet you see something different here and it makes you just as angry!
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Of course it makes me angry.
[He leans in, his good palm flat against the disc.]
You think I want to be proven wrong? To learn that years and years and years of hatred was little more than misunderstanding? A narrowed focus? That the reason nothing feels right or welcoming or makes sense is because of me?
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That is human condition, Henry. Get used to it.
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I don’t want to get used to feeling like the one piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit.
[Looks at her hard, questioningly.]
What? Do you think I’m going to harm you?
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You must want to.
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You’re like me. Haven’t I made that clear by now? Why would I want to hurt you just because you’re scared, just because you don’t understand?
[No. If he wanted to hurt her, he would have by now. He does not stay his hand for those he truly hates — she just far from qualifies.]
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[His parents, ready to toss him aside. Eleven, who did the same. And now Sprezzatura, who looks like she may continue the trend.]
Look at you. I can see it on your face. You’re moments away from leaving, too.
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indescribably lonely. more than the white-knuckle anger, more than the roiling hate, he's still that child who was turned away by his family.
like her. ]
I'm not.
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The day has been too much. A part of it doesn’t even feel real. Henry loses his fire, now, sharp edges no longer as sharp, eyes cutting to the side as a palm raises to scrub at his face, then cards messily through his hair.]
It sounded like you were.
[The only measly retort he has. So much like a child, really.]
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Well, I am not! I am not giving up on you, because giving up on you is same as giving up on me! I will show you, even if you do not want to see.
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Glad to see that thread hasn't severed. Even after everything.
[Their sameness, somehow still keeping them wound together.]
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You say yourself: we are bound. For better or worse.
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For better or worse. In which case, since you're so sure that my perspective is the one that's wrong, you're in the best position to prove it to me.
[If she can.]
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I'd come back.
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I know. But that's not why.
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