[ She wish she could say she felt more than the apprehension and tethers of the bond that held their mutual trauma together. And what she felt was profound. But the more Fang's fingertips brushed over the re-patched flesh... she realized just how little she could physically feel of it.
It was so strange, as if she were in a stranger's body, feeling the impact of something far away, and faint, and yet she knew, she knew, it was Fang's hands. Her heart was there, in those fingertips, baring itself naked against that trauma, chained to that wound and trying to turn the iron links into flowered wreathes... ]
Take your time...
[ She wanted to feel it. She could feel her everywhere else. She could feel her love and warmth everywhere else but the nerves along her scar were just... gone. She'd never get to know that touch again. She never realized she had to mourn it until that very moment.
[Fang released that burr. Her welling guilt gorged itself on Chariot's grief—what brought that on?—as it began flowing through Fang. Her hand never stopped moving—did she do something else wrong?—along her leg, feeling every inch of the injury, imprinting it in her mind. If that horrible memory was going to haunt her, its graphic sound always waiting beyond the edge of her hearing at the smallest prompt, then Fang was going to damn well know the rest of it, too. The wound's sight, the wound's touch. It's a gruesome embrace of sorts, not permitting herself to turn away from Chariot's scarring in any way, determined to know and face it wholly.]
[It's suffocating, that guilt and regret. But that was always the point, wasn't it? Allowing it to course through her without succumbing or struggling was one of the most difficult things Fang's ever done. To endure it, like standing chest deep in an frigid river, challenging the current without panic. Fang's exhales began to rumble under their shared pain and whatever Chariot was mourning, a dirge to the ugliness of healing.]
[Fang felt like buckling under that torrent, unprepared for her lover's own surge of heartache—Fang should've brushed this off—but also felt strangely emboldened by it. She couldn't fold to this. Not to the guilt, not to the nightmares. That tragedy might have scarred her—scarred both of them—but it was irreversibly, irrevocably, part of her now. A simple and blunt truth, survival written on her skin.]
[She opened her eyes, turning her head enough to stare into the water, idly watching her hand trace repeatedly over Chariot's scars. Her own gruesome brand stood out in compliment on her wrist, like a mismatched set.]
Scars, [Fang murmured after a moment, eyes still tracing the movements of her own hand. She still hurt, and the guilt was still running its course, but those determined embers in her heart stoked a little higher.] It's just another scar. It's proof we lived.
[Chariot's mangled foot was just another scar, if one infinitely more severe than any of Fang's own. Fang accepted each and every one of her own marks as part of herself. She wore them without shame.]
[She could come to accept Chariot's scar into herself, too.]
The words echo with her. They fill the space between what she could physically feel in that moment and what she felt she should have been able to. It wedged in-between the strangeness and the pain, found its place there, expanded outward, blanketing those mental wounds as well.
They had lived. They were still together. They still had so much faith in one another, so much love and cherishment. What was left of her foot, the scars that ran up to her knee, all of it was something left behind in a hope that it would twist that love into something crueler, something resentful and screaming.
... It hadn't. It was proof they'd lived. ]
Yeah... [ She wished she could say something stronger. ]
It's just... it feels so strange. The nerves are almost all dead, from my calf down to my foot. I can feel you touching it, but not... feel it... I guess I wasn't ready for how that would process, to me...
[Her fingers shifted to explore a different part of her leg. Almost all dead... Maybe, with determination, one day Fang might find one spot that could still feel in full.]
[She presses her lips to Chariot's forehead.] I'm sorry. [This time, the words were a little different. They shared her heartache in the Bond, and even though Fang was trying to let her guilt just be instead of suppressing it, this apology could've been as much condolence for loss as admission of guilt.]
Process it long as you need. Never know what'll happen down the line. The body knits back together pretty quick, but it takes a long time to really heal.
Anything feel... more, than anything else? A spot, or the water? The heat?
I can feel... the heat of the water. I can feel warmth seep in, and pressure from your touch.
[ She was a little surprised... as she described it, she realized how much she was starting to feel more comfortable she started to grow, slowly, bit by bit, with the lack of sensation, and how alien it all felt. ]
[Fang experimentally applied a little more pressure to her fingertips as they continued to trace the injury, her hand making its way towards the ankle.]
It doesn't hurt, no... [ That much she felt a more pressing need to assure Fang of. She flinched again when her hand got to the ankle joint but... didn't jerk away. ]
It's just... strange. It's hard to describe what it's like to know you're being touched, but to not feel it directly.
[ Her foot was where the scarring was at its worse. Her skin had torn completely there, after all, and only through Mio's efforts had they been able to do some grafts with magic. But the shape was clearly different now, too, oblong and crooked. It's why she'd need the cane even after her healing was complete... she'd never have her original gait again. ]
[Her hand stalled at that junction of ankle and foot, letting up on the slight pressure. Fang sucked in a steadying breath, her eyes fluttering shut and that heartache swelling anew. It was her turn to mourn; for one so clumsy, Chariot had been so light on her feet. No matter how often she was told it wasn't her fault, no matter if Fang learned to embrace that, she would irreversibly be part of this injury.]
[Her hand passed on. Fang's breathing became deliberately steady, trying to neither fight nor stifle the incoming emotions, just... experiencing them. Fang forced her eyes open to watch as her hand traced the new contours of Chariot's foot. Her other hand, still cradling Chariot against her shoulder, started idly rubbing circles against her skin. Fang would learn to live with this without flinching away.]
[ That ripple within the Bond... It shined light on something Chariot had missed before, why Fang was doing this at all. It wasn't just curious fascination with the state of Chariot's leg, or what she felt, but instead... ]
Yes... [ She whispered, shifting in to press light kisses along Fang's jaw, encouraging her, giving her affection and comfort, to keep going into that darkness, and to know Chariot was there with her to experience it.
She would learn... they both would. It was part of her now, but that didn't mean she had to be ashamed of it. ]
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no subject
It was so strange, as if she were in a stranger's body, feeling the impact of something far away, and faint, and yet she knew, she knew, it was Fang's hands. Her heart was there, in those fingertips, baring itself naked against that trauma, chained to that wound and trying to turn the iron links into flowered wreathes... ]
Take your time...
[ She wanted to feel it. She could feel her everywhere else. She could feel her love and warmth everywhere else but the nerves along her scar were just... gone. She'd never get to know that touch again. She never realized she had to mourn it until that very moment.
And again, she felt herself crying. ]
no subject
[It's suffocating, that guilt and regret. But that was always the point, wasn't it? Allowing it to course through her without succumbing or struggling was one of the most difficult things Fang's ever done. To endure it, like standing chest deep in an frigid river, challenging the current without panic. Fang's exhales began to rumble under their shared pain and whatever Chariot was mourning, a dirge to the ugliness of healing.]
[Fang felt like buckling under that torrent, unprepared for her lover's own surge of heartache—Fang should've brushed this off—but also felt strangely emboldened by it. She couldn't fold to this. Not to the guilt, not to the nightmares. That tragedy might have scarred her—scarred both of them—but it was irreversibly, irrevocably, part of her now. A simple and blunt truth, survival written on her skin.]
[She opened her eyes, turning her head enough to stare into the water, idly watching her hand trace repeatedly over Chariot's scars. Her own gruesome brand stood out in compliment on her wrist, like a mismatched set.]
Scars, [Fang murmured after a moment, eyes still tracing the movements of her own hand. She still hurt, and the guilt was still running its course, but those determined embers in her heart stoked a little higher.] It's just another scar. It's proof we lived.
[Chariot's mangled foot was just another scar, if one infinitely more severe than any of Fang's own. Fang accepted each and every one of her own marks as part of herself. She wore them without shame.]
[She could come to accept Chariot's scar into herself, too.]
no subject
The words echo with her. They fill the space between what she could physically feel in that moment and what she felt she should have been able to. It wedged in-between the strangeness and the pain, found its place there, expanded outward, blanketing those mental wounds as well.
They had lived. They were still together. They still had so much faith in one another, so much love and cherishment. What was left of her foot, the scars that ran up to her knee, all of it was something left behind in a hope that it would twist that love into something crueler, something resentful and screaming.
... It hadn't. It was proof they'd lived. ]
Yeah... [ She wished she could say something stronger. ]
It's just... it feels so strange. The nerves are almost all dead, from my calf down to my foot. I can feel you touching it, but not... feel it... I guess I wasn't ready for how that would process, to me...
no subject
[She presses her lips to Chariot's forehead.] I'm sorry. [This time, the words were a little different. They shared her heartache in the Bond, and even though Fang was trying to let her guilt just be instead of suppressing it, this apology could've been as much condolence for loss as admission of guilt.]
Process it long as you need. Never know what'll happen down the line. The body knits back together pretty quick, but it takes a long time to really heal.
Anything feel... more, than anything else? A spot, or the water? The heat?
no subject
[ She was a little surprised... as she described it, she realized how much she was starting to feel more comfortable she started to grow, slowly, bit by bit, with the lack of sensation, and how alien it all felt. ]
no subject
Any of it hurt? Feel nice?
no subject
It's just... strange. It's hard to describe what it's like to know you're being touched, but to not feel it directly.
[ Her foot was where the scarring was at its worse. Her skin had torn completely there, after all, and only through Mio's efforts had they been able to do some grafts with magic. But the shape was clearly different now, too, oblong and crooked. It's why she'd need the cane even after her healing was complete... she'd never have her original gait again. ]
no subject
[Her hand stalled at that junction of ankle and foot, letting up on the slight pressure. Fang sucked in a steadying breath, her eyes fluttering shut and that heartache swelling anew. It was her turn to mourn; for one so clumsy, Chariot had been so light on her feet. No matter how often she was told it wasn't her fault, no matter if Fang learned to embrace that, she would irreversibly be part of this injury.]
[Her hand passed on. Fang's breathing became deliberately steady, trying to neither fight nor stifle the incoming emotions, just... experiencing them. Fang forced her eyes open to watch as her hand traced the new contours of Chariot's foot. Her other hand, still cradling Chariot against her shoulder, started idly rubbing circles against her skin. Fang would learn to live with this without flinching away.]
no subject
Yes... [ She whispered, shifting in to press light kisses along Fang's jaw, encouraging her, giving her affection and comfort, to keep going into that darkness, and to know Chariot was there with her to experience it.
She would learn... they both would. It was part of her now, but that didn't mean she had to be ashamed of it. ]