[ she looks down at the pickaxe in her hands. some feeling she doesn't recognize swells up in her chest, like wet pressure. she clears her throat of the tickle of flower petals.
the silence stretches as she searches for words. ]
I don't have much practice.
[ there. that's the crux of it, right? she goes back to swinging the pickaxe. ]
My family died. [ would she recognize her parents if they were here? she tries to imagine their faces, but all that comes up is their slave brands. it makes her arm itch. ] And I lived apart from the clan.
[ a feeling like a sucking void, one that she is constantly skirting around. rejection. worthlessness. they hadn't just made her a slave for some crime, they'd exiled her, treated her like she was more kossian than kuruko, even though she wanted no part of them, had no blood in common with them. it is a fluttering, fearful sense of guilt and grief. ]
no subject
the silence stretches as she searches for words. ]
I don't have much practice.
[ there. that's the crux of it, right? she goes back to swinging the pickaxe. ]
My family died. [ would she recognize her parents if they were here? she tries to imagine their faces, but all that comes up is their slave brands. it makes her arm itch. ] And I lived apart from the clan.
[ a feeling like a sucking void, one that she is constantly skirting around. rejection. worthlessness. they hadn't just made her a slave for some crime, they'd exiled her, treated her like she was more kossian than kuruko, even though she wanted no part of them, had no blood in common with them. it is a fluttering, fearful sense of guilt and grief. ]