[When she'd first returned, to be greeted by the cold and empty expanse of stars in the window, she almost panics, braces herself against a nearby wall and breathes. Waits for the room to stop spinning.
It takes a while, but she manages to move again.
The air is sterile, and the lights are very dim. She fumbles with something in her hands, and stares blankly at the holographic surface of a device she recognizes. Now she knows where she is. She would be angry about it, if she thought she had anywhere left to go.
But she knows she doesn't, in some way she doesn't fully understand but accepts. That door had been wrenched open, with her bare and bloody hands, and so there was nothing left in that old world for her. Even if she had wanted to go back, she couldn't. That was that.
The sword she'd been given the first time she'd arrived in Exsilium was back with her, and she'd almost recoiled from it, the memory of it (broken, being slammed against that door until it shattered into pieces. her heart, used and discarded. it had never mattered at all) clashing hard against the reality of seeing it whole again. She didn't want to touch it —
(— she remembers the blade in her back, beneath her ribcage. And worse than that, when the swords had come. There had been nothing but the waiting then, hanging off the edge of a road that ended in a void. the swords had rained down —)
— but there was nothing to be done. She couldn't leave it either, but she didn't want to be near it. Would discard it at the soonest opportunity. What good did she have of a sword? She wasn't a prince, had never been. It had never been something she could do. She'd proven that, hadn't she? With Anthy...
She tries not to think about it, not right now.
She watches the city die instead, the bright white light overtaking everything, and can't bring herself to feel much of anything at all. For the first time, she is aware of her helplessness. She would not have been able to change this even if she'd been here, she thinks. She had never been able to change anything at all.
That is harder to swallow.]
[b] afterward
[She doesn't know where her room is, and doesn't care, so she sleeps with her back turned from the wide windows. Against the wall. The beautiful, ornate sword has been pushed as far away as she can manage without losing it. There's something else too — her duelist outfit is torn, tattered in places. There are the remains of a white rose pinned to her chest, the petals faded and wilting.
Her sleep is restless, and her features are tight and drawn even while resting. Up close, one can see a faint crisscrossing of scratches along her hands and If disturbed, she will jolt awake in a sudden, bleary panic. She'd been dreaming, and it had not been pleasant.
It could be passed off as anxiety about the city bombing, but even now, she isn't much of a liar.]
utena | open
[When she'd first returned, to be greeted by the cold and empty expanse of stars in the window, she almost panics, braces herself against a nearby wall and breathes. Waits for the room to stop spinning.
It takes a while, but she manages to move again.
The air is sterile, and the lights are very dim. She fumbles with something in her hands, and stares blankly at the holographic surface of a device she recognizes. Now she knows where she is. She would be angry about it, if she thought she had anywhere left to go.
But she knows she doesn't, in some way she doesn't fully understand but accepts. That door had been wrenched open, with her bare and bloody hands, and so there was nothing left in that old world for her. Even if she had wanted to go back, she couldn't. That was that.
The sword she'd been given the first time she'd arrived in Exsilium was back with her, and she'd almost recoiled from it, the memory of it (broken, being slammed against that door until it shattered into pieces. her heart, used and discarded. it had never mattered at all) clashing hard against the reality of seeing it whole again. She didn't want to touch it —
(— she remembers the blade in her back, beneath her ribcage. And worse than that, when the swords had come. There had been nothing but the waiting then, hanging off the edge of a road that ended in a void. the swords had rained down —)
— but there was nothing to be done. She couldn't leave it either, but she didn't want to be near it. Would discard it at the soonest opportunity. What good did she have of a sword? She wasn't a prince, had never been. It had never been something she could do. She'd proven that, hadn't she? With Anthy...
She tries not to think about it, not right now.
She watches the city die instead, the bright white light overtaking everything, and can't bring herself to feel much of anything at all. For the first time, she is aware of her helplessness. She would not have been able to change this even if she'd been here, she thinks. She had never been able to change anything at all.
That is harder to swallow.]
[b] afterward
[She doesn't know where her room is, and doesn't care, so she sleeps with her back turned from the wide windows. Against the wall. The beautiful, ornate sword has been pushed as far away as she can manage without losing it. There's something else too — her duelist outfit is torn, tattered in places. There are the remains of a white rose pinned to her chest, the petals faded and wilting.
Her sleep is restless, and her features are tight and drawn even while resting. Up close, one can see a faint crisscrossing of scratches along her hands and If disturbed, she will jolt awake in a sudden, bleary panic. She'd been dreaming, and it had not been pleasant.
It could be passed off as anxiety about the city bombing, but even now, she isn't much of a liar.]