[gargoyles' petrification doesn't always mean unconsciousness. there have been days upon days that Vanille has been unable to rest even while deprived of her ability to move as her body crystallized as soon as day broke. it's the worst feeling, being aware of the world around you as things continued moving forward while you're literally stuck in time. at least when she and Fang had been in the pillar, they were mostly at ease; she couldn't say the same of Ryslig's atmosphere.
she could not fathom how these horrible things kept happening to Fang, when all she could do was watch or scream or, in the worst case, just hear about secondhand. their suffering was supposed to be shared, isn't it? something could be said of the amount of times Vanille herself disappears into the fog, only to come back days later, but at least nothing traumatic happens to her when she returns. she somehow doesn't have the propensity for dying that the other Pulsian does.
it's with wide eyes with heavy bags underneath that she greets Fang with on this night. she sucks in a deep breath as she rises to her feet, her wings unfurling as a chill runs up her spine. they beat once with a fervor before she folds them up again, biting her lip and almost drawing blood with her fangs.]
Don't you dare say sorry to me.
[she's not mad, though, even if that's what the phrase usually implies. her voice is shaking, and her eyes are already starting to well up.]
no subject
she could not fathom how these horrible things kept happening to Fang, when all she could do was watch or scream or, in the worst case, just hear about secondhand. their suffering was supposed to be shared, isn't it? something could be said of the amount of times Vanille herself disappears into the fog, only to come back days later, but at least nothing traumatic happens to her when she returns. she somehow doesn't have the propensity for dying that the other Pulsian does.
it's with wide eyes with heavy bags underneath that she greets Fang with on this night. she sucks in a deep breath as she rises to her feet, her wings unfurling as a chill runs up her spine. they beat once with a fervor before she folds them up again, biting her lip and almost drawing blood with her fangs.]
Don't you dare say sorry to me.
[she's not mad, though, even if that's what the phrase usually implies. her voice is shaking, and her eyes are already starting to well up.]