[Her hand slips up in response, fingers on Y'shtola's forearm a little firmer than her typical feather-light and gentle conduct.]
I'm quite all right now, though help locating that seat would certainly be appreciated.
[Distantly, she is aware that she sounds concussed, though she can't remember any of her falls or poorly devised travels across the [setting] having resulted in any knocks to the head (once again I am cucked from my tbi).]
[ Ah, a slip up. It's unusual for Cantarella to let her tightly affixed shield to slip. ]
Then allow me to lead you to it.
[ Y'shtola can at least find the outline of it, guiding Cantarella towards one of the random chairs strewn about the store. It's not particularly comfortable, but it's a solid surface that Cantarella can lean against for now. ]
Thank you. [She doesn't require comfort; if anything, being a little uncomfortable at least keeps her aware of her own body, reminding her that she's still inside of it. Her hand lingers a little, then slips away, unsure of what she's trying to hold onto.]
Perhaps Leviathan's whispers really don't reach here. And yet, there's always something happening that reminds me of the encroaching tide. [None more than this, even with the nightmares last week...or perhaps on top of them.] As if I'm a puppet in my own body.
[ That hand lingers and Y’shtola pauses ever so slightly, a brief little thing. ]
An apt descriptor.
[ You know. Considering. ]
To feel as if you lack total control is a vulnerable thing, one that primes us to be overtaken more easily by any threat that could appear. It disrupts our senses, throws us against the crashing waves of the unknown.
Regardless of differences, your senses are surely just as strong. It's the nothingness of it, is it not/ The unrevealed threat. [Distortions in Y'shtola's visions must be reminiscent of twisted frequencies, intangible and yet as painful as a slap.
Cantarella isn't dizzy right now, but she still leans against the chair, feeling its solid presence.]
Losing control of them is... the fate of our family, for centuries. Every head, most of all, until there is nothing left.
[Her resilience far exceeds that of any who came before her, and yet...She's vigilant against it all the same. The slipping feels terrible all the same.]
More or less. With fewer defenses against it, I find it vexing.
[There's a deep sigh, then, though even with their proximity, Y'shtola is unlikely to feel something so transient with her dulled senses.]
I rarely entertain the thought of what will happen should I, too, succumb to the waves... [She is much more determined than that, much more steadfast in her opposition to Leviathan.
And yet. Perhaps that's why she does still find the thought of oblivion a little frightening.]
[The past few weeks have kept her from it for various reasons, but truthfully, Cantarella thrives on touch. She doesn't have very much of it in her life, so each one is a precious gem. It's hard to say whether she's realized that Y'shtola's sense of touch is dulled, but when the hand returns to her shoulder, Cantarella's head tilts toward it in turn. She thinks about holding it, but in the end just winds up giving it a pat that she might not even notice.]
You must also have ghost stories passed down in your families...ghouls and bogeymen and cautionary tales, yes? For us, it is our history...we see the story take shape before our very eyes.
[So, yes, she's worried about it.] Do you have such fears?
[ The pat does go unnoticed, but she can at least perceive the way Cantarella shifts towards her hand anyway. That's why she keeps it there, much longer than she would otherwise. ]
Fears of my discoveries being used in a way I do not approve of, mayhap. Though I have never feared ghouls, much less given cautionary tales much thought.
[Cantarella smiles in return, though she isn't looking up. It can be heard in her voice.]
And I daresay you always had your feet on the ground...almost always, anyway. [She has not forgotten the story of Y'shtola's childish incantations. But Cantarella, in turn, was more of a dreamer. She was already on the border well before her Forte ever woke.
Her voice rolls gently.] I watched my parents deteriorate before my eyes, before I even had the words for it, upholding their fate as the glory and privilege of belonging to our family.
Which has no doubt only fueled your own anxieties.
[ It would affect nearly anyone, after all. ]
I consider myself lucky enough to not carry such a deep burden, and of those burdens I have held on my shoulders, my comrades on my star have done more than enough to endure them with me.
[Of course, she also knows her parents grew wan at the thought of sending her away, fragile and meek as she was, likely to die in the basement of Porto-Veno.]
No doubt the lifting is easier when the weight is shared.
[Y'shtola should also remember, however, that Cantarella once told her that the dark secrets of her family condemn anyone who hears them.]
I, too, hope that I've found someone I can trust with them...a person of singular strength and character. With their help, perhaps my entire family can be free of what's bound them for centuries. [She hums.] Like you, they're quite stubborn and prefer to do things their own way.
Maybe. [She hardly knows the Rover, and yet she's been surprised more than once already.]
It was a great risk, exposing them to the Sentinel's true form and Leviathan's influence. But they have already aided one Sentinel... In a way, it was my last resort to ask them for help, and my good fortune that they crossed my path when they did.
[When it comes to matters of fate, Cantarella is defiant as they come, but deep down, she cannot deny its existence—that forces conspire both to push and pull, capricious as the stormy sea.
It is unspoken that some fortune, twisted as it might be, also led them all here. After all, they met by chance, too. She cannot help but see the small lights in the darkness, like finding a guide when lost or sharing a drink with a friend.]
If in the end, they judge the rot as having spread to me... Then that's a judgment I will also accept.
... I can't even guarantee how much of the Sentinel remains. [What she fights to liberate may be only the tiniest of remnants. When all is said and done, all that remains may fade away on the breeze.
And yet it must be done. For the sake of Impertor's will, for her family, and for all of Rinascita.]
The previous Heads went to great lengths to uphold their devotion, often at the expense of a great many necessary sacrifices. Their methods are not mine. [She looks down at her hands, giving them a flex as a reminder that she can, even when she feels completely out of control.] Perhaps after everything is done, we will all be free.
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I'm quite all right now, though help locating that seat would certainly be appreciated.
[Distantly, she is aware that she sounds concussed, though she can't remember any of her falls or poorly devised travels across the [setting] having resulted in any knocks to the head (once again I am cucked from my tbi).]
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Then allow me to lead you to it.
[ Y'shtola can at least find the outline of it, guiding Cantarella towards one of the random chairs strewn about the store. It's not particularly comfortable, but it's a solid surface that Cantarella can lean against for now. ]
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Perhaps Leviathan's whispers really don't reach here. And yet, there's always something happening that reminds me of the encroaching tide. [None more than this, even with the nightmares last week...or perhaps on top of them.] As if I'm a puppet in my own body.
no subject
An apt descriptor.
[ You know. Considering. ]
To feel as if you lack total control is a vulnerable thing, one that primes us to be overtaken more easily by any threat that could appear. It disrupts our senses, throws us against the crashing waves of the unknown.
[ She hates it too. ]
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Cantarella isn't dizzy right now, but she still leans against the chair, feeling its solid presence.]
Losing control of them is... the fate of our family, for centuries. Every head, most of all, until there is nothing left.
[Her resilience far exceeds that of any who came before her, and yet...She's vigilant against it all the same. The slipping feels terrible all the same.]
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[ It makes her feel like she's lost that resilience, probably. Like she can't break the cycle of no control. ]
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[There's a deep sigh, then, though even with their proximity, Y'shtola is unlikely to feel something so transient with her dulled senses.]
I rarely entertain the thought of what will happen should I, too, succumb to the waves... [She is much more determined than that, much more steadfast in her opposition to Leviathan.
And yet. Perhaps that's why she does still find the thought of oblivion a little frightening.]
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[ Her hand finds Cantarella's shoulder. It's not something she can feel, but it's there. ]
Surely something you've worried about plenty in your life before this realm.
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You must also have ghost stories passed down in your families...ghouls and bogeymen and cautionary tales, yes? For us, it is our history...we see the story take shape before our very eyes.
[So, yes, she's worried about it.] Do you have such fears?
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Fears of my discoveries being used in a way I do not approve of, mayhap. Though I have never feared ghouls, much less given cautionary tales much thought.
[ She smiles, soft. ]
In your shoes, I daresay I would have such fears.
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And I daresay you always had your feet on the ground...almost always, anyway. [She has not forgotten the story of Y'shtola's childish incantations. But Cantarella, in turn, was more of a dreamer. She was already on the border well before her Forte ever woke.
Her voice rolls gently.] I watched my parents deteriorate before my eyes, before I even had the words for it, upholding their fate as the glory and privilege of belonging to our family.
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[ It would affect nearly anyone, after all. ]
I consider myself lucky enough to not carry such a deep burden, and of those burdens I have held on my shoulders, my comrades on my star have done more than enough to endure them with me.
[ And hopefully, Cantarella can say the same. ]
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No doubt the lifting is easier when the weight is shared.
[Y'shtola should also remember, however, that Cantarella once told her that the dark secrets of her family condemn anyone who hears them.]
I, too, hope that I've found someone I can trust with them...a person of singular strength and character. With their help, perhaps my entire family can be free of what's bound them for centuries. [She hums.] Like you, they're quite stubborn and prefer to do things their own way.
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Is that so? Mayhap you've found your person then. May they navigate the difficulties of your family's past with ease.
[ Genuinely. ]
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It was a great risk, exposing them to the Sentinel's true form and Leviathan's influence. But they have already aided one Sentinel... In a way, it was my last resort to ask them for help, and my good fortune that they crossed my path when they did.
[When it comes to matters of fate, Cantarella is defiant as they come, but deep down, she cannot deny its existence—that forces conspire both to push and pull, capricious as the stormy sea.
It is unspoken that some fortune, twisted as it might be, also led them all here. After all, they met by chance, too. She cannot help but see the small lights in the darkness, like finding a guide when lost or sharing a drink with a friend.]
If in the end, they judge the rot as having spread to me... Then that's a judgment I will also accept.
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[ Are they like the Warrior of Light in that way? Like Y'shtola, who refuses to accept things she doesn't want to come to pass?
As much as something can rot, it can also be healed. ]
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And yet it must be done. For the sake of Impertor's will, for her family, and for all of Rinascita.]
The previous Heads went to great lengths to uphold their devotion, often at the expense of a great many necessary sacrifices. Their methods are not mine. [She looks down at her hands, giving them a flex as a reminder that she can, even when she feels completely out of control.] Perhaps after everything is done, we will all be free.