( andyr fusses around her, and miray knows something is very, very wrong.
she hasn't had much opportunity to be in the same physical space as andyr, but she knows this isn't usual for him. he doesn't do nervous energy, moving around a room because he needs to distract himself. that he's doing this now, with his expression and tone so utterly lifeless, means that something's gone horribly awry.
the fact that she's dead isn't a surprise. it would be a stretch for her to reach five, really, seven would just... be too much to hope for. but that alva was the one who had to put her down — that was a thought she hadn't even considered before. her heart aches for him, the alva that would have been and that somehow already is, so gentle and so good, who held her hand and told her what it was like to be a parent. that they would make him kill her —
not much makes her mad anymore. you can't get mad if you expect the worst. for a moment, though, she's so angry she can't even think. )
Did you kill the ones who made him do it?
( she looks up at andyr, gaze fierce. it's not often that she agrees with his approach, but. they made him kill her. someone so kind, forced to kill someone who felt responsible for.
that's all forgotten in the wake of andyr's next news, and before he can stop her miray's pushed herself into a sitting position, staring forward, unseeing. she's not going to go anywhere, the staples in her abdomen are already giving her enough grief just about that sudden motion, but she needed — she needed to move, to do something.
some version of her, somewhere in the future, had a litter — no, not a litter. not a pup, not any of the words the gloriana scientists used to try to distance them from people. she had a child with alva, and it was taken from her just like the others, but andyr got him back.
somewhere in the future, she has a son.
there's nothing she can say to that. she can barely process it — just enough to start crying, quietly, a hand pressed over her mouth, the other twisted with a white knuckle grip in the sheets. )
no subject
she hasn't had much opportunity to be in the same physical space as andyr, but she knows this isn't usual for him. he doesn't do nervous energy, moving around a room because he needs to distract himself. that he's doing this now, with his expression and tone so utterly lifeless, means that something's gone horribly awry.
the fact that she's dead isn't a surprise. it would be a stretch for her to reach five, really, seven would just... be too much to hope for. but that alva was the one who had to put her down — that was a thought she hadn't even considered before. her heart aches for him, the alva that would have been and that somehow already is, so gentle and so good, who held her hand and told her what it was like to be a parent. that they would make him kill her —
not much makes her mad anymore. you can't get mad if you expect the worst. for a moment, though, she's so angry she can't even think. )
Did you kill the ones who made him do it?
( she looks up at andyr, gaze fierce. it's not often that she agrees with his approach, but. they made him kill her. someone so kind, forced to kill someone who felt responsible for.
that's all forgotten in the wake of andyr's next news, and before he can stop her miray's pushed herself into a sitting position, staring forward, unseeing. she's not going to go anywhere, the staples in her abdomen are already giving her enough grief just about that sudden motion, but she needed — she needed to move, to do something.
some version of her, somewhere in the future, had a litter — no, not a litter. not a pup, not any of the words the gloriana scientists used to try to distance them from people. she had a child with alva, and it was taken from her just like the others, but andyr got him back.
somewhere in the future, she has a son.
there's nothing she can say to that. she can barely process it — just enough to start crying, quietly, a hand pressed over her mouth, the other twisted with a white knuckle grip in the sheets. )