[ alisaie has never been the sort of person to hide her feelings, to try to crush or censor them. of course it had always been a point of contention as she grew, sharlayans are notoriously stuffy folk, disciplined and strict, there was not much room for an ornery, emotional girl.
but for all they had tried to wring it out of her she has never lost it, it was too strong for her to ever grow out of. she does not put a lid on what she is feeling but allows herself to experience it, to express it, and while she might push it down in order to achieve something it is never for good, she must vent it somehow, in some way. it's healthy, it's necessary, holding in your pain will only make it fester, an infection of the soul waiting to take hold. she cannot allow that to happen to him, she cannot stand by idly while he wears himself down beneath the weight of all the things he refuses to feel because he does not consider it valid.
she can't force it, she can only do what she can to persuade him to open, to spill out and expel all that ichor and bile on his own, and she worries for a moment that he will refuse her, that he will swallow it all down again and go to a place where she cannot reach him - but in the end he does not disappoint her. he folds, and gods it's painful to see, but it's cathartic as well, and an absolute relief. ]
I know.
[ her words are so soft they're little more than a breath, and alisaie lifts her arms to slip them over his shoulders and pull him down, to guide his head beneath her chin so she can gather him up close, resting her flushed cheek against his hair. ]
no subject
but for all they had tried to wring it out of her she has never lost it, it was too strong for her to ever grow out of. she does not put a lid on what she is feeling but allows herself to experience it, to express it, and while she might push it down in order to achieve something it is never for good, she must vent it somehow, in some way. it's healthy, it's necessary, holding in your pain will only make it fester, an infection of the soul waiting to take hold. she cannot allow that to happen to him, she cannot stand by idly while he wears himself down beneath the weight of all the things he refuses to feel because he does not consider it valid.
she can't force it, she can only do what she can to persuade him to open, to spill out and expel all that ichor and bile on his own, and she worries for a moment that he will refuse her, that he will swallow it all down again and go to a place where she cannot reach him - but in the end he does not disappoint her. he folds, and gods it's painful to see, but it's cathartic as well, and an absolute relief. ]
I know.
[ her words are so soft they're little more than a breath, and alisaie lifts her arms to slip them over his shoulders and pull him down, to guide his head beneath her chin so she can gather him up close, resting her flushed cheek against his hair. ]
Let it ache, love.