[ And there is the question she hoped he wouldn't ask. Why. It's something that should be so simple, but even as he questions her Lux visibly winces and the hand near his clenches tightly.
How could she begin to answer that question of why she has to keep that part of her a secret? Why no one should know about that light (her affliction, that word and its meaning etched into her heart like a tattoo). That her people would never accept her kind. At best, they were seen and treated as less than human, and at worst... Mages were a darkness that need be purged from their pristine world, by an annuller's "cures", or by the fire of retribution.
How could she explain what that would mean to someone who had somewhere he fit so seemingly perfectly, who likely has no idea what it's like to be Wrong and to be afraid of what that means.
To fight with the light of your very being for a people who would label you as a heretic if they knew the truth. She was Demacian and she was Wrong, even if there are times when she struggles to fully believe that to be true.
(If she had been born anywhere else...)
She could lie or brush the question aside. Smile and give a reason that fit well enough that they would never need to speak of this again— ]
Because...
[ But she can't do that, not because it wouldn't be easy. It would be—she's used to this kind of lie. But because lying to him when he seems so earnest... she can't do that. So she takes a breath, closing her eyes as if something like that will help. ]
...If they knew, then I wouldn't have a place where I felt like I might belong.
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How could she begin to answer that question of why she has to keep that part of her a secret? Why no one should know about that light (her affliction, that word and its meaning etched into her heart like a tattoo). That her people would never accept her kind. At best, they were seen and treated as less than human, and at worst... Mages were a darkness that need be purged from their pristine world, by an annuller's "cures", or by the fire of retribution.
How could she explain what that would mean to someone who had somewhere he fit so seemingly perfectly, who likely has no idea what it's like to be Wrong and to be afraid of what that means.
To fight with the light of your very being for a people who would label you as a heretic if they knew the truth. She was Demacian and she was Wrong, even if there are times when she struggles to fully believe that to be true.
(If she had been born anywhere else...)
She could lie or brush the question aside. Smile and give a reason that fit well enough that they would never need to speak of this again— ]
Because...
[ But she can't do that, not because it wouldn't be easy. It would be—she's used to this kind of lie. But because lying to him when he seems so earnest... she can't do that. So she takes a breath, closing her eyes as if something like that will help. ]
...If they knew, then I wouldn't have a place where I felt like I might belong.