[ That's the truth of it, then. The strange, warbling loneliness that sits in Luna, gentle and sad and compartmentalized into what she can tolerate and what she can't bear to acknowledge. The years spent with Ravus and his disconsolation have never been any less heartbroken, nor the strange, peculiar sadness of being at Noctis's side any less potent after they'd been cleaved for twelve years. They're no longer the children enamored by the tales of light and dark β or sheer extremes, when the shadows cannot be severed from what fosters them, the perpetuity of the loop. Cyclic, still, as her own death swings ever closer.
(Gentiana, warning her of her duties, still. The selfishness she takes on in Noct's company: the appeal toward joy, smarting with the memory of holding Noctis's hand and guiding him through the fields of sylleblossoms, the undulating blue of the sea enthralled with the land, all the rippling petals and half-made blooms, the wonderful transience of life where it was only ever meant to decay and fade. Magic runs its course through her veins, but Luna's governed only by her own whims, by the cruel, outlandish dictates of her pulse. Fate wasn't merciful enough to render her unfeeling.)
Her own life is too impressively short to be afraid how Prompto was, afraid to take that leap of faith under the brunt of aggression and all that could quash a soul down to its essence. But Luna recognizes that duality in them: the sick, retching despair of the unknown that rears up, even if his own fight is on a magnitude that deals with himself, and hers is a conflict that's never belonged to her. Not since the Niflheim invasion. Not since she'd released King Regis's hand, and with it, bidding farewell to Prince Noctis and whatever life she could've had beside him if she was never crowned the Oracle.
Her fingers shape themselves inwards, curling toward her palms, leaving half-moons between the creases. ]
No, I'm happy I could inspire you, although you should know that you've been underestimating yourself. I've seen how you support the others. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for. I suppose that claim must sound very presumptive, though, after what you've told me. I apologize for that.
[ His fears are ungrounded, but it's not as if she misunderstands the oppressiveness the grip of the psyche is, conditioned toward self-doubt. Even now, Luna's charity is something born from Prompto's boldness, taking the initiative for raw-boned honesty in a way she couldn't allow for herself. None of Noctis's party are aware of the extent of the arduous ordeals awaiting them, and she can't bring herself to it, to cause undue suffering where they should be gladdened for what time they can spend in each other's company. It's just as simple as listening to Prompto, though, to know where her errors in attempting to carry the weight of the trials to come on her own lie. Breaching the polite distance, Luna shifts until their knees are all but touching, the two of them lingering in close proximity to each other. ]
... You aren't invisible, Prompto. You're here with me, and beside those who would entrust to you their lives, their hopes, their dreams. I scarcely doubt Noctis would bring along someone he felt was unsuited for the trip. He has faith in you. As do we all.
[ He needn't be restrained by his trepidations the way she has resigned herself to her own. Luna can discern what Noctis saw in Prompto that was so compelling: how guileless and sweet his painful honesty was. Without further precursor, her hands revolt against her better compulsions, gliding to deftly clasp around Prompto's fingers. Bracing his hands around the knuckles, she holds them aloft between her palms like the consecration of an open prayer. ]
It would have been nice to be penpals. But I'm glad I could know you like this, in person. It's not very often that I meet someone with such a sincere heart. Being at your side feels very warm.
[ And that's enough. For all of her regrets and her isolation and her will, all bowed before fate, that there are some things that fall to Luna to mean something precious (that thank-you, that gratitude, kinder than anything) when her existence amounts to so little in the grander scheme of things. ]
So you're welcome. I only hope that I can support you in the same regard. As your friend, if you'll allow it.
no subject
(Gentiana, warning her of her duties, still. The selfishness she takes on in Noct's company: the appeal toward joy, smarting with the memory of holding Noctis's hand and guiding him through the fields of sylleblossoms, the undulating blue of the sea enthralled with the land, all the rippling petals and half-made blooms, the wonderful transience of life where it was only ever meant to decay and fade. Magic runs its course through her veins, but Luna's governed only by her own whims, by the cruel, outlandish dictates of her pulse. Fate wasn't merciful enough to render her unfeeling.)
Her own life is too impressively short to be afraid how Prompto was, afraid to take that leap of faith under the brunt of aggression and all that could quash a soul down to its essence. But Luna recognizes that duality in them: the sick, retching despair of the unknown that rears up, even if his own fight is on a magnitude that deals with himself, and hers is a conflict that's never belonged to her. Not since the Niflheim invasion. Not since she'd released King Regis's hand, and with it, bidding farewell to Prince Noctis and whatever life she could've had beside him if she was never crowned the Oracle.
Her fingers shape themselves inwards, curling toward her palms, leaving half-moons between the creases. ]
No, I'm happy I could inspire you, although you should know that you've been underestimating yourself. I've seen how you support the others. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for. I suppose that claim must sound very presumptive, though, after what you've told me. I apologize for that.
[ His fears are ungrounded, but it's not as if she misunderstands the oppressiveness the grip of the psyche is, conditioned toward self-doubt. Even now, Luna's charity is something born from Prompto's boldness, taking the initiative for raw-boned honesty in a way she couldn't allow for herself. None of Noctis's party are aware of the extent of the arduous ordeals awaiting them, and she can't bring herself to it, to cause undue suffering where they should be gladdened for what time they can spend in each other's company. It's just as simple as listening to Prompto, though, to know where her errors in attempting to carry the weight of the trials to come on her own lie. Breaching the polite distance, Luna shifts until their knees are all but touching, the two of them lingering in close proximity to each other. ]
... You aren't invisible, Prompto. You're here with me, and beside those who would entrust to you their lives, their hopes, their dreams. I scarcely doubt Noctis would bring along someone he felt was unsuited for the trip. He has faith in you. As do we all.
[ He needn't be restrained by his trepidations the way she has resigned herself to her own. Luna can discern what Noctis saw in Prompto that was so compelling: how guileless and sweet his painful honesty was. Without further precursor, her hands revolt against her better compulsions, gliding to deftly clasp around Prompto's fingers. Bracing his hands around the knuckles, she holds them aloft between her palms like the consecration of an open prayer. ]
It would have been nice to be penpals. But I'm glad I could know you like this, in person. It's not very often that I meet someone with such a sincere heart. Being at your side feels very warm.
[ And that's enough. For all of her regrets and her isolation and her will, all bowed before fate, that there are some things that fall to Luna to mean something precious (that thank-you, that gratitude, kinder than anything) when her existence amounts to so little in the grander scheme of things. ]
So you're welcome. I only hope that I can support you in the same regard. As your friend, if you'll allow it.