The bright light flared, and Stitch threw up an arm, though it did little to actually shield his blind eyes. He saw something much more than normal people, and that was exactly what allowed him to see this particular Light... and it is what allowed him to see it so clearly. So brightly. So painfully. His arm and eyes flared to life in pain, stimulated by two completely different things. First, his skull exploded in agony, unable to handle what his Auristics was reading. But soon, even the agony that the Light brought began to fade, began to be replaced by his arm. Was was happening? He fell to his knees, his hand grabbing at his wounded arm, as if holding it would help ease the pain. Was it Overgiving? He had seen Kamalia do it with Reimancy... had he done it with the Flux? Was it only now kicking in? Was he going to lose his arm? Lava was flooding through his veins, and that pain was all he knew. The rest of the word faded away, and it was simply him, the Light, and the pain. His arm shivered and throbbed, veins popping out all over. Tears welled up in his eyes, and his mouth opened in a wordless scream... but nothing came out. The pain would not go away. The shout of agony would not come out. There was nothing else, and for a split second, he believed there would never be anything else. Then the voice. It was nirvana to his mind, slashing through the pain and the Light, delighting his senses wiht a soothing love. He absorbed all the words, took them all in, held onto them and clung to them, using them as a ship amongst the storm. Even as his body bowed, trembled, and shook, the blind man held onto the voice, afraid to lose focus. If he did, he felt he would drown in the pain, and that would be the end of him. One word stuck into his brain, triggering some distant memory. Konti. Why did he feel like he knew exactly who she was talking about? Why did the word bring up such a sense of... intimacy? And then suddenly, everything was gone. The Light was gone, the Pain was reduced to a simple throb, and Priskil was gone. Not completely, though. In wonder, Stitch stared upon the bright light that was on his hand, It was a very piece of Priskil herself, almost. It was shining with her light, with her purity, with her hope. With a trembling body, he rose the hand to his heart, remembering where Jilitse had touched him so many weeks ago. The minute his palm made contact with his skin, a knife cut through the dark hopelessness that shook his soul to the core, slashing away at layers of self-loathing and guilt to reveal something else deep inside. Hope. Stitch's head flickered up as Grace made the announcement, which only brought another wave of hope crashing upon him. All was not lost, as he had first imagined. There was still hope. In his hand, he would always hold Hope. He smiled at her, the first actual smile of the afternoon, a wide and loving smile. Turning as Aensya fell to her knees, he caught her, and pushed his right hand to her cheek, holding it, invoking the Mark on her as well. He sought to give her Hope, to push upon her the very Hope that he now held. It would only be a little bit, he knew... but it would be something. He didn't know how he knew to use the Mark... but he did. And for some reason, at this very moment, he wanted to go prancing around the court, placing his hand on everyone he could. Everyone needed true hope in this dark times. He could easily see several key figures within this very room that needed it right now. |