3 Spring, 515 AV
Dravite's words sounded hollow. Akilah was sure he meant for them to be comforting, as comforting as one could get when a stranger turned into a mess nearby.
And maybe, maybe if all those deaths a few years ago hadn't happened, she could believe him. Maybe.
She had said those words herself back then--had believed that if she gotten good enough at something, it wouldn't matter if she wasn't getting proposals and her cousins and siblings were. As important as marriage was to her people, it was usefulness that struck the most. And if she was skilled, then she would have repaid her people in full.
But the deaths did happen. Even now--she knew Dravite wouldn't be able to tell, he had only come to Endrykas recently. But she had been here before and after and it was so easy, so easy to notice the differences between the two cities.
The difference in noise, in size, in mood. Her city was a small, struggling creature now--making it, but only just.
As much as she pretended to do so, she couldn't ignore the whispers in her clan, in her pavilion even. The whispers and strained smiles--she wondered how long it would take before her Ankal interfered and pushed, one way or another.
She nodded at his proposal and didn't protest as he steadied her. Foggy as her mind was, she wasn't so far gone that she refused help when she needed it.
And she needed it. Even with his help, her body felt too slow, too clumsy. "Thanks..." she said, her voice slurring a little.
She wasn't sure how to answer his other offers, not now at least. It was too hard to concentrate, to think properly.
To hard to feel anything but shame. Shame that she had to rely on a stranger like this, shame that she had said something so personal.
Shame that a stranger was offering to help set her up out of pity.
Now Akilah was tired, worn too thin. In the morning, she could examine all this properly.
In the morning, she could put it all away again.
.
.
.
