"You have your house…”
That was where he was wrong. Aislyn did not, in fact, have her house. She hadn’t actually began to think about sleeping yet that night, though surprisingly, the option seemed appetizing. She was exhausted. For the first time in quite a while, she was absolutely exhausted. She was cold, she was tired, and she was still rather liberally covered in blood. Her lungs still felt as if they had shrunk to half the size of normal, and she certainly had more than one bruise to nurse. Not that Phobius could see any of that, of course. Illusions did wonders to mask the ‘nearly murdered by an undead horse’ look. Though perhaps cleaning the fresh scar on her cheek would be a good idea.
But to share a room with Phobius…
That was a bit less than a good idea.
Her illusions could flicker out in the night, Phobius could wake up and see her. And if he saw her, what then? She had just barely told him she’d never leave, what if her words lasted less than a rotation of Syna and Leth? She couldn’t risk him figuring her out, but denying his preposition wasn’t an appealing option either.
...I don't think you have to pay, but you might? Maybe. It's not a lot, though. And it's safe.
Perhaps she could rent a room, one not immediately in range of Phobius, but one nearby. Then he’d be content, and she’d be alone.
”That sounds...” Lying fixed everything. ”...brilliant, Pho. But-” Which was a good thing, as Aislyn seemed to have a knack for it. ”but- don’t you only have one bed?”
Logic and reasoning. No one could argue with that. Only one bed meant only one person. And that meant she could reason her way out of the dangerous situation of losing consciousness in the same room as someone else. She had her motives, and now Phobius had reasons to go along with them. She left a short pause between her words and, without fully waiting for a response, led them both into the inn. Approaching the keeper, Aislyn dropped a silver miza onto the table. She had no idea what she was doing, but it didn’t help to let herself seem like it. She had never stayed in an inn a day of her life, having never left Alvadas before. Even when she hadn’t been able to access her home the idea of an inn had never appealed. Never seemed like an option, even. Strange how that way of thinking worked.
Letting Phobius lead them to his room once again, Aislyn found herself facing an empty room adjacent from the one the boy called his own. Even as she was past the point of no return, she didn’t like the idea of an inn, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. But reason was deafening. She needed to keep Phobius happy, and sometimes happiness came from not being given a chance to be sad. So she didn’t give him any semblance of a chance.
The day had been long. The night had been longer. But it all ended in just a few chimes.
The room worth her silver was barren. The room was cold, and clean. The walls were bare, the floor uncrowded. A bed, a desk, a chair and a chest was all that decorated the cubic room. The feeling was so bizarre; a room that wasn’t her own. A bed she was supposed to sleep in, with complete trust that no one else had access to it.
Trust.
What a stupid thing.
Trust was so foolish, the idea of having complete and utter faith in something, to the point where it could go so wrong that someone could die. Or worse- find out about her illusions. There was no reason for it, no logical explanation for why someone would believe every word out of the mouth of a stranger, or a friend, or anyone. To trust anyone was dangerous. Anyone or anything could be an illusion, from the shopkeeper Aislyn bought her charcoals from to Phobius himself. Yet she kept trusting them anyways, in ways both big and small. She had to trust in the locks on the door, trust in the sanctity of the room, trust in Phobius’ strange assurance that the whole thing was ‘safe’. But even more than that- more than Aislyn’s trust in Phobius was Phobius’ trust in her. With all his heart, he seemed to believe every word she said. Trusted her words, her actions, even when something went wrong. He trusted her enough to follow her into the doorway, and somehow found his way back out again.
He trusted her enough to let her sleep alone, and still be there when he woke up.
As soon as there was a door between herself and her ‘friend’, Maya quickly withered away into nothingness. All at once, Aislyn withered with her. Throwing her crossbow to the ground, Aislyn swung her rucksack over her shoulder and dug through it, her fingers wrapping around the handle of her shattered mirror. Her hands around the prize, Aislyn gazed into the surface of the reflective material. Her thumb pushed into a shard of glass, turning the skin white where the pressure was applied. Her palms left murky brown-red marks on the metal, evidence of what she had done. This was not the image Phobius would want to see.
Wiping her hands and her face on her shirt, Aislyn forced herself to the bed. There was a reason Aislyn kept up her illusion, buried somewhere deep. A reason she kept making a better image for him- an image he would want to see.
And, as much as Aislyn really didn’t want to admit it, that reason probably had something to do with trust.
OOCMinor control of Phobius done with approval
That was where he was wrong. Aislyn did not, in fact, have her house. She hadn’t actually began to think about sleeping yet that night, though surprisingly, the option seemed appetizing. She was exhausted. For the first time in quite a while, she was absolutely exhausted. She was cold, she was tired, and she was still rather liberally covered in blood. Her lungs still felt as if they had shrunk to half the size of normal, and she certainly had more than one bruise to nurse. Not that Phobius could see any of that, of course. Illusions did wonders to mask the ‘nearly murdered by an undead horse’ look. Though perhaps cleaning the fresh scar on her cheek would be a good idea.
But to share a room with Phobius…
That was a bit less than a good idea.
Her illusions could flicker out in the night, Phobius could wake up and see her. And if he saw her, what then? She had just barely told him she’d never leave, what if her words lasted less than a rotation of Syna and Leth? She couldn’t risk him figuring her out, but denying his preposition wasn’t an appealing option either.
...I don't think you have to pay, but you might? Maybe. It's not a lot, though. And it's safe.
Perhaps she could rent a room, one not immediately in range of Phobius, but one nearby. Then he’d be content, and she’d be alone.
”That sounds...” Lying fixed everything. ”...brilliant, Pho. But-” Which was a good thing, as Aislyn seemed to have a knack for it. ”but- don’t you only have one bed?”
Logic and reasoning. No one could argue with that. Only one bed meant only one person. And that meant she could reason her way out of the dangerous situation of losing consciousness in the same room as someone else. She had her motives, and now Phobius had reasons to go along with them. She left a short pause between her words and, without fully waiting for a response, led them both into the inn. Approaching the keeper, Aislyn dropped a silver miza onto the table. She had no idea what she was doing, but it didn’t help to let herself seem like it. She had never stayed in an inn a day of her life, having never left Alvadas before. Even when she hadn’t been able to access her home the idea of an inn had never appealed. Never seemed like an option, even. Strange how that way of thinking worked.
Letting Phobius lead them to his room once again, Aislyn found herself facing an empty room adjacent from the one the boy called his own. Even as she was past the point of no return, she didn’t like the idea of an inn, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. But reason was deafening. She needed to keep Phobius happy, and sometimes happiness came from not being given a chance to be sad. So she didn’t give him any semblance of a chance.
The day had been long. The night had been longer. But it all ended in just a few chimes.
The room worth her silver was barren. The room was cold, and clean. The walls were bare, the floor uncrowded. A bed, a desk, a chair and a chest was all that decorated the cubic room. The feeling was so bizarre; a room that wasn’t her own. A bed she was supposed to sleep in, with complete trust that no one else had access to it.
Trust.
What a stupid thing.
Trust was so foolish, the idea of having complete and utter faith in something, to the point where it could go so wrong that someone could die. Or worse- find out about her illusions. There was no reason for it, no logical explanation for why someone would believe every word out of the mouth of a stranger, or a friend, or anyone. To trust anyone was dangerous. Anyone or anything could be an illusion, from the shopkeeper Aislyn bought her charcoals from to Phobius himself. Yet she kept trusting them anyways, in ways both big and small. She had to trust in the locks on the door, trust in the sanctity of the room, trust in Phobius’ strange assurance that the whole thing was ‘safe’. But even more than that- more than Aislyn’s trust in Phobius was Phobius’ trust in her. With all his heart, he seemed to believe every word she said. Trusted her words, her actions, even when something went wrong. He trusted her enough to follow her into the doorway, and somehow found his way back out again.
He trusted her enough to let her sleep alone, and still be there when he woke up.
As soon as there was a door between herself and her ‘friend’, Maya quickly withered away into nothingness. All at once, Aislyn withered with her. Throwing her crossbow to the ground, Aislyn swung her rucksack over her shoulder and dug through it, her fingers wrapping around the handle of her shattered mirror. Her hands around the prize, Aislyn gazed into the surface of the reflective material. Her thumb pushed into a shard of glass, turning the skin white where the pressure was applied. Her palms left murky brown-red marks on the metal, evidence of what she had done. This was not the image Phobius would want to see.
Wiping her hands and her face on her shirt, Aislyn forced herself to the bed. There was a reason Aislyn kept up her illusion, buried somewhere deep. A reason she kept making a better image for him- an image he would want to see.
And, as much as Aislyn really didn’t want to admit it, that reason probably had something to do with trust.
OOCMinor control of Phobius done with approval
[967]
~
The line between ILLUSION and REALITY
is one I am willing to cross
