{ Hamilton Starters | Accepting }
The rhythmic scratching of her quill came to a halt, the ink drying in the wake of her consideration toward his words. It was always this way now, feeling as though conversation was trapped somewhere inside of her, locked beneath the screams that still bubbled inside of her throat. As though if she were to risk parting her lips and let any sound escape at all, she must be certain to have the right words and only them – for to linger, to let noise froth itself forward she risked the wave of raw horror breaking past behind each syllable.
It was an unbearable existence at times like these, when an answer was expected and the art of conversation was believed to be something one did not forget after learning it the once. With care, she set her pen into its hold, fingers reaching for dust to aid the ink in drying as though these meticulous and methodical actions could bring to bear a storm too great for one soul alone to carry.
“It is where I feel safe,” She offered him the truth, though there were more things she could say, to clarify it. Simplicity in times of great internal chaos was, perhaps, the mortar upon which the dam within her was built. “The more that I write, the quieter it gets inside of me.”
Finally, she looked over at him, once more allowing herself to see the man the pirate had become. It was strange – unnerving, even – to see in him the return of a softness she could feel slipping from her own grasp with every passing day. The good of the world was returning for him – and she hoped it would continue to treat him kindly. She did not begrudge him, though she did hope she could learn from him some means of strength, some capacity to hold on to the light that seemed to be growing dimmer with every nightmarish memory.
“It is too loud, still, for me to stop.” That she feared it may never again grow quiet, she had not the power or will to admit.
Ocean Archive 