[The step in and the hand up don't send her flinching away. She looks back to him with half her face veiled, by hair and hovering hand alike. It's not a fit that can stop easily. Too fresh. The inciting sentiment too grand for her grim trains of thought. They each derail in spectacular collisions, no survivors.
And of course there is Gale. He'd supervised the slitting of her throat. Helped arrange the plan, organized the kids. But there's also the Gale that was doomed. Arcane bomb ticking away in his chest. It's gone off once already, and his sad carcass was dragged here and resuscitated to wait on a new chopping block.
She doesn't want to think of him as a villain. Because he's not. He's running on the same borrowed time as the rest of them, with the same mixed blessing she now has.
Camille doesn't turn away. She lifts a hand in turn. Catches his. Winds her fingers through his own, grip soft over his knuckles, palm dwarfed against his. She still paints a perfect picture of misery, all red blotches and tear tracks, but she holds fast.]
I'm no saint, Gale. I've got a lot to be sorry for.
Grits teeth, i love this for them
And of course there is Gale. He'd supervised the slitting of her throat. Helped arrange the plan, organized the kids. But there's also the Gale that was doomed. Arcane bomb ticking away in his chest. It's gone off once already, and his sad carcass was dragged here and resuscitated to wait on a new chopping block.
She doesn't want to think of him as a villain. Because he's not. He's running on the same borrowed time as the rest of them, with the same mixed blessing she now has.
Camille doesn't turn away. She lifts a hand in turn. Catches his. Winds her fingers through his own, grip soft over his knuckles, palm dwarfed against his. She still paints a perfect picture of misery, all red blotches and tear tracks, but she holds fast.]
I'm no saint, Gale. I've got a lot to be sorry for.
[Her grip tightens.]
But I guess now we've got one thing in common.