I'm not going to wish for something superficial, not if it means one of you has to keep going through hell.
[Superficial to others, perhaps. Everyone would see it as a vanity. Especially considering what the plan is. Why bother heal herself if she's going to be dead soon anyway?
Except that her words aren't just whispering to her anymore. They're shrieking, in warped and cacophonous voices. Consumed by the burns, three doses of flame and miasma rendering her skin into an unknowable bubbled mess. She's lucky to still be mobile. Or alive. She keeps crying whenever she gets a moment to herself, grief not just for friends but for her slipping sanity. The reflection.
Her scars, as damning as they were, had calmed her. Been carved by her hand, chosen, arranged. The fire wrote them over with an alien mess. Stole her own body from her. Frankly, she misses it more than the hand or the eye.]
...Well. I don't — [Camille closes her eyes, sighs long. Wets her lips.] Asa, it's not that I want to put more on your shoulders. I can take care of it myself, really. I don't want you feeling obligated.
I just know that there's a lot of useful things in the swamp, and a lot of problems that need to get solved. Of all the worlds I've gotten to see here, yours ranks top three in the most fucked up.
I don't want you getting out of one hell and landing in another. So, if this is how I can help, then...I'm open to it. But I don't want to weigh on your conscience, either. I can't demand that of you, not after all that you've been through.
cw: self harm talk/mental health/body trauma shame
[Superficial to others, perhaps. Everyone would see it as a vanity. Especially considering what the plan is. Why bother heal herself if she's going to be dead soon anyway?
Except that her words aren't just whispering to her anymore. They're shrieking, in warped and cacophonous voices. Consumed by the burns, three doses of flame and miasma rendering her skin into an unknowable bubbled mess. She's lucky to still be mobile. Or alive. She keeps crying whenever she gets a moment to herself, grief not just for friends but for her slipping sanity. The reflection.
Her scars, as damning as they were, had calmed her. Been carved by her hand, chosen, arranged. The fire wrote them over with an alien mess. Stole her own body from her. Frankly, she misses it more than the hand or the eye.]
...Well. I don't — [Camille closes her eyes, sighs long. Wets her lips.] Asa, it's not that I want to put more on your shoulders. I can take care of it myself, really. I don't want you feeling obligated.
I just know that there's a lot of useful things in the swamp, and a lot of problems that need to get solved. Of all the worlds I've gotten to see here, yours ranks top three in the most fucked up.
I don't want you getting out of one hell and landing in another. So, if this is how I can help, then...I'm open to it. But I don't want to weigh on your conscience, either. I can't demand that of you, not after all that you've been through.