such expensive mistakes

He listens raptly to her explanation: ears forward, eyes soft. Some kind of peace has fallen over them, settled between them. Here in their island amidst the rain. It is still a constant music outside: the chatter of many cold voices meeting the rocks. But Seiji's eyes are on the wound; his ears focus not on the rain but the soft sound of her voice. She speaks a name, one he doesn't know, and his head tilts enquiringly. Kisamoa? A god of some sort? Or an alchemist? He wonders if he ought to find this Kisamoa. Ask it what it knows.... But his eyes study the wound again. An ugly thing. An evil thing. He feels a surge of dislike for this Kisamoa, whoever it is. Either a cruel man or a very careless man. He wonders if he would be able to remain polite, should he encounter it. Possibly. But glancing up at Kiada's face, thinking of how lonely she sounded speaking about her family, he thinks: possibly not. He feels he ought to say something, do something cheerful, but he isn't sure what. Outside, the rain continues to fall. Then she says something else, and Seiji's ears twitch. A kind of surprise falling over his face. Me? He shakes his head. No, no! The Rift has done nothing to him; it has been maddeningly kind thus far. Kind, and yet it continues to hide from him the only thing he came seeking. The thing it took... He wishes for what feels the thousandth time he could explain some piece of it. He would feel better, telling someone. Even admitting his own mistakes. He had never sought to hide them; everyone knows what became of him. Well — what happened. Perhaps they think he died. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Shakes his head. He isn't sure it communicates anything other than his current condition, though he wishes to let her know he was speechless before he came here. It is here..... It is here he hopes to rectify the fact. But she probably shouldn't know that, should she?

img by Tildae @ flickr

@Kiada