[ Everything is jumbled in her mind. Memories play disjointedly, voices ring in her ears, and she feels the spike of terror and panic rise in her. She knows all of it has passed. She knows that Emet-Selch has been laid to rest, that the recreation of Amaurot will disappear one day, and that the First is safe. She is home on the Source, in Ishgard, and was going to greet her betrothed when he was home. Even knowing this, and her rational mind is desperately trying to grasp that, she feels as if she is in a never ending wheel of memories and emotions that play over and over again.
Weary wanderer... no fight left to fight. No life left to live!
The white robes created to mimic those of white mages in elden days do little to help in this moment. While not pure white as her and K'thisru's hands had been, it is close enough to bring forth the memories. Before Aymeric can reach her, she jerks as if hearing a loud sound. A gun shot. It rings in her ears and a beloved friend--the one her sister adores--falls to the ground. Sound hazes in and out once more, cries from soldiers of the Crystarium as the sin eaters fall on them, the gentle sounds of waves hitting sunken buildings. Votenburg--Ishgard. Home. All fallen to ruin and fire...
...you will succumb to your base instincts and hunt innocents to feast on their sweet, sweet aether.
No, no--no. She is a healer, not a monster. She uses her aether and the ambient aether around her to heal wounds, mend bones, and ease minds. The elementals of the Black Shroud entrusted her with the soul crystal of white mages from thousands of years ago. They entrusted it to her--to learn from, to grow, to teach it new experiences to perhaps train another white mage after her. She does not feast on aether... she would not... she could not...
K'thisru needs her. Aymeric needs her. The twins, Eorzea. The First. She's a Warrior of Light--
--Lantaa?
Her ears twitch underneath her white hood at the sound of her name; her real name. The voice voice gently pushes through Emet-Selch's anger and haunting words. His voice: her knight. The one she loves with all her heart and soul. The one who always finds her no matter where she might be to bring her home. Her hands raise, shaking uncontrollably, reaching out for him before the rest of her mind can even catch up to the notion.
Alkaid pivots towards him, hands finally finding the sash on his familiar armor. Her two-toned eyes raise to look at his figure, still obscured by her hood. The thought comes to her mind as to wondering why he is in his armor. He is Lord Speaker now, with no need for armor at home, unless something is wrong. Had an attack come while she was away? Or, was it simply habit? Her fingers curl into the sash. Then, she leans against him, her whole body shaking with tremors that the rational side of her mind tries to quell.
If he is present with her, then, she truly cannot be a monster. Everything is behind her. She attempts to say his name. All that leaves her is a cry that mimics the way his name sounds before her head presses to his chest. The cry becomes a sob. Aymeric is there, which means she truly is home, and far away from the memories her mind wishes to haunt her with. ]
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Weary wanderer... no fight left to fight. No life left to live!
The white robes created to mimic those of white mages in elden days do little to help in this moment. While not pure white as her and K'thisru's hands had been, it is close enough to bring forth the memories. Before Aymeric can reach her, she jerks as if hearing a loud sound. A gun shot. It rings in her ears and a beloved friend--the one her sister adores--falls to the ground. Sound hazes in and out once more, cries from soldiers of the Crystarium as the sin eaters fall on them, the gentle sounds of waves hitting sunken buildings. Votenburg--Ishgard. Home. All fallen to ruin and fire...
...you will succumb to your base instincts and hunt innocents to feast on their sweet, sweet aether.
No, no--no. She is a healer, not a monster. She uses her aether and the ambient aether around her to heal wounds, mend bones, and ease minds. The elementals of the Black Shroud entrusted her with the soul crystal of white mages from thousands of years ago. They entrusted it to her--to learn from, to grow, to teach it new experiences to perhaps train another white mage after her. She does not feast on aether... she would not... she could not...
K'thisru needs her. Aymeric needs her. The twins, Eorzea. The First. She's a Warrior of Light--
--Lantaa?
Her ears twitch underneath her white hood at the sound of her name; her real name. The voice voice gently pushes through Emet-Selch's anger and haunting words. His voice: her knight. The one she loves with all her heart and soul. The one who always finds her no matter where she might be to bring her home. Her hands raise, shaking uncontrollably, reaching out for him before the rest of her mind can even catch up to the notion.
Alkaid pivots towards him, hands finally finding the sash on his familiar armor. Her two-toned eyes raise to look at his figure, still obscured by her hood. The thought comes to her mind as to wondering why he is in his armor. He is Lord Speaker now, with no need for armor at home, unless something is wrong. Had an attack come while she was away? Or, was it simply habit? Her fingers curl into the sash. Then, she leans against him, her whole body shaking with tremors that the rational side of her mind tries to quell.
If he is present with her, then, she truly cannot be a monster. Everything is behind her. She attempts to say his name. All that leaves her is a cry that mimics the way his name sounds before her head presses to his chest. The cry becomes a sob. Aymeric is there, which means she truly is home, and far away from the memories her mind wishes to haunt her with. ]