Awareness dropped. The Song, his waveform: dispersed. His face wiped clean of emotions in an instant--he stood there dumbly, gaping at his youngest sibling. The aggressor to this crime was frozen, held by constraints of shock he didn't know he kept.
Nigredo had kept to the link between them when it should have been abandoned. Kept to, and sent, a memory of something he didn't remember speaking (that he remembered speaking), from a time that didn't happen (from a time all too clear), and perfectly Nigredo gave it to him, flawed only in content, not execution. But he, too, then. Had sent it--gave it flawed. He wouldn't call judgment on that. Here, it was close enough. It would have been done, one or the other of the two halves, and it was the truth. They were a pair of hearts in hollow graves, rotten, and rotting others; their vengeance like two chained bullets--brothers. Like treason, like the plague, and they took much in blood. But yet Nigredo continued, like the two guards of hades had not given rise to things that would plague his sleep.
No sweet and golden dream, for now Albedo woke.
Forgiveness?! If Nigredo knew the words he was speaking, and how did he know those words, was that what he spoke?! Forgiveness?! Something that could not be granted, should not be granted, not by him, and not for him. Forgiveness?! He didn't ask for forgiveness, didn't require the concept, and here Nigredo spoke, and here he offered on bended knee--twins, tied to destruction, and the third to reconcile? It was too wondrous, too marvelous, too tinged with disbelief. Albedo blinked in something like wonder, paused, and considered this choice in time.
...But Nigredo had offered his hand, and Albedo would see if the youngest knew how to dance.
The entity rotated a wrist, holding out a hand perfunctorily. His face grew solemn, serious--eyes angling respectful, bordering welcoming. He didn't send, however. No, he wouldn't. Not in this. "So you tell me? Sins have been forgiven? Have I loved much? But those who are forgiven little, love little." He gained a tightness to his mouth, leaned back on the lines that currently defined them. "An ancient truth, perhaps. That kindred do commonly worse agree than remote strangers."
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Nigredo had kept to the link between them when it should have been abandoned. Kept to, and sent, a memory of something he didn't remember speaking (that he remembered speaking), from a time that didn't happen (from a time all too clear), and perfectly Nigredo gave it to him, flawed only in content, not execution. But he, too, then. Had sent it--gave it flawed. He wouldn't call judgment on that. Here, it was close enough. It would have been done, one or the other of the two halves, and it was the truth. They were a pair of hearts in hollow graves, rotten, and rotting others; their vengeance like two chained bullets--brothers. Like treason, like the plague, and they took much in blood. But yet Nigredo continued, like the two guards of hades had not given rise to things that would plague his sleep.
No sweet and golden dream, for now Albedo woke.
Forgiveness?! If Nigredo knew the words he was speaking, and how did he know those words, was that what he spoke?! Forgiveness?! Something that could not be granted, should not be granted, not by him, and not for him. Forgiveness?! He didn't ask for forgiveness, didn't require the concept, and here Nigredo spoke, and here he offered on bended knee--twins, tied to destruction, and the third to reconcile? It was too wondrous, too marvelous, too tinged with disbelief. Albedo blinked in something like wonder, paused, and considered this choice in time.
...But Nigredo had offered his hand, and Albedo would see if the youngest knew how to dance.
The entity rotated a wrist, holding out a hand perfunctorily. His face grew solemn, serious--eyes angling respectful, bordering welcoming. He didn't send, however. No, he wouldn't. Not in this. "So you tell me? Sins have been forgiven? Have I loved much? But those who are forgiven little, love little." He gained a tightness to his mouth, leaned back on the lines that currently defined them. "An ancient truth, perhaps. That kindred do commonly worse agree than remote strangers."