The same endless grief that has eaten away at his heart in bygone years emerges once again, painfully clear in their Communion. It feels like it has actual weight to it - The feeling of his future stretched out before him that promises nothing but an endless succession of days. The endless despair that the Kenoma feeds on day by day.
His words that follow in the Communion are said quietly. "He was not just my son. As I held him in my arms when he was just a babe, I felt hope that I had long since lost."
Emet-Selch stands from his throne and begins his way toward the door Howl attends. Notably, his steps seem more laborious than a few moments before. He stops just in front of Howl and looks down with such contempt on his face. The words he says out loud have a bitter edge to them. "...But there is no hope. You are weak, frail, and attached to your limited perspective. Your people have always left my heart broken, and I wonder why I am such a fool for allowing myself to love you at all."
The room around them fades like a dream. It shifts to the interior of a larger room with a lavish canopy bed, red and gold tapestries, and finely sculpted decorum at each corner. Sun peeks through a curtain at the opposite end of the room and with it the only source of light.
The shade of a chirurgeon kneels by the bedside. They reach across the bed and pull a white sheet up and over the head of the person who lies motionless upon it. One can briefly glimpse a deathly pale young man with golden hair reminiscent of Howl's. Their golden eyes - which so closely resemble Emet-Selch's own - look empty as they stare at the ceiling.
He casts his glance to the bed. His voice raises as he is overwrought with emotion. "How many times must I watch you bleed? How long must I kneel at your bedside to tend to your wounds? How many times must I watch as you become your own undoing before it is finally enough?"
no subject
His words that follow in the Communion are said quietly. "He was not just my son. As I held him in my arms when he was just a babe, I felt hope that I had long since lost."
Emet-Selch stands from his throne and begins his way toward the door Howl attends. Notably, his steps seem more laborious than a few moments before. He stops just in front of Howl and looks down with such contempt on his face. The words he says out loud have a bitter edge to them. "...But there is no hope. You are weak, frail, and attached to your limited perspective. Your people have always left my heart broken, and I wonder why I am such a fool for allowing myself to love you at all."
The room around them fades like a dream. It shifts to the interior of a larger room with a lavish canopy bed, red and gold tapestries, and finely sculpted decorum at each corner. Sun peeks through a curtain at the opposite end of the room and with it the only source of light.
The shade of a chirurgeon kneels by the bedside. They reach across the bed and pull a white sheet up and over the head of the person who lies motionless upon it. One can briefly glimpse a deathly pale young man with golden hair reminiscent of Howl's. Their golden eyes - which so closely resemble Emet-Selch's own - look empty as they stare at the ceiling.
He casts his glance to the bed. His voice raises as he is overwrought with emotion. "How many times must I watch you bleed? How long must I kneel at your bedside to tend to your wounds? How many times must I watch as you become your own undoing before it is finally enough?"