[ Gray hates to cry, despite how much she ends up doing it. She's fragile — too afraid, too sensitive, too soft, though she doesn't know why she continues to be this way. She was taught how to be tough and survive, but those things never penetrated down to her personality. She feels often like she's only being tolerated, first for her gravekeeping skills, then for her apprenticeship to a Lord, and now for her status as an Aion. She sees no reason otherwise why anyone would want such a dull, drab girl around, who only knows how to shy away and be awkward.
So she really doesn't know why someone like Eustace would come to care about her well-being. It could just be his natural sense of obligation and kindness. Aside from that, she couldn't begin to guess. But she, selfishly, isn't strong enough to do without the comfort he offers. The slight tightening of his hold on her is a trigger; her arms squeeze desperately around him and her face buries into his shoulder. She should feel sorrier that she's using his clothing as a handkerchief, but for the moment she finds solace in the solid warmth of his hug, poor facsimile as it may be.
She sniffles into his shoulder for a bit longer, but eventually her tears subside. When it feels like she can face him again without being a complete blubbery mess, she wipes her face on her sleeve, taking off the last feathers hanging on there at the same time. She'll probably be shedding the feathers stuck in her clothes for a while yet, but at least they and the small horn on her forehead are on their way out.
She finally draws back, readjusting her hood out of habit, and takes a steadying breath. Though it's embarrassing and her face is probably a splotchy mess, she does her best to look at him directly, her expression a restrained wobble. ]
... Thank you, Mr. Eustace. I'm sorry you had to see something so pitiful.
[ Crying as a child, crying now... maybe she hasn't changed that much after all. ]
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So she really doesn't know why someone like Eustace would come to care about her well-being. It could just be his natural sense of obligation and kindness. Aside from that, she couldn't begin to guess. But she, selfishly, isn't strong enough to do without the comfort he offers. The slight tightening of his hold on her is a trigger; her arms squeeze desperately around him and her face buries into his shoulder. She should feel sorrier that she's using his clothing as a handkerchief, but for the moment she finds solace in the solid warmth of his hug, poor facsimile as it may be.
She sniffles into his shoulder for a bit longer, but eventually her tears subside. When it feels like she can face him again without being a complete blubbery mess, she wipes her face on her sleeve, taking off the last feathers hanging on there at the same time. She'll probably be shedding the feathers stuck in her clothes for a while yet, but at least they and the small horn on her forehead are on their way out.
She finally draws back, readjusting her hood out of habit, and takes a steadying breath. Though it's embarrassing and her face is probably a splotchy mess, she does her best to look at him directly, her expression a restrained wobble. ]
... Thank you, Mr. Eustace. I'm sorry you had to see something so pitiful.
[ Crying as a child, crying now... maybe she hasn't changed that much after all. ]