aionlogs | EVENT #3: THE COST OF INNOCENCE

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EVENT #3: THE COST OF INNOCENCE

The Cost of Innocence

INVESTIGATION

As the Aions arrive in Venera, they will find the natural beauty of the city in sharp contrast to its uncomfortable aura. Though the sun still shines and flowers still bloom in a place filled with physical vibrancy and life, the air itself is impossibly still, as if wind no longer blows. You can taste the stagnancy of it when you breathe, and the pleasant sights only make that feeling of absence more haunting. The streets are mostly empty, with most of the city's residents hiding away in their homes, fearing the touch of whatever illness has caused this. That is, all the citizens besides those most affected, who wander the streets in a lifeless and painless daze.

Normally, Venera would be occupied by both Hylician and Achamite soldiers, but it quickly becomes apparent that both have abandoned the city, only guarding its furthest outskirts. Their reasons vary: the Achamite soldiers seem to take religious objection to the feeling of the city, believing it to be some trickery of the Innocent, while the Hylicians simply see it as a plague they have no interest in catching or spreading. Because of this, it will be easy for Aions of both sects to explore with little pushback from any form of law enforcement. The Kenoma will be directed into the city with warnings about the potential physical and spiritual danger while Pleroma will be able to sneak in mostly unbothered. After all, no one is eager to follow you.

Most shops and businesses are currently closed, though some uninfected individuals still nervously keep watch over their workplaces, fearing potential looting. It's difficult, but not impossible, to find people to talk to, and while the most plentiful wanderers are the infected, the reactions from those with their minds still intact will vary. Some will be eager to speak to anyone who looks like they're trying to do something about their situation, desperate for any source of outside help. If revealed you are an Aion, this may either entice them even further or cause them to retreat, as if fearing that you are somehow to blame for their plight. For those that are enticed, it will become clear that they hold onto faith that Aions are in Horos to save them, and will tell these new arrivals whatever they can without discriminating between sects.

The base level information that can be found is thus: the infection began at the same levels it has been in the rest of Horos, only for the numbers of the afflicted to rapidly accelerate upon the coming of the Innocent's Moon. Some see it as a form of divine punishment for their cooperation with the Regent, while the less cooperative citizens see it as a malady brought about by the Aions themselves, their only hope being that they will be able to clean up the mess they made. Some citizen have managed to corral their inflicted loves ones into their rooms and will be willing to introduce you; most of these individuals are past the point of conversation, and seem fully lost to whatever fantasy world they are experiencing. They are disinterested in eating or drinking and it seems like, without help, they are destined for a slow death of starvation and atrophy. That is, if their apathetic state doesn't result in a severe accident, as it has in many cases already.

Any other clues will take more dogged investigation. It will be a day or so after the majority of Aions have arrived in the city that the first signs of their own infections become clear.

HEAVENLY BODIES

The first to feel its effects will be the Innocents, Lovers, and Celebrants; like a voice has fully awakening to them, whispering of how their touch can be the cure to the others' pain. It bids them to take their fellow Aions into their loving embrace, to share this gift, as only suffering lies ahead. It expresses without words that it will be a shield for their Aion kindred, and that those that accept will become their outstretched hands to a cosmos that craves peace. Any form of physical contact with those three Legacies will either introduce or rapidly accelerate the infections experienced by the others, this effect only becoming more intense if the wielder intentionally forces the power of this strange entity into their victims.

Even without that accelerating touch, however, other Aions are not necessarily safe; the infection will still seep in, albeit more slowly. All Aions may experience a growing feeling of connection to the infected Venerans, as if the energy within them is being drawn into their their own bodies. As the Aion's symptoms worsen, the the ones suffered by the Venerans will gradually lessen, though not go away entirely. It seems that the Aions soaking up this strange power is enough to take the edge off of what is happening to the citizens: but at what cost?

Various symptoms will manifest in afflicted Aions with outcomes far more diverse and devastating than what the Veneran civilians have experienced. Visionaries, Firebrands, and Artisans will suffer the most catastrophic symptoms, the clash between their spiritual natures and that of the Innocence being the most extreme. This malady is characterized by its innate desire to quell its victims of their resistance, smothering them in artificial peace, even if it has to deprive them of their bodies and minds to do so.

It is not without treatment, however. It will gradually become apparent that feelings of intense suffering or upset are capable of purging the infection, that clash with painful reality seeming to wake them up from their trance and reduce or eliminate physical symptoms. The more intense the distress, the more effective it will be. Fortunately, this heightening of Aion spiritual energy has the added consequence of making empathic communion connections far more acute. Instead of just transmitting and receiving emotions and thoughts, Aions will find themselves more easily able to enter the delusions and memories of their kindred, drawing them out and manipulating them for this purpose. The catch is that they will only be able to access what is on the surface of the other Aion's mind.

When an infection is reduced or expelled this way, the energy causing it seems to be dispelled from the city, lowering the intensity of its ambient effects. While similar can be done to Veneran citizens to help treat them, the energy will not leave, and will either go into the Aion casting it out or return to the nebulous source of Innocence and eventually infect someone else. Something about going through the Aions specifically seems to act as a filter, as unpleasant of a way as it is to help.

IN THE SILENCE

For those unlucky enough to develop complete, or near complete, infections (IE. a full Innocence petrification) a presence will awaken within them regardless of their Legacy. It will urge them to join with it, to embrace the peace it offers, and to become the extensions of their will in this ravaged world. With an infection of this intensity, there will be little they can do but to hear its call. What exactly this would ultimately entail is unclear, but there is the sense that his entity is looking to join with you on a spiritual level. If your character becomes infected to this degree please let us know under the Committed Actions toplevel below along with the context of that transformation and whether or not they are being cured from it. You may receive some additional information in return!

QUESTIONS

What is the best way for Aions to travel to Venera?
The quickest travel paths are for Kenoma to take a boat from Achamoth, which will take about a day, and for Pleroma to teleport to the Celebrant's shrine and take either a carriage or river boat to the city (there are offshoot rivers not marked on the setting map). The riverboats would be the faster option option of the two, and would also take about a day. The carriages/delivery carts would be slower and take a couple days, but have relay access to horses and therefore could keep going overnight. Characters with flight are also able to use that, though flying right into the city might cause a bit of spectacle. Then again, none of the local law enforcement is eager to chase you at the moment.

Are Veneran civilians experiencing the same symptoms as the Aions?
Veneran civilians are only experiencing apathy/loss of self/daydreaming and maybe the loss of pigments/color for advanced cases. The more body horror orientated effects are Aion only and are being caused by their body's spiritual makeup.

Can 'cured' Aions be reinfected?
Yes! Even if cured or treated, symptoms can return or worsen again. This will keep happening until the build up of Innocence energy in Venera is entirely expunged, at which point the illness will fade away across the continent. Whether or not the Aions mere presence will be enough to trigger that is yet unknown, but it does seem to be helping lessen the effects suffered by the civilians, at least.

How long does the infection period last in Aions?
Chronologically, we are considering the infection period of the plot to last 2-3 days.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ When Eustace finds Gray, he might notice right off the bat that the contagion has a deep hold on her. She's cloaked in drab layers as always, but her clothes are puffed up to an extreme, almost comically so. White feathers spill from her sleeves and out of her hood, covering her face with such belligerence that it isn't immediately obvious whether she can still see or breathe. A single horn pokes out of the plumage from her forehead, simple and solid over the chaotic fluff of feathers beneath.

She's sunk into such a deep reverie that she's unresponsive to stimuli, seeming only to stand and stare into space. The only way to contact her is to step into her mindscape......

...... But first, he'll have to locate her.

He'll find himself in a small village in danger of fading away, an arrangement of old stone buildings clinging to the side of a steep mountain. No more than a hundred people live there, but they're out in force; a celebration is clearly afoot. The people laugh, weep, and embrace with joy, breaking out their precious stores of drink to thump their mugs together and revel in the great fortune that's been bestowed on their village today. Their joy borders on madness.

Some of the villagers look surprised to see Eustace, but their celebratory spirit ultimately wins, and they'll be happy to offer him as much beer as he likes. "The child is blessed," they explain with faces filled with rapture. "Finally, our work has come to fruition."

But soon, a particular villager will approach Eustace. It's a large, statuesque man of roughly 50 years, his austere expression so deeply set that his face might crack if he speaks. But speak he does, and his face remains intact. "Guest, if you intend to stay here, you must follow our rules," he says, his voice deep. "First, pray to the statue of the Holy Mother. You'll find it within the church." Without waiting for any questions, he gestures to the ivy-clad church at the northernmost end of the village before walking away.

Inside, the church is spacious with a high ceiling, clean and well-kept; the villagers are clearly devout. And it's quiet, the heavy doors completely cutting off the festive celebration without. It's so quiet that an Erune could conceivably make out the quiet sniffling coming from the back of the church, behind the black statue of the Holy Mother standing there with a face full of majesty, as proud as a general. If Eustace observes it closely enough, he might find a mature resemblance in its features to someone else he knows.

In contrast to the dark nobility of the Holy Mother, the little gray-haired girl crammed into the shadow of the statue is misery personified. No more than six years old, her tiny frame is swallowed up in a woolen shawl that covers her head like a hood. She's weeping into her raised knees, but slowly, exhausted. The free track of tears down her face suggests that she hasn't tried to wipe any of them away (and in fact, she's afraid to). She pays no mind to the sound of someone entering the church except to curl up tighter, trying not to give away her hiding spot. ]

[ Luckily for Gray (and unluckily for Eustace) he's been on this merry-go-round of despair a few times now, enough to have formed an inkling of what it takes to dispel the worst of the contagion and its quickly rooting side effects. The spread of innocence is worse than he fears when a few shakes of her slender shoulders result in little more than a loll of her head, and it's with grit teeth and a silent apology that he intrudes on the privacy of her mindscape to track down her (hopefully still) intact soul.

The ongoing festival (or whatever it is) has him frowning, but the confusion yields quickly to rising suspicion the more the townspeople murmur in blissful voices. There's something deeply uncomfortable about the atmosphere, bordering on fanatic. A religious town? Gray's never mentioned anything about growing up in one. Then again, he'd never asked.

His shoulders stiffen as one particular man looms into his vicinity, his response to the instructions given barely more than a muted noise of acknowledgement. Personally, he has no desire to pay homage to anything, unknown deity or effigy or otherwise, but if the Gray in this scene is anything like the Gray he knows, she won't be anywhere near the festivities regardless. May as well try the church.

Predictably, he does not pray to the Holy Mother as soon as he steps foot inside the church, though he does spend a good minute staring at her visage, frown etching itself even deeper at the familiarity. Instead he stands at the entrance, ears and eyes sifting through the streaks of shadow in search of a small hooded shape or the even keel of awake breathing. Neither make themselves known immediately, though a different sound filters its way into his ears, one far more worrying.

His shoes click-clack across the cold stone floor and around the statue before Eustace drops to a crouch in front of Little Miss Crybaby. ]

Gray?

[ A single word, said as softly as he can manage, but it still manages to echo throughout the church. ]

[ Little Miss Crybaby listens with listless dread as the footsteps approach, a set of footsteps she isn't familiar with. The steady, solid cadence comes from shoes of a different make from the soft, overly worn boots of her fellow villagers. Either way, she draws the shawl so low over her face that she could be a sheet ghost, and shies away from the direction the footsteps are coming up on.

Not that it makes a difference in the end; the stranger stops in front of her in such a way that it becomes clear they're here to see her. She huddles sideways into the base of the statue, praying to the Holy Mother she's crammed against that the stranger will go away. Alas, it isn't to be. He speaks her name instead, his deep voice filling the church and solidifying his stranger status.

She doesn't really know what to do about that. Maybe the other villagers told him about her. Either way, he seems to have no intention of leaving her alone, so after a very long moment she sniffs and finally speaks up, her young voice muffled and wobbly. ]

Is... everyone still celebrating?

[ She looks absolutely wretched curled in on herself like that, oversized shawl practically hiding her from view. A stark contrast to the festivities going on in full force beyond the church, and also the Gray he knows, shy but not so frail as to crumble with a single touch.

He stays where he is, still hunkered down in front of her, voice still pitched low and even. ]

They are. You didn't want to celebrate with them?

[ Not that he can really blame her; it takes a certain type to enjoy the manic energy that spreads through the village. Still, somehow he doubts a simple dislike of crowds is why she's hiding back here crying her heart out. Most kids like parties, don't they? Even if he knows practically nothing about Gray and her childhood, it's not so hard to imagine she could have had some sort of normalcy growing up.

"The child is blessed," he hears again. An uneasy feeling crawls down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. ]

[ There's an extended pause as she grapples with his question. There are things she shouldn't say, and would never say to her fellow villagers. But it wouldn't matter so much to an outsider. And for some reason, even though she hasn't even seen what he looks like yet, she gets a distant feeling that she can trust him. Maybe that's just her yearning to talk to someone, maybe the only person she'll be able to confess to ever. ]

You can't tell anyone.

[ She prefaces with a childish demand. She hasn't even told him what it is he can't tell anyone yet... ]

And you have to promise... that you won't like my face.

[ One of her hands peeks out of the shawl toward him, pinky extended. She'll only accept the most sacred of promises from him, the pinky promise. ]

[ What an absolutely baffling request. Dislike her face?

The fact that he's already seen her face and felt complete indifference towards it aside, what kind of child goes around making strangers promise to not like their physical features? What the hell is going on in this place?

There's a moment of reluctant silence as he grapples with his answer. He's not in the habit of making promises only to break them, but this seems the only way forward to uncovering the mystery of why Gray is out here crying to herself. Finally, he relents, an unhappy breath escaping out as he adds lying to his already large pile of sins. ]

Sure. I promise.

[ He reaches out, much larger hand dwarfing hers as he curls his pinky around hers and gives it a small squeeze. It reminds him of a different place and a different time and of a different little girl sitting at a dinner table with her hand outstretched expectantly. ]

[ She solemnly squeezes his pinky back. With his oath secured, she retracts her hand so that she can slowly pull her shawl back just enough to breath comfortably again. Most of her face is still obscured, especially with her gaze lowered, but there's nothing there he would find surprising. She looks just like he might expect a younger version of her to look. ]

I'm scared... because I don't think my face is changing back. But everyone is so happy...

[ Every person she's ever known looked into her face, and one by one, their own faces twisted into supreme elation bordering on alien. She shivers and hugs her legs closer, warmth prickling at her eyes once again. How is she supposed to say out loud that she wants her own face back? ]

It's good that they're happy... right?

[ Her wobbly voice breaks then, and she's already crying again. She wishes she could stop for a moment, but she can't help it. ]

[ What little face he can see peeking out from the shadow of the shawl does indeed look like the face he's always known. That's not the disturbing part. What fills him with deep unease is the fact that apparently what he'd always assumed to be a normal part of her had apparently never been hers to begin with.

Reflexively, his gaze lifts to the statue looming over Gray. The Holy Mother, whose back is to him but whose face he can still envision clearly in his mind.

Had the celebration outside been the tail end of some freak ritual dedicated to their idol of choice? He's not unfamiliar with the concept of religion and there are plenty of villages out in the skydoms that hold yearly festivals and rituals in honor of some greater being, but none had ever involved completely reshaping the lives of innocent children against their will.

Instead of answering right away, he shifts his weight, pushing up just enough onto his feet that he can step forward and around, changing his position so he can drop into a sit next to Gray. Maybe it'll be easier for her if she doesn't have to worry about him staring at her face, the apparent topic of her woes. ]

Were they the ones that…changed your face? The villagers?

[ He'll get to her question in a bit. ]

[ His thoughtfulness has merit; a subtle pressure recedes from her as moves aside, and as she hasn't yet developed her skittishness toward contact, his presence next to her feels comfortable. There's a wet sniffle before she shakes her head clumsily, her whole body swaying with the movement. ]

I don't know. I don't think so. They were surprised too.

[ She hadn't even considered the possibility that someone did this to her on purpose. No one claimed to have done it to her, and besides, she isn't sure how that would even be possible. Magic, maybe. ]

I was alone when it started. Last night... 'til this morning. I thought my face was breaking. I could feel... everything.

[ She didn't think there were so many muscles in her face or that bones could bend. The pain was beyond her ability to describe. ]

[ Good god.

His face contorts with revulsion as her words creep out, absolutely horrified at the nightmarish scenario she'd been forced to go through all alone. Beneath the horror are the embers of anger, immediately stoked into a small flame by the remembrance of the villagers with their elated faces and joyous chanting. No one should be happy to witness the mangling of a child's face.

In his lap, his hands curl into fists, nails scoring small half-moons into his palm. But he keeps his voice steady, not wanting to upset Gray even further. ]

Does it still hurt?

[ Physically, that is. ]

[ She shakes her head again. ]

Only a little.

[ It's a phantom pain, an echo of the agony that tore at her throughout the night. Even if her face feels sore and wrong, she can only be thankful that she now has the luxury of uncurling and turning her mind away from the avid terror that the pain might never end. Though she's afraid that her face might stay this way forever, she's just as afraid of having to endure another night like the last one in order to get her old face back.

Though Eustace's voice is calm, she feels a vague sense of unhappiness from him. She glances at him and sees the tight clench of his fists. ]

... You don't have to stay if you don't want to.

[ She says so quietly, resigned. She assumes he only came to the church to pay homage to the Holy Mother and got caught up listening to her. He should be outside enjoying the festivities. She can't imagine he climbed up the mountain just to hang out with a crying little girl. ]

[ Her reassurance does little in calming his bubbling anger, growing in magnitude and beginning to cloud his judgement.

Thankfully, her words are a reminder of why he'd even come here in the first place. Not to snoop dig through her personal history (sorry again, Gray) but to drag her out of it and back to the present. ]

I don't.

[ Want to stay, that is. Which he makes clear by moving yet again, the fabric of his clothes rustling as he pushes himself back up to a stand. But there's no further click of footsteps back down and out of the church, carrying him away from this accursed village&mdashand Gray. Instead, he remains standing in front of her, one hand on his hip. ]

Do you want to stay here?

[ Spending her days crying behind a statue while the people around her gaze at her with an unholy fanaticism. Of course, it doesn't really matter what she says. He's taking her out of this place even if he has to do it while she's kicking and screaming. ]

[ She's fully prepared for him to stride out of her life as suddenly as he entered it, but when he asks her a baffling question instead, she looks up at him with budding confusion, probably the furthest from active misery she's been since last night. She thinks he must be asking if she wants to stay in the church; the thought of leaving the village entirely isn't even a speck of possibility in her mind. ]

I don't want to go outside. But maybe when everyone is done celebrating...

[ They'll go back to acting normal eventually... right? Of course they will. She shakes her head yet again. ]

I'll wait.

[ No, she won't. Or rather, he won't let her stay here for longer than she has to. ]

For what?

[ The courtesy is gone from his voice now, tone growing distant as he steels himself for what he has to do next. ]

For them to come in here and stare at you? At your face? For them to see you only as some reincarnation of the Holy Mother and not who you really are?

[ Actually he has no idea if that's even remotely close to the truth, but it doesn't seem like such a far fetched idea based on how they'd all been acting out there. Had any of them even once referred to Gray by her name instead of epithets and comparisons? Had any of them checked in on her after she'd suffered, alone and in pain? None of them seem to care now, the church still silent save for the soft sounds of their two voices. ]

Is that what you really want?

[ Discomfort prickles at her as his tone loses its patience, a swirl of bewilderment beginning to turn inside her. She doesn't know how to answer any of those questions. He alludes to a future she fears, and his voicing it aloud somehow makes it feel more tangible, more looming. Despair hooks into her chest, seeping into her eyes, what should be her brighest feature; but still the thought of escape is impossible, and she feels herself rooted to the ground with such gravity that she seems to be sinking. ]

But... you don't know who I am either. You don't know what my face looked like before. At least they know...

[ For what that's worth. They knew her old self and are elated to see it gone, but at least her old self exists in a corner of their memories. To someone like Eustace, the new Gray he sees is the only part of her he knows, like her old self never existed at all. ]

... What am I supposed to do?

[ She isn't speaking to him, exactly. She doesn't expect that there's an answer. It's a hopeless question, and with it the shadows in the church seem to bleed slowly forward, a black mist crawling in two dimensions. ]

[ She's right; he doesn't know who she is, or at least who she used to be. This small child before him will never have a presence in his life outside of his memories. But what does that matter? Even if he doesn't know the Gray that was, he knows the Gray that is, and shouldn't that be more meaningful when all is said and done?

There's no use trying to cling desperately to the past. He should know that better than anyone. ]

So?

[ He counters her argument without pause, voice still as unwavering as before. ]

They know, and they don't care. Not about who you were, only what you can do for them.

[ A tool for their machinations, whatever those might be, instead of a living breathing human being. He takes a step forward, tensing again at the sensation of the church closing around him. ]

You asked me before if it was good that everyone's happy. Are you happy?

[ Because, quite frankly, she is the only one that matters here. ]

[ They don't care.... about who you were, only what you can do for them.

His words ring true, though she can't fathom how that is. The priest, the butcher, the doctor, and everyone else she grew up with — she can't imagine discarding them as people, and she couldn't have imagined them doing the same to her before today. Did she ever know any of them? And what about her parents? They were the first to see how her face had changed, and the first to celebrate.

A spiked fist is squeezing her heart into two halves and raking it into the dirt. He's trying to convince her to let go of everyone she's ever known, but she's only five years old. How could she? Even if staying is the same as death, how could she?

She can't answer his question out loud, which would make the truth of her unhappiness too real; instead she trembles with fear and foreboding that deepens until her whole body shakes uncontrollably, and eventually her head jerks left and right vigorously as if trying to expel the answer from herself.

Shadows begin to sprout where there should be none, voids filling the corners of the church. Gray doesn't seem to notice, even when the encroaching darkness begins to suffocate the daylight streaming in from the windows. ]

[ It's not working. Or maybe it is, and this is some frantic attempt by the contagion to push him out of this careful daydream (nightmare?) it's woven to keep Gray trapped in place. Too bad though, he's used to fighting for what he wants, and what he wants right now is to drag Gray out of this mess, even if he has to do it by force.

He darts forward, as if he's racing the shadows that stretch towards them from all sides. Back down into a crouch he drops, his hands reaching out to grab hers in a grip too tight for comfort. ]

Gray!

[ He doesn't bother keeping his voice down now, willing to use every tool at his disposal to keep the darkness from consuming them both whole. ]

They might not care about you but there are other people that do.

[ For a brief moment he wishes Ciel were here, or literally anyone more well-versed in people than he is. He doesn't remember how to connect to others anymore, a layer of rust coating long-forgotten social skills. But...even if they aren't physically here with him, maybe he can manifest them in a different way.

Loosening her hand for one brief moment, he can remove his shard in order to force his own thoughts onto her via Communion. Images of Ciel and the welcoming party they'd attended weeks ago, with flashes of all the people he'd glimpsed her conversing with. And even though he doesn't purposefully include himself in those memories, his own feelings bleed through all the same, a tangle of appreciation for her quiet presence in his life and sorrow at the thought of losing her like this. ]

Is this how you're going to thank them? By hiding here forever?

[ She looks up at him in shock when he grabs her, uncomprehending of why he feels so strongly about what she plans to do. Confusion encroaches on her distress, but she still doesn't attempt to pull away when he takes out his shard, and a flood of memories bulls its way into her head all at once.

Images of herself, with this face, but older -- talking to so many strangers in a strange place. She can barely recognize her own mannerisms, how nervous and withdrawn in these memories... and yet she feels a thread of caring that overlays Eustace's point of view. Who she was yesterday, who she will become -- it seems there's no denying the gulf that lies between them, how total the death of her old self will be.

The future may not be totally bleak with people like Eustace to watch out for her... but she grieves all the same.

Her mother, with her kind smile. Her father, who can't stop spoiling her. The clear air and caring villagers, the chickens she liked to chase around and pet. She moans with grief as the truth of their parting overwhelms her, tears running freely down her rounded cheeks.

The darkness rushes in, swallowing Gray and Eustace in the blink of an eye--

-- and when they unblink their eyes, they'll find themselves back in Venera.

The feathers that coat Gray begin to fall away, floating lazily on the breeze like a wisping, turning cloud. She doesn't move just yet. She only sniffles as the tears continue to run, her younger self bleeding into her current self. ]

[ He has no idea if anything he's said or done has had any effect on pulling Gray free from the clutches this place has on her. For a moment, he thinks he sees a spark of clarity in her eyes, a recognition of him as a fellow teammate rather than as some stranger. Then the shadows move in on them like an ocean swallowing them whole and there's no more time to think, only enough time for him to throw his arms around her and shield her from whatever's coming.

Except....nothing comes. Nothing but the soft gust of wind through foliage, and the occasional uneven thud of footfalls against paved streets. Cautiously, he opens his eyes to the familiar scenery of Venera, but whatever relief he feels at having escaped Gray's daydream (nightmare?) is short-lived, dashed as a third sound creeps its way back into his ears.

It's Gray, small shoulders still shaking as she cries, her grief persisting despite the absence of the church surrounding them. And why wouldn't it? It's not like old wounds ever heal completely, no matter how much time passes and no matter how fine things appear on the outside. And after seeing what he's seen, the small glimpse into her past, he knows that she's been through a lot more than any girl her age should have any right to. It moves his own heart, a responding sadness welling up inside him.

So he stays where he is, hunkered down on the ground in front of her, his arms around her tightening slightly into a poor facsimile of a hug. It's not a lot (and probably pathetic by normal people standards) but it's what he can offer right now, the assurance that someone is here who cares about here, and who will remain for as long as she needs. ]

[ 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. ]

[ A little bit of moisture is nothing compared to everything else that has stained his clothes up until this point and he lets her cry without fuss, only loosening his hold when Gray starts pulling away.

He leans back, giving her room to breathe, his own expression solemn. ]

You went through a lot. It's normal to react strongly when faced with a sudden loss.

[ Of both her original face and the place where she'd grown up, even if it hadn't been the most joyous place after a certain point. How often had he cried in his room alone after Ronan had taken him in, wishing vainly for things to go back to the way they had been?

Even if it had been just a memory, the reopening of old wounds is just as painful as the creation of new wounds. He can hardly judge her for her grief when he's suffered through similar not all that long ago.

For a moment he hesitates, unsure if he should leave things be or potentially make them worse. But Gray, honest and accepting as she is, deserves his true feelings more than anyone. ]

I'm sorry too. For intruding. But I didn't want to leave you behind.

[ He can't say that he'll forget what he saw because he truly doesn't think he can, a little bit of her past now etched permanantly onto his heart, but he can at least apologize for infringing and resolve to not speak of it again if she prefers. ]

[ "I didn't want to leave you behind." Gray nearly starts crying again, her already tenuous composure taking a vital hit. She drops her gaze (so soon after trying to look at him directly) and vigorously shakes her head. ]

No... [ Her voice breaks and falters before soldiering on. ] It's okay. If it's you, I don't mind.

[ She isn't proud of that memory, but she can trust him to keep it safe. His (mostly) even stoicism is much preferable to an overreaction. It may have been a pivotal time for her, but in the grand scheme of things, it was about a small girl in the middle of a small celebration in a small village nearly forgotten by the rest of its world. ]

And... you don't have to keep disliking my face. I realize it was a selfish request.

[ Pinky promise rescinded... ]

[ Selfish or no, he can understand the reasoning that had driven her to say it. Maybe it's a good thing then he's never paid much attention to outward appearance except for the sole use of being able to profile and identify someone later. Hard to like or dislike something he doesn't consciously think about on a day-to-day basis.

It still seems like cheating to just dismiss the promise they'd made just like that, even if it had been in some sort of illusory dream and even if Gray had given him permission. So! ]

You'll just have to show me other parts of you to like instead.

[ Of which there are plenty and of which there are several he likes well enough already. But it's one thing for him to appreciate her and another thing entirely for her to feel comfortable with herself. The latter he only has so much influence over.

Standing back up, he stretches a hand out towards her. ]

We should get going.

[ Other parts of her to like instead... what would those be? Other than cleaning and fighting, she doesn't know what else she has to offer. But she feels now like she has to try, if only because he's asking to see it. He's looked after her time and time again. Even if she's used to disappointing people, she doesn't think she could bear to disappoint him. It's a heavy responsibility in her mind, but for some reason her heart feels light -- maybe at the notion that beyond liking or hating her face, Eustace might not care about it at all.

When she takes his hand, her hood remains downturned, but there's a wobbly smile on her face. Her grip is warm and comfortable in his hand as she rises to her feet. ]

... Alright. I'll do my best.

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EVENT #3: THE COST OF INNOCENCE

Eustace! we're in a church

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