[ She's quiet for a bit, smudging a lingering tear that falls with the heel of her palm. Misa gets it— or thinks she does. What he went through must have been so damaging and traumatic that he couldn't break free from the contagion by conventional or normal means. There's pain that transcends physical sensation, and if suffering was meant to evict the contagion, then there were far worse things that he'd already endured than whatever brutal means she assumes Ciel and Matt must have attempted.
It makes her feel... well, hurt, for him. It doesn't sit right with her, that he seems so okay with the prospect of enduring such a reminder again. Misa frowns, just slightly, mostly to herself— a willful defensiveness rising up in her. All she wants is to defend him from having to hurt like that. ]
Don't say that... I don't want to think about it happening again so soon.
[ Because she would follow through with what he requested— if she had to. But she doesn't want to. She can still recall the hurt look in his eyes, the pain in his voice when she'd kept cutting deeper - it's just... not a sound or sight she wants to see again, if she can help it. There's a pleading note to her voice, her gaze dropping to the cobblestone below them. She knows she can't predict if anything similar will ever happen in the future— but the stubborn part of her wants to believe that somehow, someway, she'll prevent it, come what may. ]
If that's really the only way to help you, then I promise I will, but... I don't like it, Amos. [ She confesses with a small voice, folding her hands together, painted nails picking at the skin of her thin fingers. ] I don't want you to think about all this anymore. Especially not because of me.
[ That's her tried and true method, of course— the parties involved aside from him are dead, now. So what point is there in thinking about it, unless absolutely necessary? If at all possible, she wants to make things so that he can lock all this away permanently, the way she had with her own problems before Venera. It's a gentle, honest concern for him that provokes her subdued response, an empathy that runs deeper than what she feels for her other kin. ]
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It makes her feel... well, hurt, for him. It doesn't sit right with her, that he seems so okay with the prospect of enduring such a reminder again. Misa frowns, just slightly, mostly to herself— a willful defensiveness rising up in her. All she wants is to defend him from having to hurt like that. ]
Don't say that... I don't want to think about it happening again so soon.
[ Because she would follow through with what he requested— if she had to. But she doesn't want to. She can still recall the hurt look in his eyes, the pain in his voice when she'd kept cutting deeper - it's just... not a sound or sight she wants to see again, if she can help it. There's a pleading note to her voice, her gaze dropping to the cobblestone below them. She knows she can't predict if anything similar will ever happen in the future— but the stubborn part of her wants to believe that somehow, someway, she'll prevent it, come what may. ]
If that's really the only way to help you, then I promise I will, but... I don't like it, Amos. [ She confesses with a small voice, folding her hands together, painted nails picking at the skin of her thin fingers. ] I don't want you to think about all this anymore. Especially not because of me.
[ That's her tried and true method, of course— the parties involved aside from him are dead, now. So what point is there in thinking about it, unless absolutely necessary? If at all possible, she wants to make things so that he can lock all this away permanently, the way she had with her own problems before Venera. It's a gentle, honest concern for him that provokes her subdued response, an empathy that runs deeper than what she feels for her other kin. ]