white_flowers | (no subject)

(no subject)

She spends more time outside than in, lately, drifting along the lakeshore or through the trees, a living ghost among so many others here at the ends of worlds. At night, the dark, dry-blood red of her gown seems nearly black, and the grey gauze veil over her hair and her lower face gleams coldly in the light of moon and stars. In the day, of course, everything is clearer. Only her eyes remain always unchanged, ice-blue and glinting with diamond brightness.

She has no need to return indoors, and for the moment she prefers not to. It's calmer this way, at least for now, while the gift she's been given continues its work upon her. Blodwen's all too well aware of the changes that have taken place and which are still slowly occurring. She can't quite recall, but she thinks she dimly remembers something like this happening once long ago, uncountable years and ages distant, when last she turned from a mortal life.

For some reason, though, it seems to all be so much more painful this time.

In her inattention, she strikes her foot against a stone. Blodwen hisses in a sharp breath at the jolt and moves past it, continuing along the faint path that she's following, her thoughts already twisting inward once more.

Behind her, the rock crumbles into gravel and dust.

[OOC: Note on appearances; note on abilities and weaknesses.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The tone of the question is so startled that it nearly breaks his hearts. That she would have answered so honestly, made herself so vulnerable to him, all the while fully expecting him to turn on her... it was remarkable. But then, he has always told her as much.

And so he doesn't answer her with words. Too many of them have been spoken to her in anger, too many threats made and promises broken. Instead, he dips his head and finds her lips with his own. It isn't the first time he's kissed her, but where that one was brief, this one lingers. It isn't a purely selfless act; he sees his own loneliness reflected in her eyes as well. He can't help but to reach for some morsel of comfort even as he tries to provide the same to her.

It is a great risk he takes, perhaps more of one than he knows.

For one such as as she is now, her will alone is all she needs to taint her breath with poison, to spread rot and decay through the touch of a finger ... or any other part of herself, come to that.

At the first sign of his movement she is sure it is an attack, but of course it is, it must be, and power surges upward within her as she prepares to strike--

-- only to spiral backward upon itself in a tangled coil as his lips meet hers and Blodwen freezes in confused shock.

With unthinking, instinctive awareness she redirects the gathered wave of poisoned force as it surges again, seeking the necessary outlet. Her fingers clench tightly around the crystal cube in her hand, which gives one unearthly keening shriek and falls to dust.

Her other hand, already half-raised to strike before, now settles against the front of his jacket and rests lightly there without harm.

She does not precisely return his kiss, no-- but neither does she pull away from him.

It is a gesture of trust as much as it is a request for trust. And if his trust had been misplaced, if she had struck out against him, then he figures he deserves it.

When she doesn't respond either positively or negatively, though, the Doctor releases her and steps back. "I'm sorry. That was... It's been a very bad year."

She makes no move to try to hold him, and her hand falls back to her side as he steps away. Blodwen is staring at him, visibly searching his face.

"No few there are who would think you mad to have done such a thing, just now," she says after a long moment, although whether or not she is one of them she neglects to mention.

Another beat, and then, more softly,

"Truly so bad a year as that, then?"

Mad? Maybe he is. The things he's experienced are surely enough that few would blame him if he were.

He considers her question for a long moment, casting his thoughts back, and then nods. "Without equal, I should say."

"Sorry I am to hear that, cariad," she murmurs. "Even if it is something that we do seem to have in common."

She hesitates for a bare moment more, then holds out her hand to him.

"That we do," he agrees, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He reaches out and takes her hand -- gently, as he can feel the frailty in the flesh beneath the illusion.

Thin, near-skeletal fingers curl around his.

Blodwen says nothing, but squeezes his hand gently, as if to offer something of comfort.

He looks down at their clasped hands and sighs.

"We could go, you know. You and I. Just... leave all of this behind and find some other place. And then another after that. And never have to come back here."

"Why, and so we could at that, I suppose," she murmurs.

"But regret it you would soon enough, I am sure."

Her light voice is oddly tinged with what sounds like regret of her own, just for a moment.

"Would I?" He isn't sure about that. What's this place ever brought him that he couldn't get someone else? There were plenty of other places to recharge the TARDIS, so what keeps him coming back here?

"Would you not?" she counters, looking steadily at him.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "I don't make a habit of visiting anywhere more than once. There are so many places and times that there's rarely a need. Milliways started out as just a pit stop for me; somewhere that I could refuel the TARDIS and be on my way again. I don't know when it became more than that, and I'm not sure if I want it to be."

"Oh, and I do remember your ship," Blodwen says, softly. "Such a wonder it is."

A pause.

"Do you know, cariad, a young man there is here who asked me much the same question? Why it was that I did not just go away, and leave this place forever?"

"It is a puzzle to me as well, given how many people there are here who bear you ill will. And what did you tell him?"

"Is it so much of a surprise as all that?"

Her expression begins to harden again, as if a lowered curtain or fallen wall is slowly being shored up once more.

"Why, I told him that it was that the very act of returning, my presence here in spite of what had been done, itself was a defiance of that wrong."

He nods. "Yes, I can understand that. The refusal to be pushed out of somewhere. Even if it is a somewhere you don't particularly wish to be, the fact that someone doesn't want you there makes you want to go there even more, just to prove you can't be ordered about or made to feel afraid."

The Doctor scratches at the back of his head and chuckles suddenly. "It's the same reason I approached you during our very first conversation. For no other reason than I was warned to avoid you."

"Were you, dear?"

A flash of temper at that passes over her face and vanishes into sharp amusement.

"A stubborn one you are, clearly."

"In that, I do believe we are two of a kind."

She glances down at their hands, then back up at him, and smiles.

"Perhaps we are indeed."

He moves his other hand up to her face -- slowly, so she hopefully doesn't see it as an attack -- and brushes the back of a fingertip down her cheek.

"Funny old universe. There is every reason in the worlds for you and I to be enemies. So much of the power you represent is anathema to me, and make no mistake, you have done reprehensible things. And yet, I recognize every shred of it within myself. There are worlds on which my name is a curse, have I ever told you that? Races among whom the whisper of my name brings shudders and worried glances. Sometimes I think that if your enemies knew the worst of the things I have done, they would turn away from you and lock me in a prison even more inescapable than yours."

This time, she reacts neither to attack nor defend, but instead merely remains still and accepts the gentle touch.

"No, and you had not," Blodwen says, after a moment, marveling. "I knew you had enemies, to be sure, from what you had mentioned -- but not so many as that, no."

In the next instant her tone flattens.

"Oh and how they would regret it, if they dared try--"

He smiles briefly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, at how quickly she made the decision to defend him. The next moment, though, the smile fades away once more. "It's hard to be around friends sometimes. Always having to keep part of me locked away, always wondering how they would react if they knew the whole truth. Knowing that no matter how hard I may struggle against that darkness inside me, I can never escape it."

And knowing that it will eventually consume him. He's already witnessed it.

She looks at him in silence for several long seconds.

"But escape it you would, if it were that you could?"

A single beat.

"Why?"

"The universe has enough darkness without my adding to it," he replies simply.

The true answer is much more complicated than that, but he holds that tightly to himself, unable or unwilling to surrender that additional weakness.