★ WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD
ooc screeches bc I’m mobile and I have fifteen minutes to write thIS && also realizing that H and Margy look very similar oo
Embarrassingly, Margy’s concerned bound made Hazel start, the girl flinching back in surprise. It wasn’t Margy’s fault, it was just...Hazel had learned to dread adults; their size, their wrath, their rules. Back home, most everything Hazel said was out of line. Everything she did, every move she made - all of it was taken with offense.
So...she adapted. She eventually learned to follow after Mother without speaking unless spoken to; she learned to cast her gaze to the ground when an adult was scolding her; to sit still and not dance around to avoid Mother when she was angry; to bite her lip against the pain and swallow back against the tears, obediently nodding when told it was good for her, that it would teach her discipline that she deserved and she needed it.
Of course, odd bits and parts of Hazel still stuck out: most of her clan members found pride and chivalry in their scars. Hazel couldn’t understand why - she found only shame and embarrassment, only content when her body was tucked out of sight. Maybe it was because their scars were earned in battle while hers...were earned from disobedience.
Her reactions became abnormal reflexes in theory. In reality, they were an oxymoron: to sit still when someone moved abruptly towards her, despite the slight raise of her hackles; to hide away things that should not be hidden; to duck her head down in the face of anger. All of it irritated her fiercely, as it was clearly abuse that passed as the norm. But she had no say in the matter - no voice that could possibly sway her situation. So instead she learned exactly how to walk and move the way they wanted. She crumpled her defiance and reshaped herself in the form of someone new: someone silent and shy and obedient and fragile.
Forcing herself to breathe out, Hazel nodded. “Yes, I’m okay.” She responded stiffly, desperately trying to loosen her limbs. Though at Margaery’s next words, she lost focus on her own body immediately, easily picking up on the discomfort of the other feline.
Hazel’s head tilted, her golden optics owlish. It settled on the wrong side of her, lying. Lying always got her in trouble. But Margaery made it sound as if she was lying to herself as well as the rest of the clan, and for that, Hazel was morbidly curious. As long as the lie was something that harmed no one, Hazel could keep the secret. She could keep a secret very, very well.
Giddy with the concept of being trusted for the first time in her life, Hazel nodded solemnly. “I can keep a secret,” She promised dutifully. And then, because her verbal filter was weak with her age and lack of abusive structure: “I’m running from my past, too.” A beat passed, and then realization was dawning, Hazel shrinking a little as she swallowed around the rising shame and embarrassment.
Hazel wasn’t sure why she’d brought up her history - it was as uncomfortable a topic as any. Maybe she wanted to be able to relate to Margaery. But...not badly enough to spill the past six months. “I...” She swallowed, gaze finding the floor again and wishing it would swallow her. “Nobody was supposed to know about that. It’s - it’s not important, anyway. Can I help you with something?” She asked, her voice a bit shakier than before.
Embarrassingly, Margy’s concerned bound made Hazel start, the girl flinching back in surprise. It wasn’t Margy’s fault, it was just...Hazel had learned to dread adults; their size, their wrath, their rules. Back home, most everything Hazel said was out of line. Everything she did, every move she made - all of it was taken with offense.
So...she adapted. She eventually learned to follow after Mother without speaking unless spoken to; she learned to cast her gaze to the ground when an adult was scolding her; to sit still and not dance around to avoid Mother when she was angry; to bite her lip against the pain and swallow back against the tears, obediently nodding when told it was good for her, that it would teach her discipline that she deserved and she needed it.
Of course, odd bits and parts of Hazel still stuck out: most of her clan members found pride and chivalry in their scars. Hazel couldn’t understand why - she found only shame and embarrassment, only content when her body was tucked out of sight. Maybe it was because their scars were earned in battle while hers...were earned from disobedience.
Her reactions became abnormal reflexes in theory. In reality, they were an oxymoron: to sit still when someone moved abruptly towards her, despite the slight raise of her hackles; to hide away things that should not be hidden; to duck her head down in the face of anger. All of it irritated her fiercely, as it was clearly abuse that passed as the norm. But she had no say in the matter - no voice that could possibly sway her situation. So instead she learned exactly how to walk and move the way they wanted. She crumpled her defiance and reshaped herself in the form of someone new: someone silent and shy and obedient and fragile.
Forcing herself to breathe out, Hazel nodded. “Yes, I’m okay.” She responded stiffly, desperately trying to loosen her limbs. Though at Margaery’s next words, she lost focus on her own body immediately, easily picking up on the discomfort of the other feline.
Hazel’s head tilted, her golden optics owlish. It settled on the wrong side of her, lying. Lying always got her in trouble. But Margaery made it sound as if she was lying to herself as well as the rest of the clan, and for that, Hazel was morbidly curious. As long as the lie was something that harmed no one, Hazel could keep the secret. She could keep a secret very, very well.
Giddy with the concept of being trusted for the first time in her life, Hazel nodded solemnly. “I can keep a secret,” She promised dutifully. And then, because her verbal filter was weak with her age and lack of abusive structure: “I’m running from my past, too.” A beat passed, and then realization was dawning, Hazel shrinking a little as she swallowed around the rising shame and embarrassment.
Hazel wasn’t sure why she’d brought up her history - it was as uncomfortable a topic as any. Maybe she wanted to be able to relate to Margaery. But...not badly enough to spill the past six months. “I...” She swallowed, gaze finding the floor again and wishing it would swallow her. “Nobody was supposed to know about that. It’s - it’s not important, anyway. Can I help you with something?” She asked, her voice a bit shakier than before.
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better