[Had he ever spoken about this, like this, to anyone? When he'd first woken up in the broken world, had found only that Lahabrea and Elidibus had been 'spared' along with himself- he'd felt closer to them then than he ever had before or since. It hadn't lasted, as the years went on, the weight of them settling on the three of them in different ways. But apart from that moment of shared despair and fury and resolution to make things right, Emet-Selch had never opened up or discussed all that had happened to anyone.
Who was there to tell? Even those few mortals he'd made the mistake of caring about never knew who or what he actually was. Those Warriors of Light knew... quite a bit, and he didn't think he'd mind telling, at least some of them, more of it, but--
They had been the sword to sever his ambitions, render all those years and lives for naught. That was inescapable. Something both sides were aware of. Mettaton, for all that he disagreed with him on the value of mortal entities, was at least an unrelated party. Perhaps that made it easier.
Being held like this certainly helped too, and Emet-Selch spares a murmur of approval at the tie of their legs, the touch of arms and hands along his back. He felt... exceptionally cared for and about, and he gently presses a kiss to the base of Mettaton's neck. Soul and body so closely intertwined, it was hard to contemplate a state other than this. Shifting, one arm tucked against the other man's chest, the Ascian's fingers knead slowly in the space between neck and shoulder as he speaks.]
They were not spared. They did not number among those who gave themselves to Zodiark, nor those who chose to create Hydaelyn. [Small mercies. He's not sure if he would have ever forgiven that.] And so they were sundered along with the rest. Even were they pieced back together... I don't believe their memories would return.
[They were gone.]
You may ask whatever you like. [It was uncomfortable to speak of all this, but not terrible. Perhaps it was the contact, or the newness of the situation that left him off-balance enough to try.] But what would having regrets accomplish?
[Which wasn't an answer. It also wasn't something he tended to think about. There was futility he would struggle through and futility he would ignore, and thoughts of regret were in the latter. He was too far in to regret anything.]
Convincing them would've led to the same result, their souls broken. If they'd convinced myself, the Convocation would've been reduced another member, and Zodiark may not have been successfully created, leading to the deaths of all. Where- what space is there for regret?
[Of not having his last memories of them be unpleasant ones, if they had been able to reach some sort of accord? Would that really have been better?]
no subject
Who was there to tell? Even those few mortals he'd made the mistake of caring about never knew who or what he actually was. Those Warriors of Light knew... quite a bit, and he didn't think he'd mind telling, at least some of them, more of it, but--
They had been the sword to sever his ambitions, render all those years and lives for naught. That was inescapable. Something both sides were aware of. Mettaton, for all that he disagreed with him on the value of mortal entities, was at least an unrelated party. Perhaps that made it easier.
Being held like this certainly helped too, and Emet-Selch spares a murmur of approval at the tie of their legs, the touch of arms and hands along his back. He felt... exceptionally cared for and about, and he gently presses a kiss to the base of Mettaton's neck. Soul and body so closely intertwined, it was hard to contemplate a state other than this. Shifting, one arm tucked against the other man's chest, the Ascian's fingers knead slowly in the space between neck and shoulder as he speaks.]
They were not spared. They did not number among those who gave themselves to Zodiark, nor those who chose to create Hydaelyn. [Small mercies. He's not sure if he would have ever forgiven that.] And so they were sundered along with the rest. Even were they pieced back together... I don't believe their memories would return.
[They were gone.]
You may ask whatever you like. [It was uncomfortable to speak of all this, but not terrible. Perhaps it was the contact, or the newness of the situation that left him off-balance enough to try.] But what would having regrets accomplish?
[Which wasn't an answer. It also wasn't something he tended to think about. There was futility he would struggle through and futility he would ignore, and thoughts of regret were in the latter. He was too far in to regret anything.]
Convincing them would've led to the same result, their souls broken. If they'd convinced myself, the Convocation would've been reduced another member, and Zodiark may not have been successfully created, leading to the deaths of all. Where- what space is there for regret?
[Of not having his last memories of them be unpleasant ones, if they had been able to reach some sort of accord? Would that really have been better?]