[ it is familiar, and don decides she remains by what she said then: angela had been given no other choice, but she should have stopped once she realized the hurt she caused others. she chews on her lip -- decide what she wants to do? when their chains are dragged a separate way? -- and cups the flowers more gently.
they are not at fault for speaking the words don quixote thinks to herself, these days. ]
... Is it enough to simply wish to be happy?
[ there is a lot that they have here they don't have at home. there's a good handful of people who get her without it being obligation, who like to spend time with her and listen to her overwrought tales, there is an apartment she shares with her very best friend and is filled with laughter and comfort than either have known as of late back in the city -- what don quixote wants, what she desires, is to keep that freedom and happiness safe, to protect it and those she cares for, but still, still, still, ]
If it came to pass, [ she says loud enough for angela alone to hear, ] that someone I cared for had wronged another, I would like to say mine affections would matter little in the pursuit of justice. It is why I live, it is why I can move forward. But what if I could not? What if that closeness stayed my hand the moment I needed it most, and tossed aside the justice I hold so dear?
[ those famed fixers never compromised on their principles like that. their stories always unfolded in a way that worked out, but reality isn't so kind. the red gaze doesn't compromise. the red mist wouldn't have either, for she always fought to protect those she could. if one had turned out to be a bad apple, she would split them in twain.
what if don quixote could not do the same?
there is nothing wrong with being soft of heart, the flowers murmur the words she'd fondly told sinclair, had assured to midnight, felt for netzach. as long as one has no duty to which is would distrupt. ]
I do not know what I should like to do, or what I want, save to be at those I care for's sides. All else flourishes from it.
no subject
they are not at fault for speaking the words don quixote thinks to herself, these days. ]
... Is it enough to simply wish to be happy?
[ there is a lot that they have here they don't have at home. there's a good handful of people who get her without it being obligation, who like to spend time with her and listen to her overwrought tales, there is an apartment she shares with her very best friend and is filled with laughter and comfort than either have known as of late back in the city -- what don quixote wants, what she desires, is to keep that freedom and happiness safe, to protect it and those she cares for, but still, still, still, ]
If it came to pass, [ she says loud enough for angela alone to hear, ] that someone I cared for had wronged another, I would like to say mine affections would matter little in the pursuit of justice. It is why I live, it is why I can move forward. But what if I could not? What if that closeness stayed my hand the moment I needed it most, and tossed aside the justice I hold so dear?
[ those famed fixers never compromised on their principles like that. their stories always unfolded in a way that worked out, but reality isn't so kind. the red gaze doesn't compromise. the red mist wouldn't have either, for she always fought to protect those she could. if one had turned out to be a bad apple, she would split them in twain.
what if don quixote could not do the same?
there is nothing wrong with being soft of heart, the flowers murmur the words she'd fondly told sinclair, had assured to midnight, felt for netzach. as long as one has no duty to which is would distrupt. ]
I do not know what I should like to do, or what I want, save to be at those I care for's sides. All else flourishes from it.