[ Hilda had never changed or faltered when it came to her coping mechanisms. Whether it was dealing with the unpleasant truths during the war or with everything that had happened during her two years in Abraxas, the method was the same. She simply distracted herself until she was convinced that everything was fine. Pretending until she either processed what she was avoiding or came to terms with it by not coming to terms with it at all had always served her well and would continue to until it didn't.
And while most of what had happened to them was easy to dismiss as an uncomfortable dream, there are things that she can't just paint over. Or rather, she could, but that might put her in a position where she's taking several steps back from any progress real or made up that she might have made since arriving here. It's those things that have kept her up every night since their return including this one.
Hilda can tell he isn't asleep. She can tell by the way he breathes, in the way he shifts every so often behind her. If she does think that what they went through is preoccupying his thoughts, she doesn't address it. There should be no hesitation when it comes to asking him anything but what they had gone through specifically - eight hundred years of (mostly) being together in a bond (‘relationship’ sounds too serious, too real) with Sylvain and the feelings that came with it - feels like an imposing topic that she can't bring herself to breech.
It was a dream. None of it had been real. That's the story she's been repeating to herself so that she doesn't become consumed by every negative emotion she had freely allowed to grow and manifest in the form of her true god form or fly away with delusions that probably aren't true. Claude's kisses against her warm skin confirm her suspicions that he hadn't been asleep, effectively stirring her from her thoughts.
She lets out a quiet laugh as her fingers thread through his where they rest on her stomach. ]
I don't think that's possible. But if you’re that confident, you should be able to tell me what I'm thinking.
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And while most of what had happened to them was easy to dismiss as an uncomfortable dream, there are things that she can't just paint over. Or rather, she could, but that might put her in a position where she's taking several steps back from any progress real or made up that she might have made since arriving here. It's those things that have kept her up every night since their return including this one.
Hilda can tell he isn't asleep. She can tell by the way he breathes, in the way he shifts every so often behind her. If she does think that what they went through is preoccupying his thoughts, she doesn't address it. There should be no hesitation when it comes to asking him anything but what they had gone through specifically - eight hundred years of (mostly) being together in a bond (‘relationship’ sounds too serious, too real) with Sylvain and the feelings that came with it - feels like an imposing topic that she can't bring herself to breech.
It was a dream. None of it had been real. That's the story she's been repeating to herself so that she doesn't become consumed by every negative emotion she had freely allowed to grow and manifest in the form of her true god form or fly away with delusions that probably aren't true. Claude's kisses against her warm skin confirm her suspicions that he hadn't been asleep, effectively stirring her from her thoughts.
She lets out a quiet laugh as her fingers thread through his where they rest on her stomach. ]
I don't think that's possible. But if you’re that confident, you should be able to tell me what I'm thinking.