[ Of course she finds herself at a loss at how to answer Claude's question. She really walked herself into that one and they both know it - Hilda, because it's her, and Cladue because of the way her mouth gapes open for a moment before promptly shutting as her cheeks puff up. ]
I don't know! But you just - I just -
[ With her hands free the rest of her blundering is thankfully able to be covered up, or at the very least muffled as she buries her face into them. Despite appearances and how much she loved to croon over the love stories of her friends, Hilda had a fairly realistic outlook on love when it came to her. While she had been raised on a diet of romance novels and fairytales she knew what was expected of her and what she was likely destined for. Those stories were stories that would never be hers.
This feels so much like she's still in the dream where, if she were being honest, the god she had become had taken those words for granted after all those years of being together. Time had jaded that version of her, or rather had developed an arrogance that, even if love failed at the end of the world, the bond between them would be what ultimately tethered them together. And now that they were putting space and time between those eight hundred years without that bond, without godly hubris, the confidence she'd had had burned away leaving her with insecurities abound.
Whatever desirability she knew she had was merely skin deep. In their godhood she had been powerful. Talented. And while all of those things had terrified her, they had made her feel deserving of the love she had received. What did she have now? Just a title and Crest that didn't matter here. She didn't need someone to save her with love or affection. She just wanted to feel worthy of it.
Her admission is quiet. ]
I wasn't sure if you still would. Or did. Love me that is.
no subject
I don't know! But you just - I just -
[ With her hands free the rest of her blundering is thankfully able to be covered up, or at the very least muffled as she buries her face into them. Despite appearances and how much she loved to croon over the love stories of her friends, Hilda had a fairly realistic outlook on love when it came to her. While she had been raised on a diet of romance novels and fairytales she knew what was expected of her and what she was likely destined for. Those stories were stories that would never be hers.
This feels so much like she's still in the dream where, if she were being honest, the god she had become had taken those words for granted after all those years of being together. Time had jaded that version of her, or rather had developed an arrogance that, even if love failed at the end of the world, the bond between them would be what ultimately tethered them together. And now that they were putting space and time between those eight hundred years without that bond, without godly hubris, the confidence she'd had had burned away leaving her with insecurities abound.
Whatever desirability she knew she had was merely skin deep. In their godhood she had been powerful. Talented. And while all of those things had terrified her, they had made her feel deserving of the love she had received. What did she have now? Just a title and Crest that didn't matter here. She didn't need someone to save her with love or affection. She just wanted to feel worthy of it.
Her admission is quiet. ]
I wasn't sure if you still would. Or did. Love me that is.