[She had been always been a 'being' to him. Her own being, well before he'd met the Old Hunter she had been modeled after. It had been a shock, in the Waking World (or was it the Longest Night?) in the Abandoned Old Workshop to find a version of her there, lifeless. As she had been before he'd gained that small spark of madness or insight into that which was so much more. He had not flinched then, though it saddened him. Meeting Lady Maria however, had made him flinch. Countless horrors he'd faced and slain, and it was the visage of one so familiar yet so foreign to him, that had made him flinch.
The Doll however, had always been her own being, her own self to him. They were both free of the Dream now, no longer tied there for existence although it still existed because they wished it to perhaps. An anchor for them, tied at points to the Waking World; but their own world and realm. His own sense of self had shifted in a far greater way than it had after his first transformation (or was it transcendence?) with that first transfusion and contract. The Hunter--Nathanial--felt he could do no less for his most stalwart companion--THE most stalwart companion to countless Hunters before him--than to encourage her to be herself. Whomever she might choose to be.
So he shook his head, not to invalidate her thanks but in an attempt to convey that they were unneeded. She had no need to thank him, as this was something he could do for her. To return the care and guidance she'd given to him and so many more. Companions in strangeness, attempting to find their way anew.
Letting her speak, and listening attentively. Quiet after her last words, while he organized his thoughts. Attempting to make sense of the inscrutable, and to share it coherently.]
She was, for far too long, not dead--as in that state of existence when a being is no longer animate, sentient, or conscious. Like others, she was trapped in a Nightmare--perhaps one of her own making in its way, but not her own.
[That sort of made sense to him. Layers and layers of reality. All that seemed or was seen, was but a dream within a dream. Turning his gaze to the fire at the stove, thinking carefully.]
You felt a liberation from heavy shackles--that something within you had shifted. Once Lady Maria was freed. Gehrman slept peacefully, once the Nightmare was truly slain. I will not claim to understand it all, for it is madness.
[A wry smile found itself blooming, as he stared into the fire.]
Perhaps it's simply that you are not used to feeling things so intensely. Furthermore, they are new sensations to you. These factors alone would be enough to cause distress even without the content of the memories.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2023-10-06 03:31 am (UTC)The Doll however, had always been her own being, her own self to him. They were both free of the Dream now, no longer tied there for existence although it still existed because they wished it to perhaps. An anchor for them, tied at points to the Waking World; but their own world and realm. His own sense of self had shifted in a far greater way than it had after his first transformation (or was it transcendence?) with that first transfusion and contract. The Hunter--Nathanial--felt he could do no less for his most stalwart companion--THE most stalwart companion to countless Hunters before him--than to encourage her to be herself. Whomever she might choose to be.
So he shook his head, not to invalidate her thanks but in an attempt to convey that they were unneeded. She had no need to thank him, as this was something he could do for her. To return the care and guidance she'd given to him and so many more. Companions in strangeness, attempting to find their way anew.
Letting her speak, and listening attentively. Quiet after her last words, while he organized his thoughts. Attempting to make sense of the inscrutable, and to share it coherently.]
She was, for far too long, not dead--as in that state of existence when a being is no longer animate, sentient, or conscious. Like others, she was trapped in a Nightmare--perhaps one of her own making in its way, but not her own.
[That sort of made sense to him. Layers and layers of reality. All that seemed or was seen, was but a dream within a dream. Turning his gaze to the fire at the stove, thinking carefully.]
You felt a liberation from heavy shackles--that something within you had shifted. Once Lady Maria was freed. Gehrman slept peacefully, once the Nightmare was truly slain. I will not claim to understand it all, for it is madness.
[A wry smile found itself blooming, as he stared into the fire.]
Perhaps it's simply that you are not used to feeling things so intensely. Furthermore, they are new sensations to you. These factors alone would be enough to cause distress even without the content of the memories.