[ dextera had not specified a sacrifice, but it doesn’t feel wrong to hear the assumption made. that’s how these things usually go—all throughout history, people have laid lives on an altar for something from god. it’s just a shame that he’s given all that he has to give, and he’s inclined to think that anything they try to wring from him will just disappoint whatever deity they’re trying to please.
none of these thoughts make it to speech. instead, he still looks away from the watchful gaze and expectant question, drawing his shoulder up in the slightest defensive posture. experience has taught him that things come close to take, not to give. ]
—…
[ not answering at all doesn’t occur to him, despite the innate anxiety of his whole existence. he shakes his head because he doesn’t know, or because he needs time, and his fingers curl at the hollow of his throat.
when he does muster the turn of his head to look and attempt to actually see who he’s talking to, his eyes instantly avoid direct contact again. his hand slides down from his throat to his heart. ]
no subject
none of these thoughts make it to speech. instead, he still looks away from the watchful gaze and expectant question, drawing his shoulder up in the slightest defensive posture. experience has taught him that things come close to take, not to give. ]
—…
[ not answering at all doesn’t occur to him, despite the innate anxiety of his whole existence. he shakes his head because he doesn’t know, or because he needs time, and his fingers curl at the hollow of his throat.
when he does muster the turn of his head to look and attempt to actually see who he’s talking to, his eyes instantly avoid direct contact again. his hand slides down from his throat to his heart. ]