"I don't think she did." Ulla wonders sometimes if Signy was capable of
understanding how much Ulla loved her. Then she wonders how she could
possibly not know, when they were so closely entwined, sharing
secrets and wrapped around each other.
"Roffe, the prince. He saw that she'd fallen in love with him. He
threatened to lead her on, promise to marry her, and then break her heart.
That's how he convinced me to do what he wanted. And yet he still stole my
knife to use as leverage, in case I didn't love Signy enough"
Neither of them realized just how much Ulla loved Signy, not even when
Roffe was using it against Ulla.
In the first betrayal, the one that preceded the night Ulla lost
everything, "Signy helped him steal it."
He's keeping his eyes elsewhere. He thinks? It's probably best for both of them this way. They're connecting on one level, the important one. More of it than that might actually start to hurt. Something beyond the ache that this discussion was.
There's a dozen things he wants to say to that. But none of the words come. He's angry. And he feels this welling up of sympathy. And he's heartbroken. And he wants to rip both of them to pieces. And he wants to do something for her.
"Which one do you want revenge on?"
Obviously, the answer could be both. But for him, there'd be one.
Ulla could have moved past any number of things that Signy did to her. But
one instant that served as the tipping point. They've come far enough now
that she teeters on the edge of telling him. After an excruciating moment
of indecision, she does.
"When I was lying there in agony, I asked for my knife back to end my
suffering. And she looked to him for permission." If Roffe had
asked it, would Signy really have left her to die slowly and painfully,
without even the mercy of a swift death? Ulla supposes she'll never know
for certain. Signy turned to Roffe, and Ulla turned to rage rather than
oblivion.
“Cruelty on that level-“ and now that anger is out again, and yes, it’s for her. He hopes she can see that. Can recognize it. He shakes his head. Tried to settle.
“I’m sorry.” Just that, nothing more, a deep breath in. A deep one out.
“I don’t think ‘I understand’ is… true. But. I empathize. And I want… I want to help you get back there.”
“I do,” he agrees, and considers it. “I don’t mean to insult your choice to share it. I just… I know so much can be in the details. The small moments that loom large inside your chest. So I don’t want to presume either. Telling me about that,” he dips his head to her, “it’s not nothing.”
He won’t say thank you. But he hopes she understands.
It's not nothing. It's the first time Ulla has ever described that
moment aloud. She just tore old wounds open, and she isn't sure whether
she feels better for it.
But music is an easy lifeline to grasp, and she's grateful for the change
of subject. The reprieve. "Yes. I still want to learn."
He nods... and he slings the instrument back to his front, pulling the strap off of him and offering it to her.
He doesn't want her to go too deep on the first meeting, doesn't want her to regret talking to him, or sharing with him. Wounds like that can flow like a torrent when you take the pressure off for an instant. And he knows, for himself? He'd regret letting out too much. And if he wasn't feeling generous?
He might even resent someone for not stopping him. Better to end with something to shared like this.
"You use the knobs at the top to adjust the tension on the strings. Then you use your fingers to press here," he points to the neck, "between the raised sections to change the length of the string, changing the note."
Ulla plucks each string experimentally, strums once, then presses her
fingers to the frets and tries it again to see how the sound changes. A
welcome distraction. "And the notes are different depending on where you
press. So there's a range of notes you can play on each string."
It makes sense, though it might not come quite as easily to her as
piano did.
"Show me how to hold it for a few chords?" She could try to feel out some
fingerings for herself, and probably will later, in the music room. But
she'll take instruction while she can get it.
Ulla is now averse to emotional connections, but she's never minded touch.
Not even from people she dislikes, who have never had anything but
contempt for her. He's an improvement over her fellow sildroher.
He’ll nod and, without any hesitation, is moving o er to show her finger placements, strumming techniques, and how to take care and not muddle the sound with how she holds it. He’ll spend as long as she likes teaching, or answering questions.
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no subject
"I don't think she did." Ulla wonders sometimes if Signy was capable of understanding how much Ulla loved her. Then she wonders how she could possibly not know, when they were so closely entwined, sharing secrets and wrapped around each other.
"Roffe, the prince. He saw that she'd fallen in love with him. He threatened to lead her on, promise to marry her, and then break her heart. That's how he convinced me to do what he wanted. And yet he still stole my knife to use as leverage, in case I didn't love Signy enough" Neither of them realized just how much Ulla loved Signy, not even when Roffe was using it against Ulla.
In the first betrayal, the one that preceded the night Ulla lost everything, "Signy helped him steal it."
no subject
He's keeping his eyes elsewhere. He thinks? It's probably best for both of them this way. They're connecting on one level, the important one. More of it than that might actually start to hurt. Something beyond the ache that this discussion was.
There's a dozen things he wants to say to that. But none of the words come. He's angry. And he feels this welling up of sympathy. And he's heartbroken. And he wants to rip both of them to pieces. And he wants to do something for her.
"Which one do you want revenge on?"
Obviously, the answer could be both. But for him, there'd be one.
no subject
"Both," although as always, "Roffe matters less."
Ulla could have moved past any number of things that Signy did to her. But one instant that served as the tipping point. They've come far enough now that she teeters on the edge of telling him. After an excruciating moment of indecision, she does.
"When I was lying there in agony, I asked for my knife back to end my suffering. And she looked to him for permission." If Roffe had asked it, would Signy really have left her to die slowly and painfully, without even the mercy of a swift death? Ulla supposes she'll never know for certain. Signy turned to Roffe, and Ulla turned to rage rather than oblivion.
no subject
“I’m sorry.” Just that, nothing more, a deep breath in. A deep one out.
“I don’t think ‘I understand’ is… true. But. I empathize. And I want… I want to help you get back there.”
no subject
Ulla glances up at him again, finally. "You understand more than most, I think." Or they wouldn't have had this conversation at all.
She reaches for another piece of fish, swallowing down some of her anger along with it.
no subject
He won’t say thank you. But he hopes she understands.
“Were you still up for guitar lessons?”
no subject
It's not nothing. It's the first time Ulla has ever described that moment aloud. She just tore old wounds open, and she isn't sure whether she feels better for it.
But music is an easy lifeline to grasp, and she's grateful for the change of subject. The reprieve. "Yes. I still want to learn."
no subject
He doesn't want her to go too deep on the first meeting, doesn't want her to regret talking to him, or sharing with him. Wounds like that can flow like a torrent when you take the pressure off for an instant. And he knows, for himself? He'd regret letting out too much. And if he wasn't feeling generous?
He might even resent someone for not stopping him. Better to end with something to shared like this.
"You use the knobs at the top to adjust the tension on the strings. Then you use your fingers to press here," he points to the neck, "between the raised sections to change the length of the string, changing the note."
no subject
Ulla plucks each string experimentally, strums once, then presses her fingers to the frets and tries it again to see how the sound changes. A welcome distraction. "And the notes are different depending on where you press. So there's a range of notes you can play on each string."
It makes sense, though it might not come quite as easily to her as piano did.
no subject
"You can play individual notes," he gestures to the strings with a plucking notion, "and chords" and a strumming motion.
"And of course, you can mix the two."
no subject
"Show me how to hold it for a few chords?" She could try to feel out some fingerings for herself, and probably will later, in the music room. But she'll take instruction while she can get it.
no subject
"May I touch you?"
It would be easier that way, but it wouldn't be impossible to manage it without.
no subject
Ulla is now averse to emotional connections, but she's never minded touch. Not even from people she dislikes, who have never had anything but contempt for her. He's an improvement over her fellow sildroher.
She nods. "I don't mind."
no subject
For her? He has nothing but patience.