PotHN: Night Lessons [1x1]

At some point, early on in his storytelling, Alys had slunk down to the ground, joining him at the level he'd chosen for them - for this conversation. Long legs bent in front of her, chin resting between the gap in her knees, light eyes focused on Leo. The lantern sat between them and slightly to the left, protected against the wall of the ship, burning steadily and flickering only with the larger gusts of wind. She listened as he spoke, sharing the gritty details of his existence, the details he'd kept hidden for so long. Sharing with her. Being vulnerable with her. 

Then he spoke of the crimes, his crimes. The act of severing a wing, ripping it from the back, shredding the muscle and nerve endings attached, and doing so over and over, until the noble family ceased to exist, left to be found in their beds like slaughtered, beaten animals. Her own wings began to grow heavy and numb, as if they knew they were being spoken about. As if they had a mind of their own. That numbness began to spread, eating away at her back, down to her pelvis and legs, up her arms, until the very ends of her fingertips lacked sensation. All the while, her gaze began to drift, away from Leo and his words, down to the planks between them. She couldn't bear to look at him. 

The first time she'd seen a fairy injure their wings, Alys had gotten physically ill over it. She'd vomited the contents of her stomach until there was nothing left. The sight had been awful, but it had been the screams that stuck with her; the way their voice had gone raw, the way they'd begged for it to end. And that had simply been an accident. 

On the other hand, she empathized with him. It'd been an act of anger, a sudden window of opportunity that promised control and revenge. She understood those feelings well; even attributed them to her own introduction into piracy. 

Two very different sides, yet she understood both. She clutched onto that coin tightly. And that was her conflict. A similar conflict she faced with Sinead. Despite the known cruelty of the  governing fae, despite her choice to go against the beliefs and rules of the very same fae - by embracing this lifestyle - a simple fact remained. She was still a faerie, and she still had the wings of a faerie. It was a part of her identity, whether she wanted it or not. 

Eventually the words stopped, and a flash of colour was placed between them. She didn't know what to say, didn't know how to respond to his final remarks. Silence filled the space until she finally looked up, tears glistening in her eyes. 

"My question... the one I asked before. I-..." She paused, then lifted both of her hands slightly, palms facing each other, gaze drifting down. Ever so gently, the fingertips of one hand reached forward to run down the fingers of the other. Over the grooves, the calluses, over the fatty part of her palm. "Someone once told me that our fingertips have the most nerve endings in the entire body. That's why we use our hands to touch, to feel. I think wings have more." 

A pause, and she looked back at him. "You nearly touched them before, didn't you? I could feel it. They could feel it. And if they can feel that - if they can feel almost nothing - imagine what it feels like to have them ripped off?"

Without meaning for it to happen, a tear rolled down her cheek. A sign of the turmoil within, of weakness. Wordlessly, Alys lifted her hand to wipe her cheek. "I know why you did it, but I don't think I'll ever truly understand. Not when I have wings of my own." 

She exhaled, her breath shaky, uncertain. "I think I'll need time. Because I don't want to toss away what we have..."