[His eyes shoot down to Eleytheria's extended hand, like it's an insult. He does not want him to know that his words have trickled through the roadmap of fractures that pull him apart, but his glare stopped being the cold, detached look he wants it to be a while ago - now, he begins to look more and more like something cornered.
He slaps Eley's hand away.]
I don't need your help.
[The spirit is not trying to tell him that it's simple. He is not asking why he can't turn around and be something that he's not. He acknowledges that it's a struggle.
Not the accusations he's so tired of, but an offer he's ashamed to admit he aches for. Because no matter how fiercely he tries to convince himself that he can be strong, he knows he is not, and every time he tries to harden his heart, it stays the same pulpy, defeated mess. This is the cycle he has stumbled through for thousands of years, trying to be strong, lying to himself until he falls apart, and running away from the debris to try again, never getting any farther.]
Do you really think I'd stoop so low as to turn to anyone here? I can't even stand any of you!
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He slaps Eley's hand away.]
I don't need your help.
[The spirit is not trying to tell him that it's simple. He is not asking why he can't turn around and be something that he's not. He acknowledges that it's a struggle.
Not the accusations he's so tired of, but an offer he's ashamed to admit he aches for. Because no matter how fiercely he tries to convince himself that he can be strong, he knows he is not, and every time he tries to harden his heart, it stays the same pulpy, defeated mess. This is the cycle he has stumbled through for thousands of years, trying to be strong, lying to himself until he falls apart, and running away from the debris to try again, never getting any farther.]
Do you really think I'd stoop so low as to turn to anyone here? I can't even stand any of you!