[In the middle of all these calmly bewildered strangers, Sariatu feels more alien than she has ever felt in her long life. They are all whole and reasonable, the sort of undistracted persons one would expect to be pulled into a heroic mission, but she still feels cut in two.
She still feels as if her heart has been torn out of her body, like her blood is freely pouring out of her, taking her rage, her effort, everything she put into her failed, failed quest to save the all that mattered to her in the world with it.
Hanzo died in her sight all over again, murdered for the crime of being her love, and the afterlife has not given her the kindness of a reunion.
Kubo may be dead, or worse, punished for the crime of being better than heartless, and the afterlife has not given her the kindness of even a window to know whether or not this is so.
The afterlife has instead set a task before her, and the idea of being asked to care about any of it, to stand around and be calm and reasonable like a whole person, relating to these strangers who aren't already dead and yet still dying of grief all over again - they might as well ask her to muster up the strength to rebuild this entire city by herself.
The others are gathering, as heroes ought, but Sariatu has fallen into silence, her sorrow and her rage burned all out. Her shoulders shake, silently, as she curls in on herself, her sobs quiet but wholehearted.
Once she never would have wept in front of strangers, but there is nothing left in her to care about showing vulnerability.
Everyone she has ever loved is lost to her. Her face is not even her own anymore. How can she care about losing it?]
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She still feels as if her heart has been torn out of her body, like her blood is freely pouring out of her, taking her rage, her effort, everything she put into her failed, failed quest to save the all that mattered to her in the world with it.
Hanzo died in her sight all over again, murdered for the crime of being her love, and the afterlife has not given her the kindness of a reunion.
Kubo may be dead, or worse, punished for the crime of being better than heartless, and the afterlife has not given her the kindness of even a window to know whether or not this is so.
The afterlife has instead set a task before her, and the idea of being asked to care about any of it, to stand around and be calm and reasonable like a whole person, relating to these strangers who aren't already dead and yet still dying of grief all over again - they might as well ask her to muster up the strength to rebuild this entire city by herself.
The others are gathering, as heroes ought, but Sariatu has fallen into silence, her sorrow and her rage burned all out. Her shoulders shake, silently, as she curls in on herself, her sobs quiet but wholehearted.
Once she never would have wept in front of strangers, but there is nothing left in her to care about showing vulnerability.
Everyone she has ever loved is lost to her. Her face is not even her own anymore. How can she care about losing it?]