Her face falls flat. Yes, it would make sense that Joyless would need some sort of explanation. It would make sense that the person perpetuating this lie, this grand lie that began with John and ripples throughout every other aspect of Fealty's life, would require more fuel to keep it burning. Whoever this is, whichever person is wearing the face of her only friend, it's by merit of that and that alone that Apollonia is willing to talk. Willing to take this at, as it were, face value.
"I know that you aren't trying to protect him," she says. "Not after what he did to you. Though if you're still so insistent on this ruse of not being Mercymorn, then perhaps you really don't recall. Perhaps you don't remember the way he brought himself back from the hell that you sent him to and turned you into so much space dust without even thinking twice. You wouldn't remember him doing the same to me a moment later, then, would you?" Her skepticism is beginning to get the better of her. She remembers her own obliteration; shouldn't Mercymorn? Perhaps she needs something to jog her memory.
"All I want to know is where he is. Tell me, or I'll find him myself." She doesn't bother threatening this woman; Mercymorn would know what the implicit threat is. Mercymorn would recognize her. Apollonia would not be so cursed as to roam this world searching for people who should know who she is but do nothing but plaster confusion and fear on their faces as she passes. (This thought strikes deeper within, to a part of the death whorl within her that somehow feels more ancient than anything so far.)
"I want him to know," she continues, "That he can't be rid of us this easily, and that just because he's created we problem children, he can't simply unwrite us when we become inconvenient to his narrative."
no subject
"I know that you aren't trying to protect him," she says. "Not after what he did to you. Though if you're still so insistent on this ruse of not being Mercymorn, then perhaps you really don't recall. Perhaps you don't remember the way he brought himself back from the hell that you sent him to and turned you into so much space dust without even thinking twice. You wouldn't remember him doing the same to me a moment later, then, would you?" Her skepticism is beginning to get the better of her. She remembers her own obliteration; shouldn't Mercymorn? Perhaps she needs something to jog her memory.
"All I want to know is where he is. Tell me, or I'll find him myself." She doesn't bother threatening this woman; Mercymorn would know what the implicit threat is. Mercymorn would recognize her. Apollonia would not be so cursed as to roam this world searching for people who should know who she is but do nothing but plaster confusion and fear on their faces as she passes. (This thought strikes deeper within, to a part of the death whorl within her that somehow feels more ancient than anything so far.)
"I want him to know," she continues, "That he can't be rid of us this easily, and that just because he's created we problem children, he can't simply unwrite us when we become inconvenient to his narrative."