Perhaps she'd simply lock herself in her home, once it was built.
Every venture she'd made since becoming a Knight seemed to have resulted in a more resounding failure than the previous one.
It was no wonder that she wanted to move slow with Ivor. If she went charging in as she had with everything else, he'd go slipping through her fingers. Except, when she hadn't moved with intensity...it caused Ivor to doubt her.
He was one thing she couldn't stand to lose. He was the only steady thing in a maelstrom of change. She'd endured that sort of loss only once, and more than enough pain to last a lifetime still haunted her. She didn't need that sort of thing again.
But here it seemed everyone was waiting to see who she would be...how would she coalesce, under pressure?
The only currency she seemed capable of dealing in anymore was disappointment, though.
“Of course he had hope to begin with – he wouldn't have been upset otherwise, would he have?”
Kharris' words in reference to Asarel stung all that much more. He'd lost faith that she'd ever change her ways - or learn - it seemed. She had only herself to blame, though. A series of missteps had brought her here, to this point. The Knights' logic had left her with a narrow mindset that was expanding every day – she'd get the blinders off eventually. They'd see. She'd get things straight and be this up-right, honest, noble woman she kept hearing about. She'd be “The Duchess Whitedawn” one day.
Right now...she was just a kitten, after all, it seemed. All claws and fangs, with no true direction.
The brunette sat behind the fountain in the Bazaar, watching the thick smoke curl upwards. She pulled on the cigarette, silently hoping that she was far enough away from the Wayfarer's to avoid being seen.
She'd been a thoughtless child.
She'd always taken the punishment for her misdeeds as a lesson learned. She was still haunted by that memory of the Naga...she'd thought they would skin her alive. That moment as the myrimdon's impossibly large, scaled arms pulled the spear out of her shoulder - rearing back...readying himself to push the spearhead all the way through her shoulder on the second blow.
That's what this felt like – that instant you realize that nothing has gone according to plan, and you are about to suffer greatly for it.
The culmination of one's mistakes is a heavy, suffocating burden.
Except this time she couldn't know what to expect. Simply knowing that she'd made an ass of herself again was bad enough - not to mention that the disappointment had netted her being compared to that nobility which she couldn't even pretend to respect – the Baroness.
She shouldn't have risen to the occasion.
She shouldn't have let herself be baited.
Hadn't she just told Ivor recently? "You can't just run in, waving your sword around," and yet...she tended to have the same reaction.
Lily let her head drop back against the stone fountain – idly watching the smoke curl from her lips.
Since when did she smoke thistle regularly, anyhow? Gil had picked up on it, even. She'd have to be more discreet.
She needed to change, and adapt.
The Knight would endure this punishment, as no other option seemed viable. She just asked that the Light to guide her in her response – that it temper her will, and open new possibilities.
Respect, tenacity, and compassion.
At first glance, they seem easy enough.
Upon application, equilibrium is harder to find – too much of any one thing, and nothing goes as it should.
She needed to apologize...despite the fact that it would accomplish nothing in the way of actions already decided upon. That wasn't the point though, really. It was that she'd seen that he was right, once more. That her own brash actions had acted against herself, in the end.
Lilliana put the cigarette butt out in the grass with a sigh, before tossing it to the pavement – the magic brooms would take care of it by morning. She pushed herself wearily off the ground to make her way back to her small flat in the Wayfarer's, where more restless sleep awaited her.