“What?”

So first you ignore her, now you’re picking over her past with a fine-toothed comb? Which is it, Hestia?! 

“Well. It’s, it was, a rather complicated decision. There wasn’t just [i]one[/i] reason behind it.” Vasilia muddles on, grasping at a rhythm that kept slipping between her fingers. Thrillingly tragic tales were not meant for this sort of sudden transition to scrutiny. Hestia, to her credit, did not rush her. Soon enough, she had her thoughts, and she began a new tale:

“When we first took Redana on board, the celebration lasted two full weeks. Not because she was the life of the party; far from it, all she knew was formal balls and state dinners. No, she wanted to see everything. [i]Do[/i] everything. There was nothing so insignificant aboard our ship that she wasn’t interested in. We had to keep pausing to make expeditions to the other decks whenever we offhandedly mentioned the waterfall we used to cool the cannons, or the second, upside-down bridge on the lowest deck, or what have you. The things we all took for granted, she saw their worth. Their wonder. All this time, and I don’t believe she’s stopped seeing it, not really.”

She fixes her gaze on her audience, and draws her voice, ringing with iron certainty. “That girl is going to die, Lady Hestia. Either in space, or Tellus will catch her, and they will kill her, and it will be centuries before she is permitted her rest. The only way she survives this is if she reaches Gaia, and receives her wish. There [i]is[/i] no other path for her victory. Her future. None that I can see. It is simply what has to be done.”

“...so I’m an old softie. Guilty as charged. Perhaps I could’ve withstood just her, but two-”

She stops. Stares a hole through the deck, eyes filling with a simpler past. She does not even look at the numbing flask as she draws it to her lips again.

“Ah. Two. Two bright, dear hearts. I didn’t stand a chance.”

**********************************************

The Lord of the Dead possessed many wondrous things. A comforting presence was not among them.

So, please, do not take it the wrong way if Dolce is silent and still through the whole argument. Nor should you think he chooses a side, subtly inching towards Hera. How can he; he works for you, after all! But she is an honored guest, and you should not think much of it that he sits, kneeling, at her feet, filling his vision with her warm radiance.

“I don’t understand, Lady Hera.” It could only be Lady, this close to her. “Where is the threat? She said she did not fancy Bella that way. She clearly regrets her actions. I told her that we will be fine.” Do you hear it, Lady Hera? His voice, he doesn’t intend for it to shake so. Clear enunciation, he strives for it, but hear what hollow, brittle words pass his lips. Broken, just as he said. “So, then, where is the threat?”