[ It's not quite a full rebuff of her words, but not quite there, yet, either; furthermore, it is a difficult question he asks. Not wanting to hurt others at any costs means occasionally taking on pain oneself-- and not hurting others because of not wanting to and the guilt that comes with it is indeed something one wishes to avoid. She knows this, because she she feels the same way, often.
Those with such self-sacrificial natures or those who put others before them, like Noctis, end up the ones neglecting themselves, internally hurting instead. What pain has been left inside has been rotting, hollowing him out like burrowed-through birch. She sees it in the weariness of his expression. ]
Remember what you said to me, not too long ago? About defending myself. [ "You're not a tool, or a weapon, or whatever. People can say what they want. They can think and feel. They can defend themselves when someone's attacking them. And they can speak up when they notice something's wrong. If you don't let yourself do all of that then you're acting like you're less than they are." ] You said that because... you didn't wish to see me hurt, didn't you?
[ There's a quiet, brief smile there as she recalls the memory-- betraying her fondness of it, how it reassured her, helped her, even if it now guilts her to view it in such a light when she probably should have asked him of his feelings then and not now. Her palm adjusts in his, spreading out his fingers to stretch them, then curling hers between once more. ]
It seems that... for all that the prophecy says you are the Chosen, or that your blood makes you royal [ Or special, or the exception, or any other iteration-- things that could have very well inflated his ego to insufferable levels... Instead, it's had the complete opposite effect.
His words back then... It dawns on her now (too late) that he could have, should have been speaking of himself, when he had been so freshly carrying a new, deep wound. ]
Just how long you've been living thinking yourself as less than everyone else?
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Those with such self-sacrificial natures or those who put others before them, like Noctis, end up the ones neglecting themselves, internally hurting instead. What pain has been left inside has been rotting, hollowing him out like burrowed-through birch. She sees it in the weariness of his expression. ]
Remember what you said to me, not too long ago? About defending myself. [ "You're not a tool, or a weapon, or whatever. People can say what they want. They can think and feel. They can defend themselves when someone's attacking them. And they can speak up when they notice something's wrong. If you don't let yourself do all of that then you're acting like you're less than they are." ] You said that because... you didn't wish to see me hurt, didn't you?
[ There's a quiet, brief smile there as she recalls the memory-- betraying her fondness of it, how it reassured her, helped her, even if it now guilts her to view it in such a light when she probably should have asked him of his feelings then and not now. Her palm adjusts in his, spreading out his fingers to stretch them, then curling hers between once more. ]
It seems that... for all that the prophecy says you are the Chosen, or that your blood makes you royal [ Or special, or the exception, or any other iteration-- things that could have very well inflated his ego to insufferable levels... Instead, it's had the complete opposite effect.
His words back then... It dawns on her now (too late) that he could have, should have been speaking of himself, when he had been so freshly carrying a new, deep wound. ]
Just how long you've been living thinking yourself as less than everyone else?