[ For all she'd demanded it just a few minutes ago, Alexandrie doesn't want to talk about it either. It hurts, and it feels stupid and small. It had felt stupid and small the moment she'd recovered her composure, but before that... inescapable. World-shattering. And she doesn't want to talk about it because she doesn't know why.
Alexandrie lets herself relax backwards onto the bed to watch the light on the ceiling again, because it feels far away. Like she could be far away, as she is when she paints. A watcher outside the world. It's safe there.
Maybe that's why the Maker won't come back until everyone in the entire world sings to him. Maybe if it isn't every single voice, every single heart, there will still be a chance that the ones he loves most will turn their backs on him, and more than anything he is afraid. Alexandrie has never loved the Maker. But she thinks now, as she looks at the light and yearns to be sung for, that she could love him if he were afraid.
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Alexandrie lets herself relax backwards onto the bed to watch the light on the ceiling again, because it feels far away. Like she could be far away, as she is when she paints. A watcher outside the world. It's safe there.
Maybe that's why the Maker won't come back until everyone in the entire world sings to him. Maybe if it isn't every single voice, every single heart, there will still be a chance that the ones he loves most will turn their backs on him, and more than anything he is afraid. Alexandrie has never loved the Maker. But she thinks now, as she looks at the light and yearns to be sung for, that she could love him if he were afraid.
Softly: ]
I am frightened to.