(This is a continuation of Broken.)
Cynsosiel kept reminding herself- this was /his/ fault. In reality, she was the one that had suggested a divorce, out of self-preservation and disgust at her husband's choice to join the guards. But she couldn't handle that, so she told herself otherwise until she believed her own self-justifying lies. She kept repeating under her breath, "He hated you. He thought you were ugly. He didn't want you when you refused to convert to Unionism." She took a deep breath, burying her face in her palms. He expected her to change her life. How? How the bloody void was she supposed to do that? One step above ground, and she'd likely be caught and executed by the very guard force he worked for! But nevertheless, her thoughts trailed back to the previous night. Had she gone too far, keeping up her faƧade of hatred in an attempt to seem more strong and commanding than she was? She remembered what she responded with, when Unster had called her religion without hope: "It has hope," she had retorted, "Hope that, when the next Void Invasion comes, Berthilda and I will thrive while you burn." She recalled abandoning him while he cried on the ground, begging her to change her mind and stay with him. Part of her pitied the man. She had said some of the nastiest things she could think of, only to leave him alone in the sewers, sobbing. But a much larger part of her had taken pleasure in his misery. After all, wasn't this man and his blessed religion the reason she and her daughter would grow up homeless in the sewers? He deserved it. He deserved it so much. She kept telling herself these things, forcing herself to believe them. This was how Cynsosiel coped; turning sadness into hatred. Perhaps she had gone too far, but he had gone much farther. Unster had complained how he'd never be able to love another, but neither would she! He had said that Cynny had ten days to prove that their relationship should have existed and that their daughter should have existed. She told herself that he wished her daughter was never born, until she had believed it. She told herself that this man was not willing to look past religious disputes for her daughter's sake, and that he was not worth her tears. That night, Cynsosiel took a solemn vow: She would thrive in this situation. She'd make sure no one tried to limit her like that again. She'd never love anyone else, no one other than her daughter and "son", and even then, that love was more motherly than romantic. While Unsterbligh struggled, Cynsosiel would keep her guard up, and spread /her/ beliefs, just as he had been spreading his.
Cynsosiel kept reminding herself- this was /his/ fault. In reality, she was the one that had suggested a divorce, out of self-preservation and disgust at her husband's choice to join the guards. But she couldn't handle that, so she told herself otherwise until she believed her own self-justifying lies. She kept repeating under her breath, "He hated you. He thought you were ugly. He didn't want you when you refused to convert to Unionism." She took a deep breath, burying her face in her palms. He expected her to change her life. How? How the bloody void was she supposed to do that? One step above ground, and she'd likely be caught and executed by the very guard force he worked for! But nevertheless, her thoughts trailed back to the previous night. Had she gone too far, keeping up her faƧade of hatred in an attempt to seem more strong and commanding than she was? She remembered what she responded with, when Unster had called her religion without hope: "It has hope," she had retorted, "Hope that, when the next Void Invasion comes, Berthilda and I will thrive while you burn." She recalled abandoning him while he cried on the ground, begging her to change her mind and stay with him. Part of her pitied the man. She had said some of the nastiest things she could think of, only to leave him alone in the sewers, sobbing. But a much larger part of her had taken pleasure in his misery. After all, wasn't this man and his blessed religion the reason she and her daughter would grow up homeless in the sewers? He deserved it. He deserved it so much. She kept telling herself these things, forcing herself to believe them. This was how Cynsosiel coped; turning sadness into hatred. Perhaps she had gone too far, but he had gone much farther. Unster had complained how he'd never be able to love another, but neither would she! He had said that Cynny had ten days to prove that their relationship should have existed and that their daughter should have existed. She told herself that he wished her daughter was never born, until she had believed it. She told herself that this man was not willing to look past religious disputes for her daughter's sake, and that he was not worth her tears. That night, Cynsosiel took a solemn vow: She would thrive in this situation. She'd make sure no one tried to limit her like that again. She'd never love anyone else, no one other than her daughter and "son", and even then, that love was more motherly than romantic. While Unsterbligh struggled, Cynsosiel would keep her guard up, and spread /her/ beliefs, just as he had been spreading his.
