There were many aspects to Faith's personality. Ever had this been the way. As a slave, she had been more than content to accept her place in the world. Yet, as a slave she had learned a lot of things about not telling the truth. Yet, never lying. it was something she simply did not do. She did not lie. Tristan had ordered her to pity him and she had told him that she would do her best. He had asked her if she loved him and she had told him that there were many types of love. Famula herself had told Faith what she had to do and Faith had uttered the single word which she would have sworn she would never say to the Immortal she adored; no.
Yet, she did not lie. So, as much as "Hope" continued on. Faith glanced back at her, this child who appeared to be old. But age did not impart wisdom, nor experience. Faith knew that the former was the product of the latter and that was, quite simply, that. "Every evil has it's good, and every ill a cure," she said, softly but with utter determination in her voice, in her very being. "Hope is never, even in the darkest moments, a lie. Never." Unbidden, the memory of being in darkness, alone and afraid as a child, hunger her constant companion and the face of the child she had killed swam in front of her. Her gaze did not drop, her resolve did not waver. "Hope is always there, always. I will go on alone. Thank you." She didn't know this person, she didn't trust them and, more than that?
She didn't need them.
And then, Faith realised something. This was a false hope. A wild goose chase. A belief that somehow, she could fix this.
"We can only move forward together." Faith whispered, repeating back the words the door itself had spoken. "We must always look to hope, but that is not you. Hope is not external, not for either of us. It is us." And Faith realised more than that. False hope stopped you from seeing truth. Stopped you from observing what was, seeing what the possibilities were. And so, the disciplined young woman literally blocked out the "Alice" person and she frowned. "I need to move to him. Until I am with him, and he with me, we are not moving forward. That means we are staying still." That made sense.
And time moved strangely here. Like a dream.
Like a dream? A dream? The realisation hit her and Faith turned her attention away, completely, from the child. From their surroundings.
"We can only move forward together, Padraig," Faith whispered. Since the time that he had returned from the edge of the world, from the barrier which fed into his subconscious and haunted his sleep, Faith had walked in Padraig's dreams. Alongside him, chasing off the nightmares and letting him rest. She didn't tell him she was doing it, but he knew. She didn't need to tell him she was doing it.
"We're standing at the door, love," she whispered and she held out her hand. As in a dream, as she did and would so often, she shaped it. Her and him, standing there together. By his side, she slipped one hand into his and Faith visualised and concentrated on being with him.
Because the hope offered here, like everything about this place, was a lie. A test, maybe. The lie that was a promise of something else. A chase, a hope, despair; maybe even the sense of isolation and superiority they had encountered here. It was all a lie. A deceit which fed the fundamental untruths they faced. The last truth she had known was standing, her hand in her husband's hand. And that was where she returned. In truth, it was always where she returned and it was where, for the former slave and Champion of Famula, devout worshipper and adoring mother, her husband was where hope lived.
So, she took herself there. Like she would in a dream.
Because she had faith enough for both of them. Faith in him. Faith in them and the sudden, absolute certainty that it was true.
Yet, she did not lie. So, as much as "Hope" continued on. Faith glanced back at her, this child who appeared to be old. But age did not impart wisdom, nor experience. Faith knew that the former was the product of the latter and that was, quite simply, that. "Every evil has it's good, and every ill a cure," she said, softly but with utter determination in her voice, in her very being. "Hope is never, even in the darkest moments, a lie. Never." Unbidden, the memory of being in darkness, alone and afraid as a child, hunger her constant companion and the face of the child she had killed swam in front of her. Her gaze did not drop, her resolve did not waver. "Hope is always there, always. I will go on alone. Thank you." She didn't know this person, she didn't trust them and, more than that?
She didn't need them.
And then, Faith realised something. This was a false hope. A wild goose chase. A belief that somehow, she could fix this.
"We can only move forward together." Faith whispered, repeating back the words the door itself had spoken. "We must always look to hope, but that is not you. Hope is not external, not for either of us. It is us." And Faith realised more than that. False hope stopped you from seeing truth. Stopped you from observing what was, seeing what the possibilities were. And so, the disciplined young woman literally blocked out the "Alice" person and she frowned. "I need to move to him. Until I am with him, and he with me, we are not moving forward. That means we are staying still." That made sense.
And time moved strangely here. Like a dream.
Like a dream? A dream? The realisation hit her and Faith turned her attention away, completely, from the child. From their surroundings.
"We can only move forward together, Padraig," Faith whispered. Since the time that he had returned from the edge of the world, from the barrier which fed into his subconscious and haunted his sleep, Faith had walked in Padraig's dreams. Alongside him, chasing off the nightmares and letting him rest. She didn't tell him she was doing it, but he knew. She didn't need to tell him she was doing it.
"We're standing at the door, love," she whispered and she held out her hand. As in a dream, as she did and would so often, she shaped it. Her and him, standing there together. By his side, she slipped one hand into his and Faith visualised and concentrated on being with him.
Because the hope offered here, like everything about this place, was a lie. A test, maybe. The lie that was a promise of something else. A chase, a hope, despair; maybe even the sense of isolation and superiority they had encountered here. It was all a lie. A deceit which fed the fundamental untruths they faced. The last truth she had known was standing, her hand in her husband's hand. And that was where she returned. In truth, it was always where she returned and it was where, for the former slave and Champion of Famula, devout worshipper and adoring mother, her husband was where hope lived.
So, she took herself there. Like she would in a dream.
Because she had faith enough for both of them. Faith in him. Faith in them and the sudden, absolute certainty that it was true.
