He remembered first seeing her, a bright but shy girl-child with soft pink hair in the house of her father. C'kayah had brought him an unusual delivery, explosives that many considered too unstable to carry, and the Hyur had invited him to stay for dinner. He'd adopted the Miqo'te, taken her in when he found her starving. It was an all-too-common story in the weeks following the Calamity.
He remembered her shining pale eyes when he gave her a clockwork chocobo. She'd thrown herself in his arms and he felt she might never let him go.
He remembered her reading the books of poetry, of politics, little volumes of history and intrigues he would bring her when he came. She'd become the bright point in his trips to Thanalan, and he made it a point to always bring her a little gift. She was a delight, and he loved her like a doting uncle.
He remembered seeing her graceful form as she danced, as she walked, as she sat. He didn't know when his love for her changed from the chaste love of a relation to a more carnal desire, but he took pains to hide it away. She was the daughter of a friend, and not even seventeen.
He remembered the looks they would give each other over dinner. Looks that promised something they both knew could never happen.
He remembered meeting her later. She was an adult then, and her too-bright eyes seemed to pierce him. They admitted what they never had, but he was mated to another and could not act on his feelings for her. He remembered painful months. Remembered her pain, and his own, each time causing them to flee each other before inevitably drawing them back to one another.
He remembered the look of betrayal in her pale eyes when left her. It didn't matter to her the reason. Didn't matter that someone he cared about was in trouble and needed his help. Didn't matter that he would have done the same thing for her. All that mattered to her was that he was leaving. She had grown into a woman, yet was still a child in so many ways. This could not go on. He could never change how he felt about her, no more than she could about him. But he would not be the cause of her harm anymore.
The link pearl cracked as he brought his boot down on it, then split into two uneven halves. He picked them up and held them in his hand, before tossing them into the stream. A brief pain shot through his heart as he did so, then he felt a weight lift from his soul. This terrible love which had nearly claimed both their lives would not do so any longer. He walked away, his step light, whistling tunenessly to himself.
He remembered her shining pale eyes when he gave her a clockwork chocobo. She'd thrown herself in his arms and he felt she might never let him go.
He remembered her reading the books of poetry, of politics, little volumes of history and intrigues he would bring her when he came. She'd become the bright point in his trips to Thanalan, and he made it a point to always bring her a little gift. She was a delight, and he loved her like a doting uncle.
He remembered seeing her graceful form as she danced, as she walked, as she sat. He didn't know when his love for her changed from the chaste love of a relation to a more carnal desire, but he took pains to hide it away. She was the daughter of a friend, and not even seventeen.
He remembered the looks they would give each other over dinner. Looks that promised something they both knew could never happen.
He remembered meeting her later. She was an adult then, and her too-bright eyes seemed to pierce him. They admitted what they never had, but he was mated to another and could not act on his feelings for her. He remembered painful months. Remembered her pain, and his own, each time causing them to flee each other before inevitably drawing them back to one another.
He remembered the look of betrayal in her pale eyes when left her. It didn't matter to her the reason. Didn't matter that someone he cared about was in trouble and needed his help. Didn't matter that he would have done the same thing for her. All that mattered to her was that he was leaving. She had grown into a woman, yet was still a child in so many ways. This could not go on. He could never change how he felt about her, no more than she could about him. But he would not be the cause of her harm anymore.
The link pearl cracked as he brought his boot down on it, then split into two uneven halves. He picked them up and held them in his hand, before tossing them into the stream. A brief pain shot through his heart as he did so, then he felt a weight lift from his soul. This terrible love which had nearly claimed both their lives would not do so any longer. He walked away, his step light, whistling tunenessly to himself.
