If there was one thing Zulf considered himself good at, when not speaking himself, it was listening. Even with Rucks, after everything they've been unwillingly together through, he had managed to get himself to calm down. So while Seimei had a lot of words to say, Zulf listened carefully and stored everything said away with just as much care. In a way, it was a reassurance to hear so much. Maybe it was because it meant that great thought had been put into what was being said. Maybe because since he could not get himself to speak, it was valuable to listen to others.
Everything that was said... It made sense. It was all information he already knew. Hadn't he once made his living on words, on the effect they could have on others? It was something he had known even as a child scrambling for survival on the streets. What words could make a person pity you more, the words that had trouble running straight towards you. Then his father had come and taught him more. Taught him other words, taught him how a lack often brought strife...
Once upon a time, he had risked his own life to be able to go to a place and try to solve pain from the Point Lemaign War with his words alone. In what seemed like an entirely different story, once upon a time, he had desperately hoped that his words could help prevent disaster. They'd failed, both times, but that didn't mean words no longer had any worth. Just... his. That's what it felt like.
He stayed silent for a good while after Seimei finished speaking, gaze focused elsewhere as he stewed in his own thoughts. There was no denying that there was a lot of sense in what he had just been told. But... still no solution. Finally, after some minutes, he released a breath and reached forward to write once more.
Sometimes I wish I could properly understand what it is about me that is so valuable to other people. I sometimes think it is because they cannot possibly understand that I have done horrible things since I have not told them of such.
Yet I know that the truth is the opposite of that. Even when I was young and had done careless cruel things, I still became someone who, to another, was of much worth. Those who I hold dear to myself here know to the dreadful extent to which I can act because of being witness to it firsthand. Despite this knowledge, they trust me as much as it is possible to truth a person. For one of them, the last time we had met before all of this was when I had committed a terrible betrayal. By all rights he should have wanted me dead. I was expecting to die. I'd accepted it.
There was a pause, as if he nearly wanted to write something else out, before he seemed to think better of it and moves on.
He ended up ignoring all my expectations and saved my life. He thinks of me as a friend still, in fact. If it were two other people involved and I was merely an outsider looking in, maybe I could see the reason more clearly. It's only when it concerns myself that I seem suddenly blind.
I suppose there must surely be someone who can see these things so easily. Yet I could not say who they are, so I am at a loss trying to solve such a strange complicated thing on my own.
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Everything that was said... It made sense. It was all information he already knew. Hadn't he once made his living on words, on the effect they could have on others? It was something he had known even as a child scrambling for survival on the streets. What words could make a person pity you more, the words that had trouble running straight towards you. Then his father had come and taught him more. Taught him other words, taught him how a lack often brought strife...
Once upon a time, he had risked his own life to be able to go to a place and try to solve pain from the Point Lemaign War with his words alone. In what seemed like an entirely different story, once upon a time, he had desperately hoped that his words could help prevent disaster. They'd failed, both times, but that didn't mean words no longer had any worth. Just... his. That's what it felt like.
He stayed silent for a good while after Seimei finished speaking, gaze focused elsewhere as he stewed in his own thoughts. There was no denying that there was a lot of sense in what he had just been told. But... still no solution. Finally, after some minutes, he released a breath and reached forward to write once more.
Sometimes I wish I could properly understand what it is about me that is so valuable to other people. I sometimes think it is because they cannot possibly understand that I have done horrible things since I have not told them of such.
Yet I know that the truth is the opposite of that. Even when I was young and had done careless cruel things, I still became someone who, to another, was of much worth. Those who I hold dear to myself here know to the dreadful extent to which I can act because of being witness to it firsthand. Despite this knowledge, they trust me as much as it is possible to truth a person. For one of them, the last time we had met before all of this was when I had committed a terrible betrayal. By all rights he should have wanted me dead. I was expecting to die. I'd accepted it.
There was a pause, as if he nearly wanted to write something else out, before he seemed to think better of it and moves on.
He ended up ignoring all my expectations and saved my life. He thinks of me as a friend still, in fact. If it were two other people involved and I was merely an outsider looking in, maybe I could see the reason more clearly. It's only when it concerns myself that I seem suddenly blind.
I suppose there must surely be someone who can see these things so easily. Yet I could not say who they are, so I am at a loss trying to solve such a strange complicated thing on my own.