Chapter Text
When Rose has been there for a sweep, Kanaya makes a fuss.
It's not a date that Rose actively tries to remember. To her way of thinking, marking how long she's been in her current situation isn't something that needs to be done, not something she needs to be reminded of. She certainly shouldn't counting up the sweeps; rather counting backwards, in reverse, even if estimating her lifespan is a tricky business. Still, it's hard not to be aware of the significance of the day, and so she goes to no effort to feign confusion.
If Rose were to be in the habit of reminiscing, then she might think back on her first sweep ruled by Kanaya's fist that was less iron, and more in line with the soft, satiny fabrics she uses in her work. She might think and reflect over the way she had done her best to avert her gaze, in order to later savour and slowly take in the curves and straight lines that made up the building. Now she knows the whole of the hive so well, has cleaned every inch of it, that she could make her way around blindfolded. She would consider how she had once had no more trust in Kanaya than in the handlers who worked night in and night out to tame her, but now trusts in herself to one day begin trusting in Kanaya.
But Rose is not set on reminiscing, so these things do not flood her mind. Nothing regarding the date does, until Kanaya makes a fuss, and sets a cage in front of her.
There is a cloth covering the top of it, so Rose cannot see into the cage, but the fabric drapes around the distinct girth of the bars, so she identifies it easily enough. Arms folded across her chest, she raises an eyebrow, believing it her right to be perplexed. Kanaya is eager enough, subconsciously leaning forward a little, as if she herself doesn't know what's in the cage, either. Rose isn't sure whether her reluctance to reach out and pull the cloth away is because of her own apprehension with regards to what could be inside, or to build Kanaya's anticipation higher.
A cage. Mistress, you shouldn't have. I've considered my respiteblock to be far too large and comfortable for some time, but didn't want to take the liberty of saying so.
Okay Now I Suppose Were Going To Discuss The Possibilities Of Fitting You Into A Cage Thats One And A Half Feet Tall And Not Much Deeper
Admittedly I Shouldve Seen This Coming
Perhaps A Box Would Have Been More Appropriate But Now I Know Better For Next Time
So How Are We Doing This
You could chop me into smaller, more manageable parts, and cram them all in.
I Was Just About To Suggest That
Shall I put the petrol in your chainsaw, Mistress?
Thank You Rose
But I Would Prefer It If You First Looked Inside
You Know To Become Accustomed To You New Living Arrangements
If you insist on doing things that way around.
Rose kneels in front of the cage. By this point, she is long since experienced in receiving gifts from Kanaya, but no more used to it. She has her books, her pencils, her magazines, even a violin; Kanaya gave her that a few months ago but never asked her to play it, which was just like her. If she had, then when Rose picked it up and pressed it between her chin and shoulder, then she may well have stood a chance of remembering where to place her fingers against the strings to form notes, how much pressure to put upon it with the bow. When she'd tried to play alone, the violin had produced a troubling noise, a whine and a wail, and Rose hasn't touched the instrument since.
She reaches out to the cloth slowly. Kanaya's eyes are on her, and she feels that she's being judged, rather than warmly watched over. Rose doesn't like getting gifts, because she can't do anything but assume there are ulterior motives there, even if she knows the truth is anything but that. Her brain is just hard-wired in a way that doesn't make her life or Kanaya's particularly easy. Sometimes she thinks to apologise for it, but instead she tries to make up for it in small ways. She pulls the cloth away without further ado.
Rose doesn't know what she was expecting, as there aren't many things that could have been inside a cage. That doesn't stop the surprise from registering on her face, and she stares down at the cage as if it's not really there at all, and there's simply a gaping hole in the floor in its place. A noise comes from inside, a different sort of wail and a whine that doesn't set her teeth on edge, and Rose wonders how she didn't hear it before this very moment.
... Mistress?
What Is It Rose
While I realise that trolls have their own unique dietary requirements, I sincerely hope this isn't what you expect me to prepare for tonight's dinner.
And While Humans Have Their Own Unique Reactions To Certain Alternian Animals I Sincerely Hope That Your First Thought Wasnt To Eat It
Far from it.
Rose is still tilting her head this way and that at the small kitten curled up in one corner of the cage, watching her with wide, attentive eyes. She clears her throat awkwardly, trying to conjure up the part of her that should be driven to ooohing and awwwwing by a bundle of something so unquestionably cute, and though she's moved in some way, remains quite silent. She wonders why cats are cats on Alternia, rather than purrbeasts or hairball creatures.
I'm not going to eat you. Don't worry, I've already had breakfast today.
Oh She Is Very Reassured Just Look At That Smile Rose
All two of them.
The cage opens without a creak when Rose unfastens the latch. She knows better than to bother Kanaya with intentionally obtuse questions by now, and doesn't look a giftcat in the mouth, so to speak. Rose drops a careful hand into the cage, and is surprised she remembers how to act so tenderly towards any creature. Her life is a monotonous drivel of scrubbing and scouring and cooking and her hands are calloused, but the tiny creature cautiously raises her head, sniffing curiously at one finger. She's very young, probably can't be much older than a few weeks, if Alternian cats age and grow in the same way that Earthly ones do.
Rose scrunches up her face. All of a sudden, she doesn't know how to make the appropriate expression and feels humiliated for having Kanaya watching her flounder. Rose grinds her teeth together, the kitten bumps her forehead against the backs of her fingers, and the tension in her jaw breaks out into stilted, tepid laughter. Not cold, for once. Kanaya reaches out, placing one hand on Rose's shoulder so that she can swoop down and pet the kitten in turn.
In that instant, in between blinks, Rose pictures a lot of things. She sees the kitten beside her as she scrubs the floor, batting at the soap bubbles and becoming increasingly confused when her shimmery prey disappear the moment she gets her claws on them. She sees her scrambling over every surface in the nourishblock, scuttling between pots and pans and knocking cutlery onto the floor, nearly falling into a boiling pot in an effort to reach the fish Rose has just dropped into it. In the garden, she pounces energetically onto the bugs, the flowers caught in the breeze, and wears herself out far too quickly, nestling down in the shadow of Rose's toolbox as she works four hours and hours without rest. And then she's a cat, still by her side, curled up on her lap in the night, making the bedsheets droop under her weight as Rose reads, idly scratching behind her ears.
It's not much, hardly anything at all, but it marks the first time in what may be forever that Rose has actually looked to her future, and more than that, it's been positive. She should probably feel more despondent than ever that a mere cat is all she has to make it feel as if her life continues on for some sort of reason, but she can't even bring herself to make light of her own fleeting daydreams. She picks up the kitten, holding her to her chest, feeling her tail flick back and forth against the back of her wrist.
She Seems Rather Taken With You
Do You Like Her
Oh, yes, Mistress. She's beautiful.
*
Ever since being taken from Earth, but especially since she became Kanaya's slave, Rose's life has been akin to climbing a craggy rock face.
She is a rock climber, a slope scaler, a cliff traverser, slowly but surely making her way up an unforgiving canvas that's so steep at times it isn't merely vertical. She feels herself incline backwards, even as she grips on tightly. It is a cliff at sea, hundreds of feet tall, if not thousands. When she first arrives at the base of it, she looks up, and is blinded by the sun that peeks over the top. She thinks to herself that she'll never reach the summit, but the tide is lapping at her ankles, and so she knows there's nothing for it but to climb.
Rose is slow, at first. Inexperienced and uncertain of herself, but if she doesn't pick up speed, the sea soon will. The rocks are rough on her hands, drying them out, and her toes keep slipping. Loose rocks fall from beneath her feet, and no matter how the cliff threatens to expel her into the sea below, Rose never looks back. She wants to know how close the rising waters are, and if there are cutting rocks below to meet her, should she descend, but she never looks back, lest it seems like she wants to take the plunge. After a time, Rose realises she must be halfway up. She can't tell how she knows, because she's pressed so flat to the rock that when she looks up, all she sees is more cliff; not sky.
There's a ledge jutting out at this halfway point. Rose clambers onto it, hands and knees pressing to the flat ground beneath her, and she can't wrap her head around the horizontal. She sits, back rested against the cliff, arms around her knees, and at once she's taking in the extent wounds. Her fingers and toes are bloody and torn hands and feet not much better, and all of her body is covered in a littering of bruises from loose rocks that have fallen from the cliff and almost taken her down with them. After some time, she realises that there's a shallow puddle of water by her feet, though she doesn't remember it raining. Surely she would've felt that.
Rose washes the blood and dirt, caked into her skin in equal quantities, from her hands and feet, and notices that her skin feels rougher. There are more lines there than there were before. She looks out to the sea, finally, and notices that it's stopped rising. It's a long, long way beneath her and doesn't look as if it could be much deeper than a pool, from this height.
She doesn't rest for long, knowing that she has to keep moving. She's already taken enough risks in a break like this. Up Rose goes, and the cliff face only becomes harder to scale, more treacherous. What looks like a rock she can take hold of crumbles in her grasp like sand, and when she takes hold of the thick, tough looking roots and long grasses, they wilt between her fingers. She has to move from side to side, sometimes going down before she can proceed any further, and she has moved so much from her initial starting point that when she looks down, she can no longer see the ledge she rested upon.
Rose shakes her head, knowing it doesn't matter. Her bones may ache and her muscles may be weary, but she doesn't think she could stop, even if she reached the top. If there is a top. She's starting to believe that this cliff will go on forever, that she goes in circles, sometimes climbing downwards, and then the sea becomes the rain that she never feels. In that way, the top and the bottom are as indistinct from one another as the sea and the sky are when there are no ships or sun to cut the two in half.
Onward she goes, until it begins to storm. She hears none of the thunder, sees none of the lightning, and tastes no rain on the tip of her tongue, but she knows that it's there. She's felt the pressure building in the air for days, weeks, months. There is a tremulous feel to the cliff, like it all might crack and give itself over to a landslide. She knows that she doesn't have long, even if she never had much time at all to begin with. She climbs. The rock face crumbles beneath her hands, becomes soft and clay-like when sprayed by ocean waves that are rightly too far below to affect it, and every time she almost slips and falls, Rose's heart pounds against the inside of her ribs. Every time. The effect never lessens, and she never fears for her life, or an imitation of it, any less: it's all real to her.
And then she does it. She reaches up, thinks that she'll feel the dry, arid rock hot beneath her hand, but is rewarded by a handful of grass. There is no energy left in her body, but she forces herself to move, powered by the lungful of air that she barely manages to drink down. Pulling herself up with a final heave, Rose reaches the top of the cliff and rolls onto the grass, landing with such force that her bones almost jolt out of place.
There is sun on her face. She's no longer in the cliff's shadow. It's warm but unfamiliar, and she raises her hands, shielding herself against it. It's so bright that she can't yet see around her, and so doesn't dare to move more than is required to breathe, because she fears she might roll and tumble from the grassy ledge she's found herself on.
Slowly, her eyes adjust, one-by-one. She spreads out her hands, fingers easing away from one another like branches of a tree stretched out, and then moves her hands away altogether when the clear blue sky doesn't cause the backs of her eyes to burn. Rose looks around, and barely even has it within herself to let her heart sink when she sees another cliff, taller than the first. Birds circle around this one, making their nests there. Rose knows that they won't let her pass.
She uses a hand to push herself to her feet, and sees that there are two options available to her. Two, because she won't entertain the notion of remaining where she is: she cannot deal with an in-between place where her every nerve stands on end. She could scale the cliff, though her fingers are almost worked to the bone, and risk finding a third cliff at its peak. Or she could take her chances and jump out into the sea.
She could also realise that acting like there's any choice to be made is utter bullshit, because she's already running towards the edge, arms swinging at her sides, feet suddenly not pounding against grass anymore.
She's free.
For a moment, Rose doesn't fall. She is in the air, above it all. The cliffs are behind her, out of sight, and so they may as well not exist. The sea is so very far beneath her that it doesn't register as a threat. For a millisecond, every drop of logic in her body is converted to bliss, and she truly believes that she'll never fall.
But she does, and like a stone.
The wind rushes past her, her clothes are pulled askew. She reaches out desperately, trying to grasp at anything, but there is only the salty air to cling to. The fall's so long that she begins to think coherently, begins to wonder how on earth she climbed so high, and how long it's taken to get to that point. How easily she's thrown it all away. Then, as the waves take a more distinct form beneath her, Rose wonders why the adrenaline rush hasn't killed her yet.
She hits the water. The surface breaks, but she doesn't.
It doesn't so much as sting her skin. She's managed to remember to hold her breath, and so the bubbling water doesn't rush into her mouth. And strangely, there's no discomfort there, even though she can't tell her head from her tail or black from white. It doesn't even occur to her that she needs to come up for breath. It's like a passing thought, something she can get around to at her own pace. She twists and swirls with the strong current of the water, sees the waves above her cause the surface to foam white at the top, and she is pushed and pulled in every direction. It washes over her, all around her, warm in spite of everything she was expecting.
She lets go of her self, but knows that it isn't very far behind. She can reach out and reclaim it at any time.
Her skin buzzes. She forgets how many limbs she has. Two legs at one moment, and then a third in between them. Four legs, two wrapped around her hips. And then similarly, another two arms, encircling her waist. She's not down in the ocean alone, has never been left here to cast away. Rose's fingers tangle in something. Not seaweed with coral caught in it, but soft hair and sturdy horns. The warmth around her isn't the sea at all, but rather Kanaya's lips on her skin, her collarbone, her stomach, lower still, making her need to hold her breath. She never drowns. Never struggles for air, never fights to find the surface.
Whenever it becomes overwhelming, Kanaya rises up, lips pressing against Rose's, breathing into her. And Rose's lips are red here, not the horrible blue of her dreams; or maybe black, a little. Rose remembers catching Kanaya off-guard, remembers that much, and she hadn't had time to prepare herself.
In those moments, twisting together under the sea, Kanaya makes Rose feel that her body is good for something other than working herself to the point of exhaustion around the hive in jerky, rigid movements. She flows. Her hands instinctively know where to go, her body knows how to bend and arch, though she doesn't recall ever acquiring the knowledge in the first place.
Once it's over, once the sea begins to drain, Rose swims to the surface that's drawing ever closer, breaking out into the cool night air.
Also known as coming up from under her blanket.
Her eyes are wide, dry. She can't remember how to blink, and she inhales through her nose for a long, long time, as if she's never planning on letting the breath out. Turning onto her side, Rose pulls the cover up around her, feeling that she was right, long ago, about there being something to be ashamed of under her plain, shapeless grey outfit. She feels as if she should wear it again, as if she should be wearing it right now.
But before she can make a move, Kanaya's hands are on her shoulders. Rose remains perfectly still, stares at the wall, and wonders how long the quiet can persist for. It certainly isn't silent, because she hears Kanaya's breath come heavily, though it's far more subdued than moments before, hears the bed cover shift as the two of them make minute movements. Rose runs her tongue across her dry lips, tastes Kanaya, and wants the mattress to tear in two and swallow her whole, like the sea failed to.
Remarkably, though, she's still there with Kanaya. She's stood her ground. Kanaya's arms wrap around her waist, and she doesn't flinch, doesn't tear herself away. She finally remembers how to screw her eyes shut, and leans back against Kanaya. It's comfortable. More comfortable than her empty bed, and she hates that; hates that she didn't hate this, hates herself for wanting to have hated it. It's a complex cycle. Rose wishes her own thoughts could desist for just a moment. If she focuses hard enough, the sound of her heartbeat and the blood pumping through her ears is almost enough to drown them out. One in particular thought stands out, though: Well, what were you expecting when you dragged your mistress back to your block and kissed her like that?
Rose lies as still as she knows how, and doesn't escape from this in the usual way. Or what she would've thought would be the usual way, had this ever happened before. She doesn't think of Jade. She waits patiently for Kanaya to speak up, but when she doesn't, decides to preempt whatever it is she might have to say.
Can this be one of those things that we don't talk about? Ever.
If Thats The Way It Has To Be For You To Remain Comfortable
Rose nods slowly, almost moved to thank Kanaya. She does relax, after a fashion: she allows her hands to wander, fingers tracing lines over the parts of Kanaya's arms that cross her waist, and when Kanaya kisses the corner of her jaw, just beneath her ear, Rose doesn't feel that it's too inappropriate. She pretends that they aren't on Alternia at all, that this is Earth, and she's normal. Her mind isn't constantly clouded, her sense hasn't been torn to shreds and rearranged by handlers and keepers to better suit their purposes, and she is just a twenty year-old young woman in the arms of another. But Kanaya is still a troll in this fantasy, because even with her eyes closed, Rose can still make out her glow. But that's alright, because Kanaya would like it on Earth. She'd fit in there. She'd have all the company she could ever want during the day, hundreds upon thousands of people to appreciate fashion with her. Kanaya's never seemed to fit in amongst the others, Rose muses. She doesn't have the vicious streak.
Would You Prefer It If I Returned To My Respiteblock
No. I've already made myself comfortable for the night.
If Youre Certain
Please Let Me Know If That Changes Rose
Mm-hm. The glow is a little distracting, though.
Unfortunately Nothing Can Be Done About That It Is Simply The Way I Am
In The Same Way I Suppose That You Cant Help But Keep Stretching Your Legs Out And Knocking The End Of Your Bed Cover Off Of My Feet
But No I Guess Thats Not As Distracting As A Glow
So I Apologise For That But Must Point Out How Bizarre These Human Beds Are Whilst Being Oddly Comfortable
Almost Like Being Wrapped In A Cocoon
You said you wanted to know what I think about you. Does that still stand?
Right Now
Right now.
Um
Well There Is No Time Like The Present Though I Will Admit I Am Somewhat Apprehensive Considering What Has Just Unfolded
I think you're naïve. Still. I think you've lived too much of your life in the desert, away from the bulk of your race, and as such, you don't fit in properly among them. It's not a bad thing. Not by my standards, at any rate. But you're naïve and chronically and irreparably stupid if you think that you can save me. I am not here to be saved by you, Mistress. Nor do I want to be. I am here to work, and even if I don't work, I know you'll forever be giving me orders. Relax. Get some sleep. Take some time to yourself. Go out and do as you please. Orders. You'll never be satisfied not giving them out, now that we've been like this for so long, and it doesn't matter whether they're for my own benefit or for the benefit of your hive. I don't think you'll ever understand that.
Because you're so goddamn insistent on saving me. I'm not a lost soul, Mistress. I'm a girl who was taken from her home and forced into slavery, and that's the long and short of it. There's nothing to romanticise there. There's no single thing that's going to suddenly make me go back to the way I could've been. No matter how you insist, I— well. I resent you for it a lot. You make me feel as if I have it too good, as if I should punish myself for that by pushing you away. I still don't know if I want you close, or if I want you to be gone. All I know is that this doesn't feel bad, which in itself is unnerving. I could make a life out of this, here. Not much of one, but it'd be better than the empty, worthless one I have at the moment.
I don't hate you. In another time and place and another world, we could've been friends. More. You're kind. You're pathologically thoughtful to the extent that sometimes, I think you must be able to read my mind. You don't ask for anything in return, and even when you order me about, I think that it's for my own good. You are attractive, painfully so, and I don't just think that because you're the only face I ever get to see these days.
But I can't work out if I think these things freely. If I think anything freely. Maybe I'm just grasping onto my only chance of survival. Then again, if I never spoke a word to you and never came close enough to touch, you wouldn't turn against me. So I have a choice here.
Sometimes I wish that I wasn't given one.
Oh
I
Really Wasnt Expecting That Much
Kanaya buries her face in the back of Rose's shoulder, arms wrapping around her tightly. Rose, in turn, buries the side of her face into the pillow, exhausted more from the speech than by what came before it. She doesn't want or need Kanaya to say anything, and Kanaya seems to sense this. Rose can tell that she's holding her tongue, distracting herself by pressing feather-light kisses to her shoulder blade.
It was. I'm sorry. It probably would've been quicker to talk about the sex.
Hmmm I Dont Believe That Much Needs To Be Said On That Subject
Indeed.
Would You Do Something For Me
...
Unrelated To The Aforementioned Activities Of A Sexual Nature
Of course, Mistress.
Call Me Kanaya
Mistress?
Not Necessarily Now
In Your Own Time
When You Feel Comfortable Doing So
Yes, Mistress.
The glow doesn't distract Rose as much as she first made out it would. Kanaya's body pressed up against hers isn't so unusual a feeling that it prevents her from sleeping, and Rose drifts off faster than she she expected to. It's the exhaustion that does it, not the warmth, not the comfort. She feels Zazzerpan's paws pad against the covers between their bodies, and the three of them are on Earth, drifting away from the land of the waking, washed up safe on the shore.
*
It must be nearing midday. Rose can't say for certain. The sun is at its highest point in the sky, but is nothing but a coloured blur through the covering of a bright blue umbrella above her. A dark season is fast approaching, and being out in the middle of the day is at last tolerable again. The sweat does not pour from her as it would a few weeks ago, doesn't drip down her face and sting the corners of her eyes. She is relaxing, or something close to it. She has a blanket spread out, which she lies upon with a book and a bottle of water, Zazzerpan at her feet, hopping around as if she hasn't already been there for two months, as if the garden is something brand new to her.
Rose smiles. She's glad that one of them possesses that sort of enthusiasm.
It's easy to imagine herself in another situation. Easy to pretend that the great hive behind her is a house, one belonging to her, where she lives alone, with the exception of Zazzerpan and another few cats. The garden is her own, and she tends to it at her leisure, because she's in the right sort of climate where things just fall into place. Rose turns the page in her book, a troll novel that she's been lent about pirates, who are remarkably similar to those from the stories she remembers back on Earth.
Kanaya's shadow covers her, along with that of the umbrella, creating an odd sort of shape, like Kanaya has an unusually large head. Rose pretends not to notice, so as not to tense and cringe.
Oh Rose There You Are I Have Been Looking All Over The Hive For You
I Was Worried That Something Had Happened
For Example You Tripped On Your Way Down To The Cellar
Its Been A While Since I Found You Unconscious And I Feel That Its Bound To Happen Again
But Here You Are So My Worrying Has Subsided Somewhat
Good morning, Mistress.
Afternoon Actually
Speaking Of Which Is Lunch Not On The Menu Today
Hmm? Oh, doesn't look like it.
The proceeding moments are tense. Rose wants to curl up into a ball and burrow her way under her blanket, because this is it; this is her finally putting her foot down and going against one of Kanaya's orders. Against the routine. It's at least half an hour since lunch was due, and Rose hasn't found herself in the kitchen since breakfast time. All in all, it's the most difficult thing she's ever had to do since arriving on Alternia. Kanaya would be well within her rights to strike her, but Rose's shoulders slouch somewhat, because she knows that she won't.
I See If Thats How Things Are I Will Just
Go And Make My Own Lunch
In That Case
Very good, Mistress.
Kanaya hums into the air like she wants to ask a question, and sounds incredibly perplexed. She makes her way back to the hive without another word, though, and by the time she comes back, tray in hand, two lunches placed upon it, Rose is on her knees in the dirt, frantically digging away at the vegetables that are just about ready to be harvested. She mumbles under her breath, says terrible things about herself, and already her shirt is damp with sweat. She can't believe what she's done. Can't believe that she so blatantly ignored orders like that.
She wants to throw up, and the heat isn't helping. It's torture, directly under the sun.
Placing the lunch tray down on the blanket Rose has folded out, Kanaya kneels next to her, one hand on her shoulder. This doesn't stop Rose in her tracks, and she digs and digs at the dirt, deeper than any vegetables have actually taken root, desperate to make up for the slight. But then she feels as if she's mocking Kanaya's intelligence in expecting her to let it slide, because she's very clearly not doing as was requested of her in the first place. She can't blind Kanaya with any odd bit of work she does.
There There Rose Its Alright
We Dont Currently Require Any More Vegetables
I Made Sure Of That Just Now In The Nourishblock
Lets Allow These Ones To Reach Maturity
Put The Spade Down Rose I Would Like It If You Ate Lunch With Me
With a trembling hand, Rose reaches out, dropping the spade into the ground. It falls blade first, landing in the dirt with a satisfying shift of the soil. Kanaya's hand moves up from her shoulder, traces a path up the back of her neck, and briefly tangles in the tips of her hair. Rose squints through the sun, turns to look at her, and sees her smile.
That Was A Considerable Act Of Defiance Rose
I Am Quite Pleased
Small Steps Hmmm
The corners of Rose's lips twitch. She relocates herself on the blanket, if only because the sun has suddenly decided to be relentless in beating down upon her back, and sits with her knees against her chest, staring down at the food. Zazzerpan rolls on her back, batting up at Kanaya's fingers as she reaches out for her share of the lunch.
Rose thinks that she could hate this, and it wouldn't take any effort at all on her part. The normalcy of it all, the way that this is her life now, this is all she has, and that won't change; it's been like this for as long as she can remember. But much to her surprise, she doesn't over-analyse it. Doesn't analyse it at all, actually, because it's been a good twenty minutes since she last sipped on her water and she must be dehydrated. Things are what they are, and Rose thinks that if she could feel this way every day, if she could chip off small pieces of herself but sweep them under a rug, safe for another time, only to later to return to them and realise that she's still whole, then she might be able to tolerate this life.
Small steps, Mistress Kanaya.