No amount of newfound, hard-won backbone is harshing this moment for him. He's waited almost a dozen decicycles--over a faulting User year, for anybody to even say anything about it.
For the only one who is even alive to matter to finally notice.
"Poor Asriel was on death's doorstep." Gentle, no denial anywhere. "Massive systemic damage. Cutting himself to pieces on his own skin and crying like you wouldn't believe. And no wonder: diagnostics suggested he was drowning, slowly, in his own blood."
Now the words are hard, clipped, compressed tight and bitter:
"You weren't there. His friends," neatly disclaiming, encircling, describing Rinzler as a separate value, ¬(A∪B); "weren't there."
But this isn't about blame. Or. Not only.
"I thought about letting him go, about letting him suffer and die. I thought about leaving him."
no subject
No way.
No amount of newfound, hard-won backbone is harshing this moment for him. He's waited almost a dozen decicycles--over a faulting User year, for anybody to even say anything about it.
For the only one who is even alive to matter to finally notice.
"Poor Asriel was on death's doorstep." Gentle, no denial anywhere. "Massive systemic damage. Cutting himself to pieces on his own skin and crying like you wouldn't believe. And no wonder: diagnostics suggested he was drowning, slowly, in his own blood."
Now the words are hard, clipped, compressed tight and bitter:
"You weren't there. His friends," neatly disclaiming, encircling, describing Rinzler as a separate value, ¬(A∪B); "weren't there."
But this isn't about blame. Or. Not only.
"I thought about letting him go, about letting him suffer and die. I thought about leaving him."
Neat, inescapable truth: "I couldn't."