Harrow watches Gideon type away at some kind of screen she takes from her pocket, small and portable, though her energy's devoted more to remaining upright than in wondering what she might be writing--and why, and to whom. She doesn't like the sick flash of guilt that rushes through her when questioned about the sword, one hand going instinctively to the bone scabbard welded to her back despite knowing she'll find it empty.
"It was given back to me," she says. "After." Her stomach lurches at the memory, recalling God's kindly face as he delivered her the sword and those first disgusting weeks of trying to wield it. Hating it, loving it, unable to touch it but unable to conceive of being apart from it for any length of time. She chances a look over at Gideon and ends up rewarded with another ice-pick jab of pain to somewhere just behind her right eye. "I...kept it with me. From the Erebus to the Mithraeum, I held it in safekeeping."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2021-05-19 02:30 pm (UTC)"It was given back to me," she says. "After." Her stomach lurches at the memory, recalling God's kindly face as he delivered her the sword and those first disgusting weeks of trying to wield it. Hating it, loving it, unable to touch it but unable to conceive of being apart from it for any length of time. She chances a look over at Gideon and ends up rewarded with another ice-pick jab of pain to somewhere just behind her right eye. "I...kept it with me. From the Erebus to the Mithraeum, I held it in safekeeping."