[ For a moment, she thinks it's mocking her — the way it softly breathes back her words, the similar tone to her own. Some kind of childish mockery at her discomfort. But it... doesn't feel like that. It's something else. It's... more of an awareness, perhaps — maybe it knows? She doesn't know. The abandon it feels with is almost childlike — and like a child it mirrors her, as if looking for the right way to communicate. Maybe it doesn't know any better.
But it's apparent that it's difficult to really work Paimon out, even as she speaks directly to it. She's only left with more questions, more wondering. Not a curse. Then perhaps some kind of being? She's likened it to an animal before, and now a child. She doesn't seem much further forward. Luna sighs softly, the grumbles of pain heard in it as she rubs at her temples. It's exhausting, but at least when it parrots her, it's some kind of a reprieve — even it it's incredibly short-lived.
Paimon surges again at her question, restless and sharp against her. Her hands grip her head again, jaw tensing. It's afraid. She tries to hush it, calm it down — mental reaching outwards to attempt to soothe it. But when it finally answers her, cold shock bursts in her: I want you. She snaps back from him, her eyes widening.
And she realises: it hadn't been Peter. When she'd first held him in the classroom, or when she'd sworn she'd seen some kind of remembrance in Peter's eyes when she'd reached for his face on the deck of the Titanic. It had been Paimon. Reaching out for her: You hold me. It was nice. ]
It was you. I comforted you. You'd broken free, in the classroom. And then... you remembered me, when Peter didn't. I saw you in his eyes, on the ship. I saw you.
[ She can feel it, hear it. Lost below Paimon's noise, those soft little sounds of sleep, of quiet distress. In Paimon's shadow, Peter stirs in his sleep and she can hear it — more attuned to him, a little more sensitive to that pain. Alarm flashes in her, making her gasp; fretfulness prickling as she reaches for the pain — she wants to soothe it.
To feel Paimon is one thing, but it resides in Peter's head — surely it can only be more sharper for him than what it is for her. And right now it worries her. She's naturally a little more hardier, even if she's weak right now, able to withstand a little more — Peter isn't. ]
Don't hurt him. [ Her voice trembles, pleading. ] Please— please don't. Be calm. Like when I held you, yes? Don't hurt him.
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But it's apparent that it's difficult to really work Paimon out, even as she speaks directly to it. She's only left with more questions, more wondering. Not a curse. Then perhaps some kind of being? She's likened it to an animal before, and now a child. She doesn't seem much further forward. Luna sighs softly, the grumbles of pain heard in it as she rubs at her temples. It's exhausting, but at least when it parrots her, it's some kind of a reprieve — even it it's incredibly short-lived.
Paimon surges again at her question, restless and sharp against her. Her hands grip her head again, jaw tensing. It's afraid. She tries to hush it, calm it down — mental reaching outwards to attempt to soothe it. But when it finally answers her, cold shock bursts in her: I want you. She snaps back from him, her eyes widening.
And she realises: it hadn't been Peter. When she'd first held him in the classroom, or when she'd sworn she'd seen some kind of remembrance in Peter's eyes when she'd reached for his face on the deck of the Titanic. It had been Paimon. Reaching out for her: You hold me. It was nice. ]
It was you. I comforted you. You'd broken free, in the classroom. And then... you remembered me, when Peter didn't. I saw you in his eyes, on the ship. I saw you.
[ She can feel it, hear it. Lost below Paimon's noise, those soft little sounds of sleep, of quiet distress. In Paimon's shadow, Peter stirs in his sleep and she can hear it — more attuned to him, a little more sensitive to that pain. Alarm flashes in her, making her gasp; fretfulness prickling as she reaches for the pain — she wants to soothe it.
To feel Paimon is one thing, but it resides in Peter's head — surely it can only be more sharper for him than what it is for her. And right now it worries her. She's naturally a little more hardier, even if she's weak right now, able to withstand a little more — Peter isn't. ]
Don't hurt him. [ Her voice trembles, pleading. ] Please— please don't. Be calm. Like when I held you, yes? Don't hurt him.