( morga may not show disgust or fear, but julian hardly expects her to show it. while not truly unflappable, she's a hard one to make flinch. a tough cookie, as they say. it'd only make sense that she'd face this as deliberately and pointedly as she does. brave, undeterred. a warrior, a paragon. that's his morga. he'd forgotten. in his mind's eye, he'd pictured everyone he loved afraid. hurt, lost, and scared. as much as he tried to convince himself he'd done the right thing and that they'd all be living happy lives, safe and sound, free and unburdened... all his moments were filled with dread, in reality. even morga. cornered and afraid, defenseless. unable to save herself. and no one to step between her and certain danger this time. he used to picture it all the time... when he could remember.

it's fine. he wears the disgust for the both of them. the shame roils off him, but in spite of everything he can't bring himself to continue to look away. that just makes it worse, that he doesn't have the good sense to pull back and stay away. that his eyes fix on their hands with such desperation, such a painful need. no one has touched those awful hands of his since they became what they are. big with viciously thick, sharp, curved talons at the end, the knuckles of his fingers knobby and bent. just like a bird. the shorter, thicker feathers are course and almost sharp, but they become softer and softer as they travel up his arm. for safety's sake he tries very hard just to hold still, even though all he wants is to squeeze tight. )

This is exactly what I deserved. If it hadn't been me, it would have been one of you, you see? Or all of you. After everything I've done, or... didn't do, it's fitting. And I wouldn't take it back. Not after finding out the rest of you didn't have to suffer like I did. Or do. Depending. It isn't so bad now, although I don't know how you can stand it.

( touching him, that is. gross. )