( gwenaëlle is not well known for her patience with the histories of rifters — it was a long time before she knew much of thranduil's, largely by her own design — but she understands what she's being told. the purpose of it. and though she doesn't know dante well, it's ... there's something to his willingness to expose it for her sake.

you know, something terrifying, but she respects it. understands it, too, in her own way. )

He's never going to see that.

( is matter of fact. there'd been a real moment of realization in their last spat, cruel but clear, and it's lingered afterwards. )

He expects to do and say whatever he likes without consequence or meaning, but he's a glass trebuchet and he shatters if you even look at it sideways. He's just going to keep hurting me from habit, and be as shocked and bewildered, see no connection at all, every single time I snap at him. I can tell him exactly how I feel and what I'm doing and why and I have, more than once, and it isn't what he wants to hear so he just doesn't. I'm just an awful bitch who says awful things for no reason, and whatever they love or hate—

( she blows her bangs out of her eyes. maybe she'll let them grow, while she's away. )

They don't see me.

( she wants to be seen; she is terrified of it.

but it doesn't seem like anything she needs to worry about happening soon. )