Dust Motes

The phantom spawn?! He actually, truly thought she’d lied about being pregnant, as if he hadn’t watched the dark circles appear beneath her eyes after countless sleepless nights, filled with anxiety over what happened next. Apparently, she was smarter than even she realized; the weight she’d lost from being unable to eat, the fact that she’d burst into tears whenever anyone so much as mentioned children - it was all fake, according to Ruth. 

She was a worse person than she thought, apparently. 

And he looked so smug about it. Another wave of anger rose up in her chest, furious at him for the self-righteous bullshit he pulled - as if he were any better than her. She’d lied, sure, but he had abandoned her to the mercy of their Keeper and for seven months, she had experienced everything that mercy had to offer. She had the scars to show for it, too. 

“It seems like you left your empathy at home, too. Pity.” 

Nell realized that even if she told him about Ven now, he wouldn’t believe her. She was pretty sure she had some sketches of him in her pack, too, but she couldn’t imagine that would sway him either. Ruth wanted - perhaps needed - to believe the version of reality he’d created in his head. 

And slowly, in increments so small that she couldn’t have pinpointed where they began and ended, Nell began to give up on the idea of telling Ruth anything at all. 

The thought should’ve made her angrier, but it just made her sad. They’d loved each other so much once. She didn’t even recognize him now. She supposed she rarely recognized herself these days, though. The anger in her faded, replaced by some mixture of grief, shame, and nostalgia. 

“Rand Al’Thor?” She said, pausing a healthy distance away from him when he did. “His assistant called him the Dragon, I don’t know much else about him.” 

Nell watched him pull out his tobacco and papers. He’d done that before, sure, but he’d never been so casual about it. The degree of familiarity was concerning; Nell was surprised that she actually was a little concerned. 

“And what good deed were you performing?” She asked, but she was sizing him up. Her eyes scanned him clinically, wondering if his recreational habits had become something more. He did look sort of sick in the way he did when things got rough, when there were more injuries than beds, when Nell had gotten hurt while out on expeditions...