She had been telling the truth in her explanation. Darcy really did die alone, she did have to let herself back into the house, the sheer overwhelming misery of her unfortunate demise is all real.
But the mention of Dedue, of someone being there to stop each other from going mad...
Darcy was alone after her death. Alone with a new part of herself, a part of herself that was steady and stable, a presence both alien and intrinsic. There was no way to map their relationship onto anything human; it was the bond between a person and their soul, a lichen and an algae, a ghost and a corpse. There are times when Darcy forgets herself and believes for a moment that this, the girl, is all she is. Being reminded of that tangible absence, like a missing tooth in her mouth, is what finally brings her crashing down. Not merely the loss, but the fact she was able to forget what had been taken from her.
Darcy stuffs her sleeve into her mouth to dampen a howl, reminded once again of how alone she truly was here, of the grief of losing part of herself.
But... not alone, at the same time. Alone in the way that drove Avery mad, yes, but not in the way he isolated himself, keeping his loss from others. Maybe she's weaker than Avery was in his last days, but maybe she's stronger. More willing to show her wounds in the valiant hopes that someone would support her through it and not just twist the knife in. When she grasps at Dimitri's pant leg, it's a childish desire to seek comfort, one she cannot deny herself any longer, her strong fingers pulling at him like a demand for it. Help me, the action says just as loudly as her muffled sobs, help me.
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But the mention of Dedue, of someone being there to stop each other from going mad...
Darcy was alone after her death. Alone with a new part of herself, a part of herself that was steady and stable, a presence both alien and intrinsic. There was no way to map their relationship onto anything human; it was the bond between a person and their soul, a lichen and an algae, a ghost and a corpse. There are times when Darcy forgets herself and believes for a moment that this, the girl, is all she is. Being reminded of that tangible absence, like a missing tooth in her mouth, is what finally brings her crashing down. Not merely the loss, but the fact she was able to forget what had been taken from her.
Darcy stuffs her sleeve into her mouth to dampen a howl, reminded once again of how alone she truly was here, of the grief of losing part of herself.
But... not alone, at the same time. Alone in the way that drove Avery mad, yes, but not in the way he isolated himself, keeping his loss from others. Maybe she's weaker than Avery was in his last days, but maybe she's stronger. More willing to show her wounds in the valiant hopes that someone would support her through it and not just twist the knife in. When she grasps at Dimitri's pant leg, it's a childish desire to seek comfort, one she cannot deny herself any longer, her strong fingers pulling at him like a demand for it. Help me, the action says just as loudly as her muffled sobs, help me.