[ The name comes out of Allura's lips laced with genuine fear, her voice barely a whisper. How could she forget those sneering lips as Altean guards under Galra employ held her back from running and fighting as her father had been forced to put her to sleep. She had been there, watching. The mere sound of the witch's name has her in a complete 180-degree turn from being relatively composed to being the frightened little girl hiding behind her father's cape at the sight of her and of Zarkon.
Allura's eyes stray towards Shiro's Galra arm, and she recalls the savagery of how the Champion had fought in the Arena. Had it been truly Shiro? Could she have been so blinded by her stubbornly wanting to see the good in people that Zarkon just knew he can offer her a monster and that she will accept him with open arms? Her gaze then sets on Shiro's face and posture and all she sees is a broken man. Somehow, the fighter that she had seen in the arena does not equate with the man sitting in front of her.
"I don't remember," he says. Her own sources have told her how in his last years, her father had been reduced to a shadow of his former self, to the point where he could no longer even remember who he was, less due to his advanced years and more because of the machinations of the witch behind him.
Allura's face grows pale, her gaze drops, hands tense, and her feet slip to have her heels flat on the floor. It feels as if the very ground underneath her is crumbling. ]
Shiro... [ She struggles to look into his face. She's afraid that instead of seeing dark slate eyes, she will see yellow pinpricks of light. Her voice comes eerily even. ] How did you get your arm?
no subject
[ The name comes out of Allura's lips laced with genuine fear, her voice barely a whisper. How could she forget those sneering lips as Altean guards under Galra employ held her back from running and fighting as her father had been forced to put her to sleep. She had been there, watching. The mere sound of the witch's name has her in a complete 180-degree turn from being relatively composed to being the frightened little girl hiding behind her father's cape at the sight of her and of Zarkon.
Allura's eyes stray towards Shiro's Galra arm, and she recalls the savagery of how the Champion had fought in the Arena. Had it been truly Shiro? Could she have been so blinded by her stubbornly wanting to see the good in people that Zarkon just knew he can offer her a monster and that she will accept him with open arms? Her gaze then sets on Shiro's face and posture and all she sees is a broken man. Somehow, the fighter that she had seen in the arena does not equate with the man sitting in front of her.
"I don't remember," he says. Her own sources have told her how in his last years, her father had been reduced to a shadow of his former self, to the point where he could no longer even remember who he was, less due to his advanced years and more because of the machinations of the witch behind him.
Allura's face grows pale, her gaze drops, hands tense, and her feet slip to have her heels flat on the floor. It feels as if the very ground underneath her is crumbling. ]
Shiro... [ She struggles to look into his face. She's afraid that instead of seeing dark slate eyes, she will see yellow pinpricks of light. Her voice comes eerily even. ] How did you get your arm?