[It's a quieter confession, given without much in the way of context. Merida adds no fuel to his own fire, that rage within him incited whenever her name's invoked, so he just settles back down again. Still sour, still sore, but he does find his composure again.
Hands behind his head, Gilgamesh just stares at the ceiling, a frown creasing his lips.]
Maybe nobody does. And tales are just that, aren't they? I've heard so many things by now, what's true and what isn't... it blurs too much together. She is enigmatic that way.
[And then Gilgamesh tips his hand, unwittingly:]
And yet so terribly beautiful, I could not glance anywhere but at her, for all her suffering and woe.
no subject
[It's a quieter confession, given without much in the way of context. Merida adds no fuel to his own fire, that rage within him incited whenever her name's invoked, so he just settles back down again. Still sour, still sore, but he does find his composure again.
Hands behind his head, Gilgamesh just stares at the ceiling, a frown creasing his lips.]
Maybe nobody does. And tales are just that, aren't they? I've heard so many things by now, what's true and what isn't... it blurs too much together. She is enigmatic that way.
[And then Gilgamesh tips his hand, unwittingly:]
And yet so terribly beautiful, I could not glance anywhere but at her, for all her suffering and woe.