[ but the sentence dies in his throat, as she keeps speaking, and eventually leaves the room, the door closing behind her with a snap. and he's left there, alone, silent, for a solid three minutes, as the reality of the situation seeps into his being.
if allura knows, in the future, then the rest of the paladins do. which means that his plan is for naught. all of the hard work, the overthrowing of zarkon, seizing the throne, working to understand quintessence, the universe, to stop the barbaric conquering mentality of the galra, and shift it into something civilized . . . the paladins, having discovered his maintenance strategy, would surely strike against him.
is he dead? did allura kill him? is his reign truly over? was it truly that fleeting?
your reign will be a black spot on galran history. wasn't that what zarkon told him, when lotor last had a proper conversation with him? his father thought he was nothing, and his mother, dead. was zarkon right, in the end? had his way of running the universe simply been too . . . impossible? or was all of this too good to be true? was envisioning a future where he ruled, better than zarkon, with allura, too good to be true?
clearly. obviously. because he could be better. he could always be better, and he can't argue that, because it is true. he should have been better, and he needed to be better, but there never seems to be an end-goal to being better when he already has the expectation of being a monstrosity set on his shoulders before he can properly begin.
allura, obviously, doesn't seem to actually believe it, seeing as she believes him to be no better than zarkon --
there's a sudden crack of glass, and lotor inhales deeply, spinning in place abruptly at the noise behind him -- and he realizes that the small mirror against the wall now has a clean crack through it. his brow furrows, and he raises a hand to touch the glass, but the mirror trembles against the wall when he moves closer to it . . . and, belatedly, he remembers his gift, from the Witch.
there's a slight hiss between his teeth, at the realization that he lost control, before he abruptly turns and gathers up his sword and his things, and leaves the room without a further word, leaving the mirror on the wall.
remaining here is pointless. she can have her way. ]
no subject
[ but the sentence dies in his throat, as she keeps speaking, and eventually leaves the room, the door closing behind her with a snap. and he's left there, alone, silent, for a solid three minutes, as the reality of the situation seeps into his being.
if allura knows, in the future, then the rest of the paladins do. which means that his plan is for naught. all of the hard work, the overthrowing of zarkon, seizing the throne, working to understand quintessence, the universe, to stop the barbaric conquering mentality of the galra, and shift it into something civilized . . . the paladins, having discovered his maintenance strategy, would surely strike against him.
is he dead? did allura kill him? is his reign truly over? was it truly that fleeting?
your reign will be a black spot on galran history. wasn't that what zarkon told him, when lotor last had a proper conversation with him? his father thought he was nothing, and his mother, dead. was zarkon right, in the end? had his way of running the universe simply been too . . . impossible? or was all of this too good to be true? was envisioning a future where he ruled, better than zarkon, with allura, too good to be true?
clearly. obviously. because he could be better. he could always be better, and he can't argue that, because it is true. he should have been better, and he needed to be better, but there never seems to be an end-goal to being better when he already has the expectation of being a monstrosity set on his shoulders before he can properly begin.
allura, obviously, doesn't seem to actually believe it, seeing as she believes him to be no better than zarkon --
there's a sudden crack of glass, and lotor inhales deeply, spinning in place abruptly at the noise behind him -- and he realizes that the small mirror against the wall now has a clean crack through it. his brow furrows, and he raises a hand to touch the glass, but the mirror trembles against the wall when he moves closer to it . . . and, belatedly, he remembers his gift, from the Witch.
there's a slight hiss between his teeth, at the realization that he lost control, before he abruptly turns and gathers up his sword and his things, and leaves the room without a further word, leaving the mirror on the wall.
remaining here is pointless. she can have her way. ]