It hurts worse to hear his voice sound so weak than it was to suffer the reminder of her old failings. This is a new one: a new guilt. Unable to help, and in that inability causing more harm. If he knew anything beyond the surface of what she's told him, maybe he would be more honest—maybe he would listen to her. If he could understand her meaning, when the words were too cowardly to come right out and say it, maybe that would be enough. Maybe, maybe, she thinks, but history shows that it never matters. No matter who it is, or how close they are, or how well she understands—it never changes anything.
She only wants to help, but what use is she to people who don't want it?
"Alright," she says, but her words might as well be I'm sorry. It doesn't matter if she knows, so it doesn't matter if he tells her. It doesn't matter, she reminds herself, if he lies to her, or ignores her, or forgets her entirely all over again. She knew that from the start. "I won't."
Even if she doesn't know what else is wrong, or why he's here, it wouldn't be right, to let him leave as he is. Would it? He never told her his powers, explicitly, but she can put the pieces together. She's an empath; she readily knows her own emotional state, and when it's external forces affecting it. He's the only external force here. When he broached the subject to her before, hypothetically speaking, his only concerns were whether people could be harmed, and if that harm could be done unintentionally.
Can she let him go the very path he dreads, without at least warning him?
"But your hurry can't be so reckless as it is now," she adds; though the thoughts had felt long, the pause is short, nearly intentional. Ruka turns her gaze to the side, rather than look down on Edgeworth while she says this; it would feel too cruel. Her voice still carries down, and still, they sound more like apology than anything else. "A river that runs too quickly will sooner leave its banks and flood villages, than it will to reach the sea. The same is true for you.
no subject
She only wants to help, but what use is she to people who don't want it?
"Alright," she says, but her words might as well be I'm sorry. It doesn't matter if she knows, so it doesn't matter if he tells her. It doesn't matter, she reminds herself, if he lies to her, or ignores her, or forgets her entirely all over again. She knew that from the start. "I won't."
Even if she doesn't know what else is wrong, or why he's here, it wouldn't be right, to let him leave as he is. Would it? He never told her his powers, explicitly, but she can put the pieces together. She's an empath; she readily knows her own emotional state, and when it's external forces affecting it. He's the only external force here. When he broached the subject to her before, hypothetically speaking, his only concerns were whether people could be harmed, and if that harm could be done unintentionally.
Can she let him go the very path he dreads, without at least warning him?
"But your hurry can't be so reckless as it is now," she adds; though the thoughts had felt long, the pause is short, nearly intentional. Ruka turns her gaze to the side, rather than look down on Edgeworth while she says this; it would feel too cruel. Her voice still carries down, and still, they sound more like apology than anything else. "A river that runs too quickly will sooner leave its banks and flood villages, than it will to reach the sea. The same is true for you.
"Ground yourself."