Vianca beginning to cry feels very sudden—had it been? Is Magolor only bad at picking up on the signs before it all comes to a head? He knows he is. Watching a little human girl succumb to some emotion he has little context for feels, now, to him the same way these things usually do: like he's peeking into someone's house from outside, watching them, through a sheer curtain that separates him from truly understanding the details. . . . Once upon a time, that curtain may as well have been a blackout curtain, for all that he could see the intricacies of the feelings of others. These days it gets lighter and lighter. Maybe someday he'll be able to pull it aside, though he doesn't always like that thought very much when he has it.
Anyway. The awkwardness of seeing it settles uncomfortably in him. It's a little bit easier because he doesn't know her very well at all, and while he likes her so far, he feels no responsibility for her happiness. But even Magolor won't just sit there and let a girl cry without saying anything (though it's mildly tempting), or disappear into a dimensional portal and leave her there (even more tempting than the last, but he doesn't do it!). And as quiet as she is under the weight of those tears, he does make out those words too: all we do is pretend. Well. That's not untrue. There are definitely less on the nose things she could have chosen to say to Magolor of all people. He just might have an unusual perspective on the topic—and, now, he chooses to be honest about at least the basics of it.
He's already holding onto her, but after a few beats of watching her cry, he lifts one hand to pat her on the arm, firm and warm.
"Sure. But a lot of real things start out pretend. That little book club over there . . . they're probably talking about something pretend they read, but their feelings about it are real. They do pretend things every day. Petting animals, smelling the flowers in the garden, all of those things are what we'd call pretend if we had to do it the same way they do! But the difference between pretend and real isn't as much as you think. They're real people who really are happy, even if they got there by telling themselves a few lies first."
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Anyway. The awkwardness of seeing it settles uncomfortably in him. It's a little bit easier because he doesn't know her very well at all, and while he likes her so far, he feels no responsibility for her happiness. But even Magolor won't just sit there and let a girl cry without saying anything (though it's mildly tempting), or disappear into a dimensional portal and leave her there (even more tempting than the last, but he doesn't do it!). And as quiet as she is under the weight of those tears, he does make out those words too: all we do is pretend. Well. That's not untrue. There are definitely less on the nose things she could have chosen to say to Magolor of all people. He just might have an unusual perspective on the topic—and, now, he chooses to be honest about at least the basics of it.
He's already holding onto her, but after a few beats of watching her cry, he lifts one hand to pat her on the arm, firm and warm.
"Sure. But a lot of real things start out pretend. That little book club over there . . . they're probably talking about something pretend they read, but their feelings about it are real. They do pretend things every day. Petting animals, smelling the flowers in the garden, all of those things are what we'd call pretend if we had to do it the same way they do! But the difference between pretend and real isn't as much as you think. They're real people who really are happy, even if they got there by telling themselves a few lies first."