[ In this moment, it is not a door that Ilde wishes to open. Within the confines of dogma she has absolute control, a dichotomous system where particular articulations are righteous and all else inevitability. She aches for control. For certainty. Somewhere in the drone of that desire is a whisper for power, ever greater, ever growing. Not indefinitely. It eventually reaches a weight that she can no longer sustain and she too shatters, like a crystal. There is a limit to even her most ravaged emotions before she loses all strength to feel it any longer. She sags down to the dirt floor of her fantasy garden, a hand trailing in her wake to keep hold of Angel's.
no subject
A sigh. ]
( No... something will give way. Sooner or later. )