Secrets lie underneath the shell and the exterior which hardened after every mission, after every training session and after every loss.
Emotions still interfered and embed their way into their souls.
Because even if shadow hunters are part angels...
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Morning Star
SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO FEEL HAPPY. When Arya woke up that next morning, she was supposed to feel radiant. She finally had what she had wanted for so long, but something was preventing her from relishing the ambience. She had a pit of impending doom residing in her gut, sending waves of nausea through her body in a way she couldn't explain. That combined with the fact she had arisen at three in the morning after the same series of traumatising nightmares haunted her dreams, the whole feeling made her sick.
The brunette drug her fatigued body to the kitchen in the early hours of the morning and placed herself on one of the counters, a coffee cup in hand. It was the only thing that would keep her awake long enough that she didn't have to experience any more trauma until the next evening, as well as being the only thing to soothe the cold tremors which continued to attack her body.
She felt that this was the worse it had ever been. But she also felt worse because she felt like a burden. She didn't want to have to press anyone else with her issues and decided to handle them on her own. She felt as if she didn't need to seek the comfort of anyone else and that she had to learn eventually how to calm herself down—although it seemed helpless at the current point in time.
In frustration she slammed her mug down—so hard it was on the verge of smashing—and instead decided to head to the training room—the one place that she felt in control. This must have been the reason she was such a good fighter. She used training as an escape route of feeling anything that she didn't want to. She used it to take her anger out and ignore her problems. She would train so hard that her muscles would ache and her knuckles would bruise and bleed.
The Legacy girls fists slammed rhythmically against the bag as hard as she could, not caring whether she split the skin because at least that would give her something else to focus her attention on. Anything to relieve the pit in the stomach.
She bit her lip in concentration, flexed her fingers out and corrected her stance before repeating the action over and over until beneath the bandages —she used to protect her hands—the skin was red and bloodied. Already knowing her routine proceedings as if by nature, she rinsed her hands under cold water and activated her healing rune to close some of the splits.
Why did it feel like as soon as she gained a positive, a negative was already prepared to slam her right back to where she began?
On her way back to her room, however, Isabel had other methods in mind. She understood how Arya got after her nightmares, as did everyone else. Nobody perceived it as a sign of weakness—as she did herself. Everyone had their fair share of trauma and that just happened to be hers. She knew how little Arya enjoyed talking about her problems and often found the only way to get through to her that she wasn't a burden was to show her that they wanted to help.
