First New Story | Video

[hellofist]

[She knows that it's a cruel trick to do this now, in the middle of the night in the middle of a flood where people may or may not have their original memories. Everyone is too busy dealing with their own things, and so that's why she does this now.

It's underhanded, but it's happening. She's broadcasting from inside her room, a cramped, run down little thing with cracked plaster and a beaten up dresser and a bed and nothing else. She sits on the bed, cup of tea balanced in her lap, and tries not to think about what she's saying as she says it.]

Figured, should... do this, officially. My name is Cassandra Cain. I was here, before. As a warden.

[Still hurts to admit that, but she charges on through as best she can.]

I'm not anymore. Don't remember everything, just that... I was here. Some things came back, memories of... some people. Some places. Mostly, it's new.

That's all. [Except maybe she'll inject something in there to make it seem like she's trying.] Good luck, with new bodies. Shouldn't last long, don't worry.

Comments

[indispensible]

Just a room.

[She nods, a gesture imbued with apology, though no shame.]

I was surprised, that's all.

I'm Vin. I don't remember you, so I don't think you'd remember me.

[hellofist]

I don't. You'd be... difficult to forget, I think.

[Partly because she feels a kinship here, like she's speaking to someone who will see where she's coming from and not question it. It's an intriguing thing.]

[indispensible]

I don't try to be.

[But she knows she is. She doesn't understand the way people work. She doesn't have faith in the vastness of humanity. She believes in small things, like the point of a knife and the individual soul. She believes in love.]

[She thinks, from five minutes of knowing her, she believes in Cass. That's what instinct is telling her: to believe, to trust. But even her instinct gets it wrong sometimes.]

[hellofist]

[Whether she likes it or not, seeing that instant acceptance only makes Cass grab onto it as hard as she can. It goes both ways, she can look at Vin and see the clarity the other woman has and it's impossible not to want Vin to look at her that way. Vin believes in her and she believes in Vin and there's a voice in the back of Cass' head that tells her not a lot will ever be able to break that.

It's like a steel vice, the way she clamps onto the way Vin is looking at her now. She built her walls high, but Vin walks right through like a ghost. If it's this bad, this instantaneous now, it's only going to be worse in the future.]

Tell me... about your broken place?

[indispensible]

[She doesn't answer right away. Talking about this . . . well, it's not something she's never done, but certainly something she hasn't in a while. Not since Elend. Before that, not since Zane. She doesn't know if it's wrong to talk about it, if it's dwelling; all she knows is that she was asked a question, and she might as well answer.]

It was a hideout. Not a home. Hardly any furniture - some tables, some chairs, but no beds. We were all a thieving crew that lived there, so we made our own beds out of whatever we could find. The building was broken-down and stained with ash, but all the buildings in Luthadel were, the ones that weren't noble houses.

It was broken on the outside, but on the inside, too. We weren't . . . together out of love, or family. We were together out of convenience. Strength in numbers. The weakest of us . . . just died.

[Vin did not die. Vin is no one's weakling.]