"No," Solomon said with a bitter laugh, "it doesn't feel like it now." He'd felt the movement, but it was only when he opened his eyes that he truly felt and saw the way in which Paddy's soul had all but engulfed the entire room. Even if Solomon had still been able to see physical objects, he doubted he would have been able to tell the lush green foliage didn't go on forever.
It even had its own wildlife.
So this was pride. Far from making Solomon feel secure, it only made him feel worse. He curled his fingers in and pulled his hands back, but left them resting on the table. He didn't look directly at Paddy, at the still, everlasting pool of water that made his centre. Instead he watched the colourful birds, or what passed for them. "I could see things afterward, still," he said. "That's why Tenebrae--blinded me."
He stopped just short of saying 'plucked out his eyes'. It wasn't relevant, and he couldn't bring himself to horrify Paddy any more than he already had. "A Necromancer who could see the lifestream, see souls in transit? Invaluable. He was afraid the Sight would wear off. He hoped that blinding me would force my magic to compensate by maintaining the Sight anyway. He was right."
Mostly. He'd been a bit off in execution. Solomon tracked the buzz of a dragonfly across the table.
"It's like a never-ending ocean of colour and sensations. I can see souls interacting. I can see you. You're an oasis, by the way. Skulduggery is a strained-glass window. Ghastly is good tilled earth. Tanith is dutiful assurance." He hesitated a moment. "Rafe said once he'd recovered he'd be able to heal me, if I wanted him to. I told him no."
Now Solomon looked at Paddy, though he wasn't aware of the way his face was tight with frustration and ... something else. Not quite despair. Not exactly aversion. Desperation.
"But I don't want it." There. There, it was said, the thing he hadn't wanted to admit and couldn't help but feel. "I can see things no one else can imagine, it's the only way I'll be able to use magic at all anymore, and I don't want it. And the worst thing--" He laughed and it was strained. "--the very worst thing is that if I change my mind, they wouldn't think less of me at all."
But he would. He'd feel like a coward. He hadn't even known he'd felt like a coward until he met Gabriel, until he'd spoken to Paddy, until he'd remembered the fight with Vile and those he'd thrown to the lion. He knew what cowardice felt like now and part of him wanted to go back to that blissful, arrogant ignorance.
How was he meant to handle this? He had no idea. Suddenly what he thought of himself, what others thought of him, mattered. It mattered and he didn't know how to accept the fact that it did, when so much of him wanted to do what China had done--shove it all away and pretend it wasn't there. Only he knew it was there. And he wouldn't stop knowing it was there, even if he asked Raphael to heal him. Just like he wouldn't have stopped knowing the Scream was there even if he'd stayed a Necromancer and gone on with the Passage.
"I don't want it," he said again, but the tension had all evaporated and he said it with the exhausted vulnerability of a half-grown child who didn't know what to do except that everything hurt and they were half-hoping a grown-up could still fix it ... even though in their heart of hearts they knew it couldn't be fixed.
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It even had its own wildlife.
So this was pride. Far from making Solomon feel secure, it only made him feel worse. He curled his fingers in and pulled his hands back, but left them resting on the table. He didn't look directly at Paddy, at the still, everlasting pool of water that made his centre. Instead he watched the colourful birds, or what passed for them. "I could see things afterward, still," he said. "That's why Tenebrae--blinded me."
He stopped just short of saying 'plucked out his eyes'. It wasn't relevant, and he couldn't bring himself to horrify Paddy any more than he already had. "A Necromancer who could see the lifestream, see souls in transit? Invaluable. He was afraid the Sight would wear off. He hoped that blinding me would force my magic to compensate by maintaining the Sight anyway. He was right."
Mostly. He'd been a bit off in execution. Solomon tracked the buzz of a dragonfly across the table.
"It's like a never-ending ocean of colour and sensations. I can see souls interacting. I can see you. You're an oasis, by the way. Skulduggery is a strained-glass window. Ghastly is good tilled earth. Tanith is dutiful assurance." He hesitated a moment. "Rafe said once he'd recovered he'd be able to heal me, if I wanted him to. I told him no."
Now Solomon looked at Paddy, though he wasn't aware of the way his face was tight with frustration and ... something else. Not quite despair. Not exactly aversion. Desperation.
"But I don't want it." There. There, it was said, the thing he hadn't wanted to admit and couldn't help but feel. "I can see things no one else can imagine, it's the only way I'll be able to use magic at all anymore, and I don't want it. And the worst thing--" He laughed and it was strained. "--the very worst thing is that if I change my mind, they wouldn't think less of me at all."
But he would. He'd feel like a coward. He hadn't even known he'd felt like a coward until he met Gabriel, until he'd spoken to Paddy, until he'd remembered the fight with Vile and those he'd thrown to the lion. He knew what cowardice felt like now and part of him wanted to go back to that blissful, arrogant ignorance.
How was he meant to handle this? He had no idea. Suddenly what he thought of himself, what others thought of him, mattered. It mattered and he didn't know how to accept the fact that it did, when so much of him wanted to do what China had done--shove it all away and pretend it wasn't there. Only he knew it was there. And he wouldn't stop knowing it was there, even if he asked Raphael to heal him. Just like he wouldn't have stopped knowing the Scream was there even if he'd stayed a Necromancer and gone on with the Passage.
"I don't want it," he said again, but the tension had all evaporated and he said it with the exhausted vulnerability of a half-grown child who didn't know what to do except that everything hurt and they were half-hoping a grown-up could still fix it ... even though in their heart of hearts they knew it couldn't be fixed.