Aeryn looks up, accusing the sky. Up. My side.
"Now, Djancaz-bru. You haven't listened and you haven't helped. And I'm running out of time, so I'm gonna forget about you. I am now willing to make a deal with anyone -- with any-thing -- to save my child. Not because I can, but because I have to."
Aeryn bows her head. Down. Your side.
"Not 'because I can,'" not that arbitrary claim of an unfeeling Goddess who doesn't deserve the name, but because they're nothing left; not the harsh cold lying light of the kind of shitty God the Peacekeepers probably would worship.
Except they don't, do they? It's so much worse than this. The depth and breadth of the PK thing is hard to pick up on, because you have to work backwards from knowing her, but consider this. The Peacekeepers don't even have parents: just the Peacekeepers. They don't have religion: just the Peacekeepers. They don't have yards with grass, or skies with clouds, or puppies, or diaries, or television, or manicures or Buffy or Taco Bell. Just Command Carriers. She's not making the deal with the Devil that we think, this isn't some weird darkness where she's drinking blood and milk; she already did that. The extremity and horror of this final admission is so much worse than we can imagine. She's praying to the Easter Bunny. She's waiting for Punky Brewster to save her.
My side, your side. Aeryn bows her head. Alone.