Steven has been trying. This entire time, he's been trying the hardest he can - ever since he got taken to his mother's realm, it's just been a constant struggle to stay alive and stay sane, but even when you're doing your best sometimes it feels like it isn't enough.
That's what it's starting to feel like, here.
Rita had managed to snap him out of his panicked meltdown, but after they got separated, it seemed like his mom's attacks just kept cutting him off from anyone who would help him. He didn't know how much control the Queen actually had over her vines, or if they were just following a spell - but functionally speaking, it's nearly impossible not to imagine her very personally attacking him, her will behind each and every grasping vine. How many of his friends has she gotten already? He doesn't know.
This is really his fault, isn't it? They'd tried to be kind to him, to protect him, and now this entire place was getting wrecked because he came here.
He's ended up wielding a fire iron of all things, the handle wrapped in a scrap of fabric from his torn shirt. This fire iron actually was iron, apparently, and so while it was better at smashing the vines, it was causing his hands to ache and burn at an alarming rate, even with the layer of protection. The thorns couldn't tear at him anymore, but they've ripped up most of his clothing, and he has bloody knees and bruises from the places he's been grabbed.
He's running out of places to go. He's cornered by them, now, and he doesn't know where anyone else is, and it's hopeless. Maybe he should just give up now? Maybe if he does, she'll hurt him less once she's taken him back.
He didn't even get to see his dad.
It was all he'd wanted. It was everything he'd escaped for. He just wanted to go back to his dad and be safe again, but he didn't even get the chance to do that. Tears roll down his cheeks, obscuring his vision, until finally one of the vines gets him around the legs. He falls, dropping the fire iron, helpless to do anything but watch it skitter away across the floor. He's tried to fight this with his own powers, but he doesn't feel like he can do it anymore. That was his only chance.
"Dad," he whines to no one. He tried. He really did.
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That's what it's starting to feel like, here.
Rita had managed to snap him out of his panicked meltdown, but after they got separated, it seemed like his mom's attacks just kept cutting him off from anyone who would help him. He didn't know how much control the Queen actually had over her vines, or if they were just following a spell - but functionally speaking, it's nearly impossible not to imagine her very personally attacking him, her will behind each and every grasping vine. How many of his friends has she gotten already? He doesn't know.
This is really his fault, isn't it? They'd tried to be kind to him, to protect him, and now this entire place was getting wrecked because he came here.
He's ended up wielding a fire iron of all things, the handle wrapped in a scrap of fabric from his torn shirt. This fire iron actually was iron, apparently, and so while it was better at smashing the vines, it was causing his hands to ache and burn at an alarming rate, even with the layer of protection. The thorns couldn't tear at him anymore, but they've ripped up most of his clothing, and he has bloody knees and bruises from the places he's been grabbed.
He's running out of places to go. He's cornered by them, now, and he doesn't know where anyone else is, and it's hopeless. Maybe he should just give up now? Maybe if he does, she'll hurt him less once she's taken him back.
He didn't even get to see his dad.
It was all he'd wanted. It was everything he'd escaped for. He just wanted to go back to his dad and be safe again, but he didn't even get the chance to do that. Tears roll down his cheeks, obscuring his vision, until finally one of the vines gets him around the legs. He falls, dropping the fire iron, helpless to do anything but watch it skitter away across the floor. He's tried to fight this with his own powers, but he doesn't feel like he can do it anymore. That was his only chance.
"Dad," he whines to no one. He tried. He really did.