By Any Unborn Child
Nothing was as it seemed.
On the surface, two distinct individuals, ones named Milly Ashford and Lloyd Asplund, seemed like normal people who lived and did as they pleased without much else to think about.
But that is not so.
Underneath her carefree and risqué nature, Milly hid feelings of inadequacy, plagued by a life so full of privilege and whatnot, willfully playing a part so that those around her would like her, so that they would become her friend without feeling forced to do so, even if her real self was carefully hidden by charismatic remarks and blatant sex appeal. She was one of the only ones who would be able to repair her family's broken lineage, and it was worth the price of forgoing her real hopes and dreams to see that her name was worth something.
Underneath all of the facts and non sequiturs that he deftly provided to his comrades and superiors, Lloyd Asplund was just as unsure about the aftereffects of the war as anyone else. He learned a long time ago that not everything was as aligned as it should be, be it the sometimes formulaic and clunky styling of a Knightmare in combat or someone's slowly crumbling sanity caused by the world and its twisted beliefs around them. He hid his insecurities with a big whoop and holler, and tried his best to be sure that he did his work as best as he could, even if it meant distracting a few people in the process.
They were engaged to each other for a while.
Neither of them was sure of what to make of it.
They both had their worries, their doubts.
They had yet to make them known to the others around them.
All it took was one look, and they knew.
They were very congruent people.
Smart, scared, uncertain, and congruent.