"What a shame she's fucked in the head," they said.
The rain hadn't stopped. Wouldn't stop. She'd given up counting the days and wishing for sunshine. Maeve hadn't thought she missed the sun that much, but she'd been wrong. The constant deluge of rain reminded her of the monsoons and the many nights she'd spent alone.
Her arms tighten around her middle, squeezing her own waist in what was meant to be a comforting gesture. It fell short like it always did. Her own touch wasn't a stand in for human contact. Something she didn't have much of these days. The war had done a number on her, making her shy away from her once beloved home in Torchline and seek refuge elsewhere. Originally Halo had been on her mind, figuring it was far enough away that she could hide from anyone who might have words for the former queen, but when she reached out to Noah he'd suggested the Grounds. The demigod having gone so far as to find her an empty house on the very edges of the Domiciles, respecting her request for privacy and ensuring that no one knew she was there.
That hadn't included her children, of course. Edmund and Jude both being given her location when she decided to leave Torchline in favor of her health. Harper was aware, too. Not of her exact location, but that she had left. That it was for her health. He'd encouraged her to do so, knowing it was for the best, and only ever wanting her to be okay again.
She'd been here for a few seasons now. Almost a year and the Nightshade was better for it. Even if her progress was slow moving.
Maeve didn't jump at every sound now or have nightmares nearly as often. The stress of the war, leading, and her crumbling relationships further from her mind each day. Yes, she was doing better, but the loneliness was hard to keep at bay. Especially during the evenings when the rest of the world went quiet.
Aidon lifts his head from his clawed feet, orange eyes studying his bondmate as he gives a low trill, a comforting wave nudging against their shared connection. "I'm fine.." She murmurs, one of the first things she's said all day and she winces at the unfamiliarity of her voice. Her eyes flick to the clock, lips pressing in a thin line as it inches further past six thirty and unease begins to swirl in her belly.
Her arms tighten around her middle, squeezing her own waist in what was meant to be a comforting gesture. It fell short like it always did. Her own touch wasn't a stand in for human contact. Something she didn't have much of these days. The war had done a number on her, making her shy away from her once beloved home in Torchline and seek refuge elsewhere. Originally Halo had been on her mind, figuring it was far enough away that she could hide from anyone who might have words for the former queen, but when she reached out to Noah he'd suggested the Grounds. The demigod having gone so far as to find her an empty house on the very edges of the Domiciles, respecting her request for privacy and ensuring that no one knew she was there.
That hadn't included her children, of course. Edmund and Jude both being given her location when she decided to leave Torchline in favor of her health. Harper was aware, too. Not of her exact location, but that she had left. That it was for her health. He'd encouraged her to do so, knowing it was for the best, and only ever wanting her to be okay again.
She'd been here for a few seasons now. Almost a year and the Nightshade was better for it. Even if her progress was slow moving.
Maeve didn't jump at every sound now or have nightmares nearly as often. The stress of the war, leading, and her crumbling relationships further from her mind each day. Yes, she was doing better, but the loneliness was hard to keep at bay. Especially during the evenings when the rest of the world went quiet.
Aidon lifts his head from his clawed feet, orange eyes studying his bondmate as he gives a low trill, a comforting wave nudging against their shared connection. "I'm fine.." She murmurs, one of the first things she's said all day and she winces at the unfamiliarity of her voice. Her eyes flick to the clock, lips pressing in a thin line as it inches further past six thirty and unease begins to swirl in her belly.
Maeve
