we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
The grief is somehow easier when shared. Vague half-shapes of stories and events shared with a man they have both lost. Maybe there is truth in the process of remembering a life lived instead of lost.
Ophelia clings to Amun’s words almost desperately, too-large pale eyes staring with no need to blink, seeming impossibly smaller and younger. When he reaches to squeeze their knee, their birdlike pale hand descends to lay overtop it, clinging to the edges of his palm. “I have yet to encounter the hatred these people have for us. I have only ever left the Grounds once. Is it…is it really so prevalent?”
Ophelia clings to Amun’s words almost desperately, too-large pale eyes staring with no need to blink, seeming impossibly smaller and younger. When he reaches to squeeze their knee, their birdlike pale hand descends to lay overtop it, clinging to the edges of his palm. “I have yet to encounter the hatred these people have for us. I have only ever left the Grounds once. Is it…is it really so prevalent?”
