did goodbye mean letting go?
For all Caido has taken from her, these will be her first real scars. A tangible reminder of the choice she made, the life she'd snuffed out without a second thought. Despite the cold reality of her choice, despite the fact she has no real regrets, Hotaru doesn't dare to look anywhere but Sunjata's face. Selfishly, she doesn't want to have to see the dark form of George's body in the snow beyond the Flood's broad shoulders.
Ru watches his hands as they firmly wrap the cut on her forearm, the shock making her head feel like cotton, even the dull hurt of new pressure on the wound a distant thing. The only thing that has any hope of reaching her is his touch, and as he gently touches her face and pulls her into the warmth of his body, Hotaru falls into it immediately. The rumble of his voice through his chest is more important to her than the duty that lies before them, but her hands claw and cling immediately to Sunjata's clothes at the faintest notion of separation.
"Your sweater," she croaks, voice hoarse from George's frantic grip around her throat. She doesn't want to think about the fact that George's mother will have to be told, by Torchline's officials if not by Hotaru herself. Doesn't want to ruminate on the reality that she knew the man well enough to be aware of these things. "Will we be able t-o -" her voice cracks, though it's cruel of her to say it's not from emotion, and she switches to the bond, to bury him when the ground is so hard? Will any of their shifts be capable of it? Her Komodo form is a natural burrower, but the snow doesn't make her hopeful.
But she can't bear the thought of his body resting in the House of Midnight either. She never wants to look at it again.
Ru watches his hands as they firmly wrap the cut on her forearm, the shock making her head feel like cotton, even the dull hurt of new pressure on the wound a distant thing. The only thing that has any hope of reaching her is his touch, and as he gently touches her face and pulls her into the warmth of his body, Hotaru falls into it immediately. The rumble of his voice through his chest is more important to her than the duty that lies before them, but her hands claw and cling immediately to Sunjata's clothes at the faintest notion of separation.
"Your sweater," she croaks, voice hoarse from George's frantic grip around her throat. She doesn't want to think about the fact that George's mother will have to be told, by Torchline's officials if not by Hotaru herself. Doesn't want to ruminate on the reality that she knew the man well enough to be aware of these things. "Will we be able t-o -" her voice cracks, though it's cruel of her to say it's not from emotion, and she switches to the bond, to bury him when the ground is so hard? Will any of their shifts be capable of it? Her Komodo form is a natural burrower, but the snow doesn't make her hopeful.
But she can't bear the thought of his body resting in the House of Midnight either. She never wants to look at it again.
and did letting go mean forever?
HOTARU
