Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
It would seem that Astaroth's takeaway from earlier bouts with the stubborn little woman was to offer fewer options and ask less questions. Apparently the matter of where she was staying and what she was to do was not up for debate. The hand held out for her was given a long look; Maea hadn't felt this much like a stubborn youth for many a year. Getting tired of my own words
"... fine." She found herself taking it anyway before she could talk herself out of it, and allowed him to lead the way through the crowded parlors and into the quiet hallways. There the relative stillness rang in her ears, a throbbing quiet that matched the numbness of her feet. Perhaps the guiding hand was more necessary than she'd thought; before they had even reached his room she was staggering along, too exhausted to pay much attention to where she was going. It was not a pleasant weariness however, but the nauseating, flickering kind of tired where awareness came in jarring flashes. Too alert to nod off in mid stride, too tired to think straight.
"My brother used to do this, when I was little," she murmured, leaning against the wall in the pause as the door was unlocked. "But maybe I shouldn't say that... anyone I think of as family tend to die or disappear."
Sing to me, cause I can't hear myself
through the loudness of my own hurts
through the loudness of my own hurts
base inspired by Odd <3
