Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
The paralysis held only for so long. It was the nausea that snapped her out of it. Sick to her stomach, Maea tore away from the window and ran, stumbling and staggering off into an alley where she doubled over and retched. Over and over, unable to rid herself of the image of that gaping wound in her assailants throat, nor of the blood on Astaroth's face, she kept heaving even when there was nothing left in her gut to expel. Getting tired of my own words
With the sour taste still in her mouth she began to make her way back towards the Dusklight. But partway there, her feet began to drag and she stopped, slumped against a wall. Going back... to what? To sleep in the bed of the monster who was busy feasting on human flesh at this very moment? Back to the house of a leader who knew what was going on and chose to do nothing about it? How could she possibly look either of them in the eye after this? It was sick, twisted, so utterly cruel that she wanted to scream in horror – and the worst part was that she once again had done nothing to stop it.
And these were the people that she had laughed and smiled with, so happy to be accepted. Choking on a near hysterical laugh, Maea sank to the ground and buried her head in the folds of the cloak. Cold be damned; she couldn't go back. Couldn't think of anywhere else to go; clearly she didn't belong in this place, yet there was nowhere else for her either. Had burned too many bridges - gods knew what options remained.
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
