Rooted to the sill, hands clenching over wooden frames, he took more than a few breaths, trying to find equilibrium in a world that constantly seemed to pull the rug out from under him. Evie spending more time at home consequently might have meant he spent less; venturing further along extensions of being the only one carrying the Warden mantle, already sometimes burning himself at both ends, even when he tried desperately to claw away from it. All of these were rapid moving machinations in a mind so morphed, molded, and sculpted to being abandoned and flung aside, that even when the reassurance landed, it didn’t stick. Not unless there was action behind it. “Okay,” he uttered, uncertain what else to say or do. Acceptance, at the heart of it.
He wasn’t going to keep her in a role she didn’t want or didn’t crave or didn’t find fulfilling – would never force her into a means of might or politics or anything overbearing. And he’d take the role again and heave the burden across his shoulders and tie it to his soul until it buried him.
He wasn’t going to keep her in a role she didn’t want or didn’t crave or didn’t find fulfilling – would never force her into a means of might or politics or anything overbearing. And he’d take the role again and heave the burden across his shoulders and tie it to his soul until it buried him.
deimos
Never let them drain the river of your soul
