Lena
// what is to give light must endure burning //
She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, despite the amount of breaths she kept pulling into her lungs, the foundational efforts to abstain from the rising panic in her throat. “I can’t just throw everything away -,” the Celestine, the Dragoons, her home, her life, even if it was for short bouts of time. What if they became more than that? What if they just fled, tails between their legs, and never returned? What if everything just continued to fall apart because they couldn’t find the ground to stand upon? “Gods, we can’t say we’ll be safe anywhere,” not with all the information, all the notions, gathered. Sohalia’s plans alone were dashed and gone, likely, and all the little hopes that might have clawed in there fell apart at the seams so quickly it was as if there’d been no talons at all.
She curled in around herself, eyes downward, trying to find a balance in the room. She didn’t have the answers. She couldn’t even breathe properly. The air squeezed in her chest and hurt with the rabbit beating of her heart, merciless in its panic. She could feel herself rising from the couch and backing away, slowly, to the kitchen, trying to find a glass and the faucet for some water; listening but nothing really sinking in. What should’ve been something happy and resplendent was quickly churning into overwhelming, choking holds, and she found herself leaning against the counter, still heard but still small. Dizzy, swallowing down the liquid while trying to find stability. “I don’t know what to do.” She needed more than snippets, more than instances, more than news clattering about her head that hurt and maimed. “But I don’t think we should be deciding anything right now.” Not in their current states. She didn’t know how to handle his trauma when she was barely processing the news of it. It wasn't ignoring everything he was sharing, but compartmentalizing; taken when she could hold it far more dearly.
She curled in around herself, eyes downward, trying to find a balance in the room. She didn’t have the answers. She couldn’t even breathe properly. The air squeezed in her chest and hurt with the rabbit beating of her heart, merciless in its panic. She could feel herself rising from the couch and backing away, slowly, to the kitchen, trying to find a glass and the faucet for some water; listening but nothing really sinking in. What should’ve been something happy and resplendent was quickly churning into overwhelming, choking holds, and she found herself leaning against the counter, still heard but still small. Dizzy, swallowing down the liquid while trying to find stability. “I don’t know what to do.” She needed more than snippets, more than instances, more than news clattering about her head that hurt and maimed. “But I don’t think we should be deciding anything right now.” Not in their current states. She didn’t know how to handle his trauma when she was barely processing the news of it. It wasn't ignoring everything he was sharing, but compartmentalizing; taken when she could hold it far more dearly.
