Sing to me, I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
With wordless gratitude Maea handed over a spare needle, some thread and a shirt that had begun to come apart at a shoulder seam. The dark fabric looked to have been dyed so many times it was more gray than black, with odd hue shifts that leaned now towards purple, now towards green. It must have been a nice shirt at one point, but by now the fabric was worn to the point of turning brittle, and definitely on its last leg. Getting tired of my own words
"Tell him I said hi, if I don't catch him tomorrow," Maea replied, biting off the tail end of string from a knot. "Seems we're out on the same errand. Roses, that is. I've never had much luck praying to Mort." Though Ludo had answered her often enough in the past. Curious despite it not being very polite, she glanced at her guest. "How did it go?" Answerable either way, Maea didn't think she was being too nosey.
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
