Isla
The morning has been long and hot, the heat building to something stifling as it approaches midday, and though Isla doesn't mind the temperature, still she's opened the windows and sliding doors of their little apartment above the clinic to let the salt-sweet breeze flow through. It's quiet and serene for possibly one of the last times in the foreseeable future, the peace interrupted only by the hush of the waves or the call of seabirds or the odd bit of chatter from the street below. A perfect Longheat morning by anyone's standards.
Isla is sitting in a wicker rocking chair just inside the sliding doors, the linen drapes fluttering and splashing golden light across her legs every now and then. Her hair has been tied up in a bun too purposely messy to be anything other than intentional, and there is a small bag packed near her feet. Just essentials, given their proximity to the clinic, but things she might want to hand nevertheless. A nudge against the floor with her toe sets the chair to gently rocking, the Remedy taking a slow, deep breath and releasing it again as she waits for Ever to return home from errands.
To look at her, a gentle hand on the swell of her belly, her expression soft if not a little solemn, one might suspect she's merely deep in thought. And she is, sort of. It's just those thoughts grow much more intentional every now and then, her jaw tightens, and she waits for pain and pressure to pass.
Isla is sitting in a wicker rocking chair just inside the sliding doors, the linen drapes fluttering and splashing golden light across her legs every now and then. Her hair has been tied up in a bun too purposely messy to be anything other than intentional, and there is a small bag packed near her feet. Just essentials, given their proximity to the clinic, but things she might want to hand nevertheless. A nudge against the floor with her toe sets the chair to gently rocking, the Remedy taking a slow, deep breath and releasing it again as she waits for Ever to return home from errands.
To look at her, a gentle hand on the swell of her belly, her expression soft if not a little solemn, one might suspect she's merely deep in thought. And she is, sort of. It's just those thoughts grow much more intentional every now and then, her jaw tightens, and she waits for pain and pressure to pass.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
