took a fall from a windy height

it was me who wrote onto the wooden door your name

This certainly a wound, for which I'd like a bandaid. Remi cautions the Star as he draws nearer, not that the alchemist sinks away from his husband's touch at all.

Smiling despite himself to hear the word tugged out in an accent that while musical, doesn't possess the same rolling syllables as his has. The question has Remi tensing, eyes blinking away ( or encouraging?) the imagery that suddenly appears behind his eyes. "She was a herbalist, at first." He manages at last, his voice scratchy and congested sounding. "I'm sure she saw more of the world than anyone else I had ever met. She learned from wise-women everywhere she travelled about what herbs in their lands did what...and she would gather them, and bring them back to the city to sell, or trade."

Closing his eyes and sinking into the feeling of Ronin's kiss, Remi exhales slowly. "I remember once...my father demanding to know why, if she was such a skilled herbalist, couldn't she cure herself." Boyish and sad, Remi's voice is hardly a whisper now. "At the time I always thought it was his way of saying he did not want her to die. But now? Now I think he was mocking her."

it'll last there longer than in this body i can stay