they say that war is hell, but,
true hell begins when the battle ends
and you're the only one whose
hands still drip red
The Penumbra feels the draw to the Mathair. Yet, she knows she cannot go, that she shouldn’t be going into the Greatwood, that she shouldn’t be venturing into places where she’s not welcome. She knows, in some roundabout way, that they are the cause of it – despite all her wanting to do is help. She finds it’s hard to know where friends begin and foes end, as the blight grows further and further with every passing moment. She feels exhausted mentally, and frustrated.
So she knows not to go alone, slipping by Deimos’ house to invite him out the following evening in the dying light, able to light the way with fireworks and flame to a torch. She hopes it works, hopes that Ronin will get better, that Safrin will get better. But she has no way of knowing. Instead, she clutches the rose close to her heart, her parasol in the other, while they walk into the Greatwood until they reach what certainly appears to be the Mathair.
So she knows not to go alone, slipping by Deimos’ house to invite him out the following evening in the dying light, able to light the way with fireworks and flame to a torch. She hopes it works, hopes that Ronin will get better, that Safrin will get better. But she has no way of knowing. Instead, she clutches the rose close to her heart, her parasol in the other, while they walk into the Greatwood until they reach what certainly appears to be the Mathair.
REXANNA
