LOREN
Somehow, Loren found the energy to get out of his cot for yet another day. Every day was starting to blur together: he’d get up, shave, get dressed, make some breakfast, wait until he inevitably realized no one would be joining, left some food out for everyone just in case, then went to go help out with the LongNight preparations. That was it. No friends, no family, no fun, nothing but work. Just Loren, alone, in this giant house or alone out in the world. He’d convinced Beatrix and Jace to come home—and convinced many others to come stay there as well—but he never really saw them, or anyone else, and he couldn’t blame them, any of them. He was toxic, and they were probably better off without him. Still, he stubbornly clung to what dregs remained from his life, even as he slipped further and further away from the those who'd once professed to care about him.
He felt a little like he’d been cast adrift, though the truth of the matter was he’d cut his own lines, and now he was living with the consequences of his actions.
Today he couldn’t even be bothered to cook. If someone showed up, he could make something basic, but for now he just set the kettle on the stove to heat. As always, to ward off the chill he could feel even though he’d stoked the hearth fires, he was dressed in thick and ugly brown wool that hung off his nearly skeletal frame in a way that would be worrisome if he was capable of worrying about much of anything these days. Astra came out from behind the screen that blocked the corner of the kitchen where he slept and lived, and he obligingly scratched behind her ears as he waited for the familiar whistle. Even the luxere couldn’t make him smile, sadly. However, he wandered over to the pantry to set some hay in a bowl for her.
Beatrix
He felt a little like he’d been cast adrift, though the truth of the matter was he’d cut his own lines, and now he was living with the consequences of his actions.
Today he couldn’t even be bothered to cook. If someone showed up, he could make something basic, but for now he just set the kettle on the stove to heat. As always, to ward off the chill he could feel even though he’d stoked the hearth fires, he was dressed in thick and ugly brown wool that hung off his nearly skeletal frame in a way that would be worrisome if he was capable of worrying about much of anything these days. Astra came out from behind the screen that blocked the corner of the kitchen where he slept and lived, and he obligingly scratched behind her ears as he waited for the familiar whistle. Even the luxere couldn’t make him smile, sadly. However, he wandered over to the pantry to set some hay in a bowl for her.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
