there's always a glimmer in those
Perhaps the question was too much now, amidst the still unsettled moments, the sparse instances where anyone had time to collect themselves before the next damned upheaval. No time to breathe, no time to seethe, no time to choke down on all the ashes; maneuvering onward into the forefront of some other damnation. She used to believe the Rift was the cruelest of all: but maybe it was Caido, with its glimmers of hope, compassion, and tenderness, and then everything else crumbling, fumbling, and dying around it. Like pretenses, like specious, furtive glances, too headlong into the notions, the thoughts, of minimal triumph, before one felt it wrap around them like a noose.
She continued with her basket, knotting off some ends, some bits and pieces, before her eyes floated to Fangorn, nested in the leaves, and to Phoebe’s trembling hands. So she reached with hers, the half-finished adornments in her lap, lending support when and where she could. It probably wasn’t enough. Nothing ever was. “When you’re ready then,” no push, no shove, just a gentle whisper and palms to hold if she wished to take them.
She continued with her basket, knotting off some ends, some bits and pieces, before her eyes floated to Fangorn, nested in the leaves, and to Phoebe’s trembling hands. So she reached with hers, the half-finished adornments in her lap, lending support when and where she could. It probably wasn’t enough. Nothing ever was. “When you’re ready then,” no push, no shove, just a gentle whisper and palms to hold if she wished to take them.
who have been through the dark
MELITA
