Maeve
Aurelia isn't the only one who doesn't know where to start. What to say. Her fingers tremble as she reaches for the papers, shaking her head slowly, "No. No particular order." At least not one that she wasn't capable of redoing herself later. The Nightshade holds the gaze of the Fireheart, words caught in her throat as her brows knit together, a million questions on her tongue and yet nothing pushes past her teeth. Nothing except, "I thought you were dead. What happened?"
It's quiet and pained. Hurt tearing at the edges of her voice, fraying it until it becomes delicate and barely held together, a scrap of lace exposed to the elements for too long. Sun bleached and falling apart from the littlest touch. Her fingers grip the papers like a lifeline, crinkling and wrinkling the edges, pressing into them and ruining the once pristine pages with the force of her grasp.
It's quiet and pained. Hurt tearing at the edges of her voice, fraying it until it becomes delicate and barely held together, a scrap of lace exposed to the elements for too long. Sun bleached and falling apart from the littlest touch. Her fingers grip the papers like a lifeline, crinkling and wrinkling the edges, pressing into them and ruining the once pristine pages with the force of her grasp.
There's a room where the light won't find you
Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down
Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down
