Maea
Rest against my pillow
like the aging winter sun
like the aging winter sun
Dipping her head askew in a thoughtful gesture, Maea pursed her lips. Considered, and shrugged with a shoulder. "Why not. For all intents and purposes, he has been dead. That you get him back eventually doesn't change that." She shifted in her seat, pulling the legs up against the chest instead. Defensively, protectively. "I made a lantern for myself. It probably falls into the same category of macabre."
Her eyes flitted towards the horns growing out from his brow, and darted away. Out over the lake, where the wind set the surface into sweeping ripples. The wind had a look of chill to it, or perhaps it was simply the steely color of the water that made her think so. Temperature had become a distant thing to her, unimportant; the coat was too light for the season, really.
"Speaking of Nate..." Her words came slowly, sluggish and reluctant. As though she would much rather swallow them back down. "There is... something I need to tell you. And... you probably won't like it very much."
Growing very still, even her fingers stopped their picking at the hems. Unnatural, breathless in a way that probably was more familiar to the Flood than herself, considering his history of contact with Ascended. She waited, more listening than watching for cues to go on, or leave - perhaps this was not the right moment. Perhaps no moment would ever be right for what she had to confess.
Her eyes flitted towards the horns growing out from his brow, and darted away. Out over the lake, where the wind set the surface into sweeping ripples. The wind had a look of chill to it, or perhaps it was simply the steely color of the water that made her think so. Temperature had become a distant thing to her, unimportant; the coat was too light for the season, really.
"Speaking of Nate..." Her words came slowly, sluggish and reluctant. As though she would much rather swallow them back down. "There is... something I need to tell you. And... you probably won't like it very much."
Growing very still, even her fingers stopped their picking at the hems. Unnatural, breathless in a way that probably was more familiar to the Flood than herself, considering his history of contact with Ascended. She waited, more listening than watching for cues to go on, or leave - perhaps this was not the right moment. Perhaps no moment would ever be right for what she had to confess.
Only wake each morning to
remember that you're gone
remember that you're gone
