Isla
It's a start, and to hear the admission is almost enough to have her throat growing tight, Isla releasing a shaky breath that wants to be a laugh but doesn't quite make it. She's aware, suddenly, of how close the Inn has become, and one of her arms slips from around Sunjata's neck to reach out and catch at the door, as if to stop him from opening it just yet. "I think you're tired," she whispers back. "Too tired, right now, for it to feel anything but impossible."
She knows, because it's the same exhaustion that rakes its claws through her when she least suspects it, when she thinks she's gained some mastery over her grief only for a name or a face - or the sight of the Flood wrapped up with someone - to take her breath from her all over again. "But it might not always be like that," she adds, letting her fingers slip away from the door again.
She knows, because it's the same exhaustion that rakes its claws through her when she least suspects it, when she thinks she's gained some mastery over her grief only for a name or a face - or the sight of the Flood wrapped up with someone - to take her breath from her all over again. "But it might not always be like that," she adds, letting her fingers slip away from the door again.
I'll take a bruise, I know you're worth it
When you hit me, hit me hard
When you hit me, hit me hard
