Falling slowly

PHOEBE

Frey had long since returned the young midwife to her home. She was still sad, she was still grieving, and she would be for some time. It was natural. But this too would pass with time. Joy would come to balance her sorrow, though she knew all to well that the pain would always remain in some small way. Love had no equal after all and would leave her always a little unbalanced; but time and knowledge would help. That Frey cared enough, in their own capacity, to show her this, to hold her and comfort her despite thinking it meaningless, gave her a sense of peace.

Perhaps visiting a shrine to pray to Ludo and Mort was in order. Ludo, who undoubtedly guided the soul of her child to Mort, and Mort who had given her the love she had felt in the first place.

By the time there was a knock on the door, Phoebe had redressed her bed and bathed, the long soak in too-hot, lavender infused water soothing her soul a bit. For once, she was glad someone knocked, rather than barging in. She opened the door, hair still wet, a picture of calm. ”Oh! Remi, it’s good to see you.” she said with a soft smile, stepping aside so he could come in. ”Are those for me?” she said, looking at the flowers in surprise. It wasn’t often people showed up at her door with flowers. Come to think of it, had anyone ever done so?

Cause getting your dreams
It's strange, but it seems
A little - well - complicated
There's a kind of a sort of : cost
There's a couple of things get: lost
There are bridges you cross
You didn't know you crossed
Until you've crossed
And if that joy, that thrill
Doesn't thrill you like you think it will
Still, why am I not happier?