PHOEBE
Slowly she felt her emotions dropping down to a normal rhythm as she clung to him and him to her. He insisted it wasn’t her but it had been – it was her hand that struck him, her nails that scratched him. Even if she hadn’t intended it, even if it had come from blinding rage, it still had been her. ”I’m still sorry…you didn’t deserve that…” she muttered, looking up at him as he pulled his head away from her, her expression still distraught. Immediately her eyes went to his cheek, looking at the trickle of dried blood and feeling tears well in her eyes again.With shaky hands, she reached up and wiped the blood from his cheek with her scarf, her gentle touch in stark contrast to the strike that caused it. She was horrified with herself, shaken to her core. What else would this blight cause her to do? How much more of her mind would she lose in the depths of emotion she couldn’t control? She nodded a little in agreement – the blight really was getting worse, and so quickly it terrified her almost as much as the outcome of her rage had.
”One part was.” she whispered quietly. Even in rage, some things were tinged with truth – insecurities blown out of proportion to form the foundation of her anger. ”I won’t regret you. I won’t.” she said softly, still trembling from experience.
I can hold the weight of worlds
if that's what you need
be your everything
