they say that war is hell, but,
true hell begins when the battle ends
and you're the only one whose
hands still drip red
Oh, she has absolutely zero idea that her child has the blight. And it’s the last thing she expects to hear as she’s planting her rose, packing the dirt atop it, a light smile on her lips at everything she has planned to do and become, when the ball drops. Her head swivels toward him with her dark brows raised as he mentions they had destroyed the plants in the Spire, but it hadn’t worked to fix or cure the blight. A light frown begins to find her face, but it drops at his next sentence.
It almost feels like the wind stops blowing, and had she needed to breathe anymore she was certain she’d be holding it until she could feel her heartbeat thundering in her chest. Her head drops back toward the flower as she finishes planting it before standing. “Is she alright?” She asks softly, a small amount of concern and sadness crossing through. She doesn’t blame the Reaper.
She doesn’t blame anybody.
But she knows somehow, someway, that the Ascended have played a part. So perhaps she’s a bit more guilty than he is, even with venturing here today. How many more had she put at risk? She clears her throat with the thought, a shake of her head, sending her dark hair afloat for a moment before the chilled wind picks back up in the darkness. “How long has she had it?” She asks next, because she can’t imagine what it’s like to have it. She doesn’t even remember what it’s like to be sick.
And for a moment she thinks of Melita, wondering if she should check for the fiery haired girl, to see if she’s alright too.
It almost feels like the wind stops blowing, and had she needed to breathe anymore she was certain she’d be holding it until she could feel her heartbeat thundering in her chest. Her head drops back toward the flower as she finishes planting it before standing. “Is she alright?” She asks softly, a small amount of concern and sadness crossing through. She doesn’t blame the Reaper.
She doesn’t blame anybody.
But she knows somehow, someway, that the Ascended have played a part. So perhaps she’s a bit more guilty than he is, even with venturing here today. How many more had she put at risk? She clears her throat with the thought, a shake of her head, sending her dark hair afloat for a moment before the chilled wind picks back up in the darkness. “How long has she had it?” She asks next, because she can’t imagine what it’s like to have it. She doesn’t even remember what it’s like to be sick.
And for a moment she thinks of Melita, wondering if she should check for the fiery haired girl, to see if she’s alright too.
REXANNA
