God help the outcasts, the tattered, the torn
Seeking an answer to why they were born
Rexanna sometimes seemed so strong to Bastien, practically invincible in the face of all she had dealt with and continued to, in how she could come back from darkness with a smile on her face and determination in her heart. But he had always known she wasn't, of course - that did not make it any easier to hear the break in her voice as she admitted she was not alright.
Hurt, badly. No two words had ever scared him so much.
"Darling, tell me what has happened. Are you able to walk? Where have you been hurt? Did that little ginger macchia di merda help you at all?" He was angry at Sam. Partially rationally - after all, it was his fault she had been out at all, for his hopeless scheme, but the anger was partly just to place the blame somewhere.
Hurt, badly. No two words had ever scared him so much.
"Darling, tell me what has happened. Are you able to walk? Where have you been hurt? Did that little ginger macchia di merda help you at all?" He was angry at Sam. Partially rationally - after all, it was his fault she had been out at all, for his hopeless scheme, but the anger was partly just to place the blame somewhere.
Winds of misfortune have blown them about
You made the outcasts, don't cast them out
BASTIEN
