mary had a little lamb
its heart was black as coal
At the door, tapping. Almost hesitant, awkward, a stuttering beat- the knock of someone who has opened this door many times before without needing to ask permission, and now is not sure how to feel about requesting access to their own home. The knock of someone confident who hides their feelings behind tenacity and pride, now humbled by a distance of their own creation. The knock of knuckles that have known bruises from years of labor, that sit atop calloused and rough fingers, deft and adept both at milking his goats and braiding his hair, as the case may be.
The knock of someone who knows better than to be out on LongNight, and yet here they seem to be, just on the other side of Rory's door, the thin wall of wood and the series of locks and the year-long absence the only things between them.
"Rory?" She sounds hoarser, perhaps, than he will remember, but with the same authority and confidence and fire he knows so well. There's urgency, because it's LongNight, but no desperation. From beyond the door, Karlia's voice is inviting in its practicality. "Open the door, little brother. I need to see you. I should have come sooner. It's been too long."
The knock of someone who knows better than to be out on LongNight, and yet here they seem to be, just on the other side of Rory's door, the thin wall of wood and the series of locks and the year-long absence the only things between them.
"Rory?" She sounds hoarser, perhaps, than he will remember, but with the same authority and confidence and fire he knows so well. There's urgency, because it's LongNight, but no desperation. From beyond the door, Karlia's voice is inviting in its practicality. "Open the door, little brother. I need to see you. I should have come sooner. It's been too long."
it crept into her room one night
and ate her fucking soul
LONGNiGht
