bottom of the deep blue sea

Phoebe I know I am good at something, I just haven't found it yet Phoebe had been scarce since the disaster that had been Fiat Lux mainly because Grant is awful. While grief was an old friend by now, this time it laid heavy on her shoulders in an unfamiliar way. She was not weepy. She did not feel despair. She was not drowning even, as Pim once upon a time put it. She simply was. Emotionless almost. The narrator would have used the word depressed, but it wasn’t something that had occurred to Phoebe yet. The midwife had simply given in, and accepted the melancholy melody that was the soundtrack to her insignificant life. When Jata entered, she was at her worktable, prepping various remedies – mostly poultices and creams for those who had suffered injuries at the festival. The blonde glanced up at him as the bell rang, smiling at him though her honeyed gaze was hollow at best. ”Hello, Jata. Do you need some medicine?” she asked, then tilted her head as she noticed his additions. ”Well, that is certainly a look you’re sporting.” she added with a light laugh, which too lacked the mirth he would be more familiar with.