Phoebe
I've been very hopeful so far
Now for the first time I think we're going wrong
Hurry up and tell me this is all a dream
Or could we start again, please?
Now for the first time I think we're going wrong
Hurry up and tell me this is all a dream
Or could we start again, please?
"Come in, Loren." Phoebe called upon hearing who was at the door. It wasn't exactly the most appropriate response, but it was a clinic partially after all, and the door was always open. Upon entering, Loren would find Phoebe hard at work, pouring over a complicated looking book while she made various medicines for all of those injured. Dark circles were under her eyes, easily discernible on her pale skin, hair tossed in a messy bun atop her head.
Though she had escaped the events physically unscathed, the emotional wounds Phoebe bore were buried deep beneath layers of wild imagination. Her body lived in reality, her soul lived in the world of Frey created through her mind's eye. Her wounds from the previous years had never fully healed, you see, each one making the previous wider, deeper, more painful. This last one had broken something she could not identify, nor did she really want to.
