It’s not dying I’m afraid of
Weaver shrugs, uncertain herself what might lift the curse. Time perhaps, another visit to the shrine. As annoying as the hiccups were, the deafness was the worst part. He couldn’t play his music, couldn’t really talk to her. She wrote notes, but it wasn’t the same. ”Maybe the gods will decide to be kind,” she says, with only vague amounts of hope.
”And yet you were there to rescue me,” she teases, giving him a playful little nudge. It’d hardly been an injury and she’d hardly needed rescuing, but that was really beside the point.
She nods at the mention of a drink. ”Though sounds like a good idea to me,” she agrees, stepping through the portal with him, the dead banshee, and the rags for Ludo.
(finished)
”And yet you were there to rescue me,” she teases, giving him a playful little nudge. It’d hardly been an injury and she’d hardly needed rescuing, but that was really beside the point.
She nods at the mention of a drink. ”Though sounds like a good idea to me,” she agrees, stepping through the portal with him, the dead banshee, and the rags for Ludo.
(finished)
weaver
it’s dying without ever having lived
