SEREN
For every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
In every lost soul, the bones of a miracle
In every lost soul, the bones of a miracle
A name offered. Right, Phoebe. Seren kept forgetting her name, even though the woman was tied to many of her friends and relations. Dismissed to the periphery, no doubt underservedly... It helped to have a name. "I'll see if I can find her," Seren murmured softly. If nothing else, Harper would know.
Maeve's unquestioning support was a great comfort, too. Seren breathed easier, now that the weight of this was shared with another. Her friend might not be able to do much, but simply having someone else to talk to about this steadied her, enough that she finally managed to raise the cup of tea to her lips and take a sip. It was good. Not too flowery or fragrant, just flavorful and with a bitter undertone that not even the milk could entirely banish. It curled her tongue, and Seren enjoyed the sensation. Perhaps her mother would listen. Perhaps, even if this was really all the will of the gods and she was merely chasing mirages, it might not be impossible to find a solution that could satisfy all parties.
Safrin was good at creating miracles, after all. What was another one?
"Thank you," she all but whispered to her friend. "That means... everything. When I know what I will do... Thank you, Maeve."
Like a festival balloon deflating, Seren sank over the armrest and balled up in the depth of the chair. Tea and comfort and the relief that came with supporting friends - she wanted to laugh and weep and simply sleep for a whole week.
Maeve's unquestioning support was a great comfort, too. Seren breathed easier, now that the weight of this was shared with another. Her friend might not be able to do much, but simply having someone else to talk to about this steadied her, enough that she finally managed to raise the cup of tea to her lips and take a sip. It was good. Not too flowery or fragrant, just flavorful and with a bitter undertone that not even the milk could entirely banish. It curled her tongue, and Seren enjoyed the sensation. Perhaps her mother would listen. Perhaps, even if this was really all the will of the gods and she was merely chasing mirages, it might not be impossible to find a solution that could satisfy all parties.
Safrin was good at creating miracles, after all. What was another one?
"Thank you," she all but whispered to her friend. "That means... everything. When I know what I will do... Thank you, Maeve."
Like a festival balloon deflating, Seren sank over the armrest and balled up in the depth of the chair. Tea and comfort and the relief that came with supporting friends - she wanted to laugh and weep and simply sleep for a whole week.
In every dreamer a dream - we're unstoppable
with something to believe in
with something to believe in
