stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires
"I'm sorry," she said again, but he didn't ask or protest; he heard what it was, a band-aid over a scar that was a little rough, a little jagged, but ultimately, healed. Sometimes it ached. Sometimes it was cut open, with surgical precision, and the chasm beneath examined; sometimes it was ripped apart again, revealing the bloody, infected mess beneath.
But he was healing, day by day, and after ten years, it was a scar that was a scar most of the time. So he sighed softly against her hair, silent acceptance of the sentiment. "I am too," he said after a moment, his voice soft and sad, so out of place in the Infirmary with its order, its stone walls, its cold, white sheets and well-cleaned equipment. He was not of this place.
And neither was she.
Yet there they were, blown in with the dust when the doors had opened to the dark; she, killed, he, burned. His body hurt, and that made it easier to pretend that his soul didn't, too.
It was strange to feel needed after so long alone—Karlia had never needed him, his comfort, or if she had, she hadn't been able to admit it to herself. He swallowed against the memory of her. Was she alright, out there in the dark..?
"Of course," he whispered into Amalia's hair, shifting to settle himself more comfortably, and if he held her a little closer, well, who would blame him..? He didn't want her to slip from his arms, to slip away where he couldn't follow, not when he had so recently found her again. "I'll be with you as long as you like."
It was what you did for family.
But he was healing, day by day, and after ten years, it was a scar that was a scar most of the time. So he sighed softly against her hair, silent acceptance of the sentiment. "I am too," he said after a moment, his voice soft and sad, so out of place in the Infirmary with its order, its stone walls, its cold, white sheets and well-cleaned equipment. He was not of this place.
And neither was she.
Yet there they were, blown in with the dust when the doors had opened to the dark; she, killed, he, burned. His body hurt, and that made it easier to pretend that his soul didn't, too.
It was strange to feel needed after so long alone—Karlia had never needed him, his comfort, or if she had, she hadn't been able to admit it to herself. He swallowed against the memory of her. Was she alright, out there in the dark..?
"Of course," he whispered into Amalia's hair, shifting to settle himself more comfortably, and if he held her a little closer, well, who would blame him..? He didn't want her to slip from his arms, to slip away where he couldn't follow, not when he had so recently found her again. "I'll be with you as long as you like."
It was what you did for family.
