glass tears on a porcelain face, scratching makeup perfectly made
Talyson had sought her out, unintentionally. Then Ru had sought out Deimos.
Then there was a long stretch of nothingness.
Taking Flora home to Torchline. Coping with the nothingness, the emptiness. Days that slide away from her like black sand in her fingertips, trickling through the holes the world has left in her until whatever was once inside her has leaked away to nothingness.
Only when the night gets bad - truly bad, bad by standards she has had to adjust in the wake of Enzo's death - does the Valkyrie slowly rise in the unlit corner of her home she finds herself in, like a hibernating beast awakening slowly, and venture out into the sunlight. She knows she cannot remain alone right now, or she is at risk of breaking every fragile promise made to her loved ones.
So she goes to find another.
The journey from her home to Sah's is short, and still she doesn't recall it when she tries, disoriented to find herself on his doorstep without any knowledge of how she got there. Her hand lifts, knuckles grazing the wood roughly - they're cold, and painfully red; did she not bring gloves? - only to rest there, silent, still curled in the imitation of a knock.
Then there was a long stretch of nothingness.
Taking Flora home to Torchline. Coping with the nothingness, the emptiness. Days that slide away from her like black sand in her fingertips, trickling through the holes the world has left in her until whatever was once inside her has leaked away to nothingness.
Only when the night gets bad - truly bad, bad by standards she has had to adjust in the wake of Enzo's death - does the Valkyrie slowly rise in the unlit corner of her home she finds herself in, like a hibernating beast awakening slowly, and venture out into the sunlight. She knows she cannot remain alone right now, or she is at risk of breaking every fragile promise made to her loved ones.
So she goes to find another.
The journey from her home to Sah's is short, and still she doesn't recall it when she tries, disoriented to find herself on his doorstep without any knowledge of how she got there. Her hand lifts, knuckles grazing the wood roughly - they're cold, and painfully red; did she not bring gloves? - only to rest there, silent, still curled in the imitation of a knock.
