Maybe someone here will have wine for you. ( she's concealing all of her trauma. she can barely process what's happening underneath the persistent thought that she can't feel the wind anymore. not the subtle pull of it or the gentle brush.
it leaves her hollow, and all the talking does is distract her from the emptiness. )
What are we meant to do now, then? ( she sounds tired, for all her attempts to sound every bit her typical, haughty self. )
no subject
it leaves her hollow, and all the talking does is distract her from the emptiness. )
What are we meant to do now, then? ( she sounds tired, for all her attempts to sound every bit her typical, haughty self. )