May 07, 2006 17:36
It had taken her a while to move from the armchair in Milliways, if only because every time she had moved she had started to think, and every time she had started to think she had started to remember and her ever-treacherous mind had started replaying the words and looks and tones and…
And a true Amberite never cried in public.
Eventually, though, her pride had won out and the small princess had made it to Arden without dissolving into tears. To Arden, and through the keep to the small library. No one was there, so she shut the door and locked it (from the inside, though the master key could always unlock, she didn’t think (Julian) anyone would bother) before finding another armchair.
A true Amberite never cries in public.
But this isn’t in public, it’s behind a locked door, and thus Fiona is crying. Quietly, muffling herself with a cushion, but she is still crying.
She doesn’t stop for a long, long time, and when she does that’s where she falls asleep; curled up in an armchair in her brother’s library, her heavy braid the same colour as the fire in the hearth, and tearstains on her small face.
But it’s behind a locked door.
And that makes it alright.
oom,
julian,
arden