Waking is disorienting. Her head aches and her throat hurts from protracted crying the night before - was it night when she finally slept? Perhaps.
Di'aliz shifts, just slightly, pressing a thin hand to her forehead. The cuts are clean still, and dried in thin lines by now.
GoneOh, how it hurts, the loss of that place. Still, it hurts, though
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(She was so very dirty after all that time at the house. From ash, from tears, from blood. She could not be trusted in a bath.
It was a simple matter, really. It had taken time. Her sitting naked on that stool. The hot water in the basin as he gently washed her. His dark hair tied back from his face, water running down his elbows, his knees aching from the stone floor, and his pants wet, shirt long since discarded.
That empty vacant look as she sat there, and let him bathe her. The basin of water grey with ash with swirls of blood.)
His voice a bit hoarse from lack of use as he spoke to her.
"Morning, Di'aliz."
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Then, with strange effort, she turns onto her side under the sheet, curling a little as if for comfort.
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"Do you want me to get you breakfast?"
A pause as he thought for a moment longer.
"Or would you rather me stay and attend to you?"
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