The funny thing about tears is that they taste better than they smell. Stop it, Mother
--He smiled so very prettily at her. Girls like it when you smile. Why don't I ever see you with any girls, dear? Mother! Smells of apples. Or is it pomegranates this time?
Please move.
Wake up, Mother. Son, I love your mother very much, but it is important to keep matters in perspective. Wake up, Mother. Hurry up, please. Hurry.
It's lessening, slowly. She hurts, in a vague, dreamy way, from twisting and tensing too hard. She stays still in case she screams again, and she might, there's that tight hysterical feeling in her chest and throat. So she doesn't move, trembling and cold in spite of the arms around her.
--Ishamael smiled and spoke softly. The soft places between sleep and awake wherein reality was tenuous. Sometimes, it seemed odd that his mother was. No, nothing. Is that you, Azazel?
The girl shudders convulsively in his arms, and slowly brings her hands up to her face. Her cheeks are hot, and soaked with tears. She tries not to move, still, unsure how well that will go.
Lifting her into his arms, he closed his eyes. This was not quite the place for her.
A sound as of a rushing wind.
It was still a dark, quiet room, but a different one. Reaching down with one hand, he wove fire to warm the bed as the sheets pulled themselves back. Gently, he laid her into the warm bed with a soft smile.
She moves slightly as he lies her down, feeling the sudden warmth from the sheets under her. Her cheeks are still wet, and her lashes stick to them oddly, but she can't summon the will to open her eyes. One hand wipes over her face, as the other feels for the edge of the bed, or maybe just something to hold onto.
The warm sheet folded over her body, covering her to the shoulders. The light was dim, almost too dark to see, as he smiled and gently pressed his lips to her forehead. So very pretty with the color in her face from crying.
The funny thing about tears is that they taste better than they smell. Stop it, Mother
--He smiled so very prettily at her. Girls like it when you smile. Why don't I ever see you with any girls, dear? Mother! Smells of apples. Or is it pomegranates this time?
Please move.
Wake up, Mother. Son, I love your mother very much, but it is important to keep matters in perspective. Wake up, Mother. Hurry up, please. Hurry.
"Shhhh, dear... it will be well."
Hurry. It will all be better soon... If I just.
Reply
Reply
Time to sleep, Elan. Very well, Mother.
--Ishamael smiled and spoke softly. The soft places between sleep and awake wherein reality was tenuous. Sometimes, it seemed odd that his mother was. No, nothing. Is that you, Azazel?
"...Shelley..."
His. Pomegranates, yes, not apples. Never again.
Reply
Reply
"Do you want to rest? Simply nod."
Reply
She wants to stop.
Reply
A sound as of a rushing wind.
It was still a dark, quiet room, but a different one. Reaching down with one hand, he wove fire to warm the bed as the sheets pulled themselves back. Gently, he laid her into the warm bed with a soft smile.
"Rest, Lady Shelley."
Reply
Reply
"Shhhh.... Rest, Lady Shelley."
Reply
She turns her hand to the side, feeling the soft pillow. Sleep. Go to sleep.
Reply
Leave a comment