In a room in the Mansion, Tyelko is dead to the world. He's still breathing and seems well enough, unhurt, but while he no longer shivers he doesn't wake either. Lost somewhere in his own mind, somewhere between memories of dark and pain and fear and a yearning that is deeper than bone, blood, and heart for a place he knows is long gone and lost
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Right now, she's touching his face, crying a little.
She should never have let him go rest.
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Somewhere, he does register her touch, and murmurs something, quietly, words of love and adoration. But he just can't quite escape it, can't quite find a way to wake.
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T: Feel free to give it a shot, Fingon. She may resist more than you expect, though.
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FML doesn't quite cut it right now.
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Breathing quiet and regular, he could just be sleeping, small frown on his face and almost entirely silent, almost eerily.
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"Turko. Come on. You have a kid. Damn it."
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