The letter was essentially her uncle on paper - over-stuffed, pompous yet subtle, and entirely without actual emotion. Cold. Pheobe frowned at the paper as if she could send the hot waves of anger through the page, across the ocean, to scorch his flesh. How dare he? After all, she had done to protect the Congregation, to further their interests on Tír Fradí - after she had cleaned up Constantins’ mess…After she had lost Constantin.
In the four months since his passing, she had lived in a haze of grief. Since the moment Vasco and Kurt had found her crumpled beside his body, the lingering pressure from his fevered, insane kiss still on her, the chill of his blood on her hands - since the moment Vasco had scooped her up and carried her to the tent. To the cart. To the door. To her bed… the world had been nothing but a pit. Increment by increment she had clawed, bloody fingered, to the top of the pit only to fall after seeing the merest glimmer of light. And each time her friends had lifted her from the floor and brought her to something like balance. In the days Síora and Kurt had cajoled her gently into life, at night Vasco curled around her and kept the sucking coldness of death and all the regret it held at bay. And now…
Now when the sun was starting to break through the clouds. Now when she felt the warmth on her face. Now…
I love it so much, the angst, the twisted feelings, the jealousy and the slight possession is so de-li-ci-ous Dvehagzhsvvagahavahvabsvavvsvahavvzvzbabzbzbnavsbsvzvsvjzvzbsvzjvdjavsjzhzbsvhzvshahgsjsvahshzhvsjzgshgzbahsjxhshvsjsbaj
I will finish the artwork for this wonderful writing soon OTL
I love them so much TWT my god this is so good, I will spend all day reading this 373774838399 times again and again
