[As grateful as she is, she feels terrible that her being here like this has put him into this position. Rohan has never been the most forthcoming person when it comes to physical contact; frankly, it's halfway a miracle that he even lets her get away with the things he does, curling up against him during Cordis and holding his hand when they walk together. Those are things that dance around at the verge of things that constitute moonlacing, platonic and easily excusable. It's for chroma, they always tell themselves. It's just about the chroma, that's all.
And now look at her. This time it really is about the chroma, and yet she feels awful that it's come to this, because she knows full well that holding her hand or lacing their fingers isn't going to be enough to pull her out of this, and look at what choice that leaves Rohan. Sacrifice his personal comfort, or watch her waste away and believe that it was because he didn't do enough to save her.
She feels wretched, and not just because she's so cold and there are crystals threatening to form beneath her skin. She'd cry, if she could, but she's so exhausted she can't even muster that.]
M'sorry...
[It comes as a whisper, a few seconds after his lips touch her forehead and the warm bloom of moonlacing starts to wash over her greedy, starving soul. She struggles, trying to find the strength to push one hand up and out from underneath the weight of the blankets, sliding up to cover over the back of his where it still rests against her cheek.]
You don't hafta. I'll be okay. [She squeezes his hand lightly, as if to try to say, this would be enough.] Jus'...don't leave...?
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And now look at her. This time it really is about the chroma, and yet she feels awful that it's come to this, because she knows full well that holding her hand or lacing their fingers isn't going to be enough to pull her out of this, and look at what choice that leaves Rohan. Sacrifice his personal comfort, or watch her waste away and believe that it was because he didn't do enough to save her.
She feels wretched, and not just because she's so cold and there are crystals threatening to form beneath her skin. She'd cry, if she could, but she's so exhausted she can't even muster that.]
M'sorry...
[It comes as a whisper, a few seconds after his lips touch her forehead and the warm bloom of moonlacing starts to wash over her greedy, starving soul. She struggles, trying to find the strength to push one hand up and out from underneath the weight of the blankets, sliding up to cover over the back of his where it still rests against her cheek.]
You don't hafta. I'll be okay. [She squeezes his hand lightly, as if to try to say, this would be enough.] Jus'...don't leave...?