[ His weak reply prompts a hollow, watery laugh. She has half a mind to pinch him for indulging her like that.
Soon enough though her mind turns to what next. What would Marianne or Mercie do here? They'd heal him, wouldn't they? But her meager healing spell has never held a candle to theirs, and here in the Horizon whatever she does might not have any effect. Uselessness crawls across her skin, anxiety flaring. No matter how much the sight of Sylvain's precious skin now ripped and torn, sores and wounds weaving some tapestry of horror, makes her want to weep, the anger aimed at whatever unknown entity is doing this to them forces it back. She can't just sit here and cry. She has to do something.
Even though she knows it's in vain, the feeling of his skin blazing through her gloves makes her immediately tug them off and a bowl of water and a wash cloth are there by her side in an instant. Soon the sound of water being rung from the cloth echoes through the greenhouse and she quietly, but dutifully tries to clean his wounds where she can. It may not be real but she hopes that this can at least soothe him in his mind. ]
No, I'm sorry. I was awful and — [ A lump forms in her throat. She desperately wants to ask him what's happening to he and Claude. But the skin between his brows is smooth and she doesn't want to bring it up if this is the only place of reprieve he can find. All they had to do was concentrate on looking after one another. On living. On coming back to them.
She draws a breath in and she steadies herself even though her heart could crack open. ] I'm here, okay? I'm right here and it's okay if you and Claude are scared.
no subject
Soon enough though her mind turns to what next. What would Marianne or Mercie do here? They'd heal him, wouldn't they? But her meager healing spell has never held a candle to theirs, and here in the Horizon whatever she does might not have any effect. Uselessness crawls across her skin, anxiety flaring. No matter how much the sight of Sylvain's precious skin now ripped and torn, sores and wounds weaving some tapestry of horror, makes her want to weep, the anger aimed at whatever unknown entity is doing this to them forces it back. She can't just sit here and cry. She has to do something.
Even though she knows it's in vain, the feeling of his skin blazing through her gloves makes her immediately tug them off and a bowl of water and a wash cloth are there by her side in an instant. Soon the sound of water being rung from the cloth echoes through the greenhouse and she quietly, but dutifully tries to clean his wounds where she can. It may not be real but she hopes that this can at least soothe him in his mind. ]
No, I'm sorry. I was awful and — [ A lump forms in her throat. She desperately wants to ask him what's happening to he and Claude. But the skin between his brows is smooth and she doesn't want to bring it up if this is the only place of reprieve he can find. All they had to do was concentrate on looking after one another. On living. On coming back to them.
She draws a breath in and she steadies herself even though her heart could crack open. ] I'm here, okay? I'm right here and it's okay if you and Claude are scared.