wiedzminka: (nine.)
ℭ𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞 𝔬𝔣 ℭ𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔞 ([personal profile] wiedzminka) wrote in [community profile] abraxaslogs 2021-12-10 09:09 am (UTC)

[ The silence is louder than Jaskier's voice, louder than the beating of her heart against her eardrums, swallowing up the sound of her lungs being wrung out.

Ciri reads the letter again. Her fingers twitch.

She imagines herself, in one swift movement, crumpling up the paper and throwing it. Calling up fire to her fingertips, letting it incinerate everything. Including the feeling. Especially the emptiness.

She imagines herself running out the door, tearing through the streets of Cadens on a horse she doesn't have, rushing to Sam's and throwing herself up the stairs to grab Alina by the shoulders as she's about to walk out the door. Shoving her down and shouting at her, with mouths close enough to breathe each other's pain.

She imagines a night not spent in a cell, but in a warm embrace with secrets shared and trust given. Trust she apparently has not earned in return.

The letter flutters lightly to the tabletop, a plucked butterfly wing, pinned with a slam by Ciri's fist hitting the wood. ]


...fuck.

[ Her shoulders slump, body bent forward under the twin forces of realization and resignation. ]

It's Alina.

She's gone.

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