shelley_winters | (no subject)

(no subject)

Her room looks empty.

It almost makes her feel better, that it doesn't look familiar. Almost.

Shelley hadn't been able to make herself get onto the bed. She had curled up, wrapped in a duvet, but on the floor, and now sits crying. She hadn't been able to stop, even though her head aches and her throat is sore. There's nothing to make it stop. She can't.

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It's lessening, slowly. She hurts, in a vague, dreamy way, from twisting and tensing too hard. She stays still in case she screams again, and she might, there's that tight hysterical feeling in her chest and throat. So she doesn't move, trembling and cold in spite of the arms around her.

Pressing his lips gently to her forehead,--

Time to sleep, Elan. Very well, Mother.

--Ishamael smiled and spoke softly. The soft places between sleep and awake wherein reality was tenuous. Sometimes, it seemed odd that his mother was. No, nothing. Is that you, Azazel?

"...Shelley..."

His. Pomegranates, yes, not apples. Never again.

The girl shudders convulsively in his arms, and slowly brings her hands up to her face. Her cheeks are hot, and soaked with tears. She tries not to move, still, unsure how well that will go.

His voice is soft as he inquires of her gently. His hand still stroked her back. There was little left, really. Not much longer.

"Do you want to rest? Simply nod."

It's a moment before she responds - it takes time just to think about what he's saying - but she nods, slowly and shakily.

She wants to stop.

Lifting her into his arms, he closed his eyes. This was not quite the place for her.

A sound as of a rushing wind.

It was still a dark, quiet room, but a different one. Reaching down with one hand, he wove fire to warm the bed as the sheets pulled themselves back. Gently, he laid her into the warm bed with a soft smile.

"Rest, Lady Shelley."

She moves slightly as he lies her down, feeling the sudden warmth from the sheets under her. Her cheeks are still wet, and her lashes stick to them oddly, but she can't summon the will to open her eyes. One hand wipes over her face, as the other feels for the edge of the bed, or maybe just something to hold onto.

The warm sheet folded over her body, covering her to the shoulders. The light was dim, almost too dark to see, as he smiled and gently pressed his lips to her forehead. So very pretty with the color in her face from crying.

"Shhhh.... Rest, Lady Shelley."

The blanket traps her hand down, and she gives up, almost relieved. If she can't struggle, she doesn't have to, she can just go to sleep...

She turns her hand to the side, feeling the soft pillow. Sleep. Go to sleep.

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