[ He's still all bright and cool, grief was a sickness in the heart, he was sure of that now. It did not get better, time did nothing to heal it. Not always in the wracking wails that he been when they had tortured him for things he would never do, but the little moments that were like tripping up stairs. Landing on elbows and knees and he was sure living was like crawling now. Desperate and moving because that's the only option left.
He understands, even if it's not his words. No more sunshine, no more light. No more stolen moments with her hair filtering morning air through it as she settled over him, teasing him comfortably awake. I thought you woke up at every little sound, Corvo and the air is bright with her laughter. Of tea shared like this as she shuffled papers with her feet on him. Telling him about this policy or that building plan. ]
No.
[ He looks to her, and back at the tea, the need to leave is still there. To not acknowledge this, or any of it. Maybe this place is making him kind where it shouldn't, or maybe he thinks -- it must have been a year since she passed. Maybe, everything is too different here to know, but it feels like it should be that long.
Too much had passed for it to ever be the same again. He looks back to her, it'd be easier to leave. To walk away from her. But he'd never been able to just leave well enough alone.
So slowly, he sits across from her, takes the tea and sips it slowly where it's cooled enough to drink. ] Tell me of him?
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He understands, even if it's not his words. No more sunshine, no more light. No more stolen moments with her hair filtering morning air through it as she settled over him, teasing him comfortably awake. I thought you woke up at every little sound, Corvo and the air is bright with her laughter. Of tea shared like this as she shuffled papers with her feet on him. Telling him about this policy or that building plan. ]
No.
[ He looks to her, and back at the tea, the need to leave is still there. To not acknowledge this, or any of it. Maybe this place is making him kind where it shouldn't, or maybe he thinks -- it must have been a year since she passed. Maybe, everything is too different here to know, but it feels like it should be that long.
Too much had passed for it to ever be the same again. He looks back to her, it'd be easier to leave. To walk away from her. But he'd never been able to just leave well enough alone.
So slowly, he sits across from her, takes the tea and sips it slowly where it's cooled enough to drink. ] Tell me of him?