so, it all starts with
a good woman? — — — exactly. . . it all starts with a
g o o d woman independent abigail marston of rockstar's red dead redemption low activity , private , & selective
written by p.
formerly @gnslingers
tracking #goodwomans
‘ — well ya see, that miss 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐑, she’s somethin’ else, ain’t ever seen somethin’ so scary in my life !! she 𝙍𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙎 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘿𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙇, i’ve seen it. her horse snortin’ fire on the outside’a valentine. just sittin’ out there in the valley, watchin’ people go by with them 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 . . . honest. that band’a demons she’s got chased me down, only got away by the grace of god. ’
acts of affection : ✪ rubbing their back after a stressful day or disappointment.
failure . failure . failure . the word echoes in her head until it loses all meaning . it’s a pitiful respite from the relentless grief , to ruminate on how pitiful she is . a sorry excuse for a calm between the storms of anguish that seem to situate themselves in succession in her heart . glassy - eyes fix on the fireplace , watching the flames dance from her position on the bed . she’s pale , despite the insistent west - elizabeth sun , wide awake despite exhaustion . but most of all , she’s a failure .
she could not bring herself to aid in the preparation of a gravesite . she was not meant to prepare one , and this one was far too small . just big enough for an unlived life wishes had been relayed in broken mumbles to jack ( make sure she can see the house , i don’t want her getting scared ) , who was tasked with finding the right spot . tasked in etching out a headstone for a life he was grieving too . he had done good . but she had failed in telling him that .
she watched as jack wept , his hand tucked up against hers . saw uncle wipe at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. even the wife of a blackwater shopkeep ( a budding friend of abigail’s who had tasked herself with managing more of the things abigail failed to do ) shed a tear . and there she stood , stony and silent until the party of mourners left.
had she failed to grieve for her daughter , too ?
had her heart become so irreparably broken there was nothing left to grieve with ?
she dwells on these thoughts for too long , blatantly ignoring the fact that no soul on earth ( barring one ) could have loved that little girl more than she had in the days they had been blessed with . that , after this , no one would remember her with more fondness .
the bed sags beside her , a mild creak accompanying it as she feels the other occupant shifting around . a pair of hands reach out , place themselves gently against her shoulders. they are held there for a moment , as if trying to determine whether or not she will flinch from their touch. a valid question , as she has done in the past days . determining it is safe to proceed , thumbs trace gentle circles into her skin . abigail leans back into the touch , something akin to a dry , strangled sob permeating the air .
she feels she has failed him , too , in some inexplicable way . somehow she was not enough - - somehow this is her fault.
❛❛ i’m so sorry. ❜❜ she croaks ,
❛❛ i didn’t - ❜❜ she cannot continue , for this time she does weep - openly and without hesitation , turning toward him .
at the very least , it is a relief to know she still CAN.
2087
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