nothing to be afraid of when mere days ago mary was not of her mind and intent upon goring her… the breath she draws is shaken and uneven, mary’s gaze unmet, and doubt fractures whatever remains of rowena’s resolve. what have they done to you? what would you have done to me? the witch fidgets. a hand splays, risen to rest upon her sternum and fumble with the pendant at rest there. “ four days ago, ” her voice betrays her: it is terribly soft and breaks upon the second syllable. breast fills with its breath, deeper now, and her octave dips. “ i could not kill you. ”
the coppered taste floods her mouth now, teeth bitten into tongue and into cheek. i could not kill you, and i would have let you kill me. hatred needles in and attempts to sever whatever lay between she and mary, but rowena lay herself bare before it may infect. “ you tell me there is nothing to be afraid of but d’ye remember? ”
@flawedmatriarch, “ come here. there's nothing to be afraid of. ” accepting.