" what's wrong, marc? you look as if you've seen a ghost. "
layla had waited the entirety of her twelve hour flight from cairo to jfk to make that joke, the uncertainty of her return to the land of the living tempered by her favorite pastime of making her beloved (ex?) husband squirm. standing there on his stoop, a duffle of what few belongings she could scrounge from one their old emergency caches in hand, she smiled at him as if she'd never bled out in his arms.
" i am talking to marc, aren't i? not one of his secret alters? " she squinted her brown eyes and leaned forward to study his face closely, wondering if she could pick up on any subtle differences if it were someone else fronting.
@floumorte