Time doesn't
matter anymore.
Breathing lacks importance, old bones
daring to break if she dares to move.
Having herself shatter at this point
doesn't sound terrible. After all, it
would be better than forcing herself
through a lonely existence.
The God finally allows herself to move,
neck craning as dull eyes turn to the sky.
When was the last time that the clouds
had represented sorrow?
The whisper of footsteps reaches Etihw's
ears, though no movement to note as such
occurs.
It's just her imagination, she's sure.
A failure such as herself
doesn't deserve company.