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.
