where: the cartography room when: late evening after the almost riot. 2 am. who: closed for @ilvulcanico
Dreams are fleeting. For as vivid and awful her’s have become since the Agathe’s sinking, she has been thankful and reliant of that singular fact. That even if they terrorize your sleep and force you to awaken with hot tears rolling off the sides of your face, if you wait a few moments…they will eventually turn in to wisps that float away from your mind’s grasp. Within mere minutes, they will be nothing more than odd feelings in the pit of your stomach. Easily brushed away with enough will-power.
But sometimes one comes along, more terrifying and arresting than its siblings. And it sticks. It remains on your skin like the smell of smoke. It remains in your mind, every single torturous detail accounted for, and buries itself in the folds of your brain. It does not turn into mist, slipping through your hands. It is the hand, squeezing what little sanity that is left out of you.
Normally, with a nightmare of this scale, she would seek out Nyima’s warm embrace. But they were all separated now, in different sections of the ship, and even if they weren’t Emma-Rose was tired of relying on people for comfort. They were more likely to disappoint and hurt her rather than help. Bastien had proven that.
It was time for her to handle her demons on her own. And that was what she was doing now, hair down and cradling a half empty bottle of whiskey in her crossed legs. She hadn’t consumed a drop ( yet ) but it was a small comfort to know that the option for numbness was there. Even if she had already decided that she rather think clearly during this time of palpable animosity.
As she looks out the window, she notes how the sea and the night sky have fused into one unknown mass of darkness. And it scares her, just like it did when she was a child. With her recalling of childhood fears, she also recalls a softly-sung childhood lullaby. One that soothed her anxiousness and fears once upon a time. Maybe it could do so again.
“ when the night is dark and the terrors have come remember this tune your comfort song remember the— “
A creak causes the melody to die on her tongue and she almost asks who it is. But, in a moment, the figure is recognized.
“ —If you’re here to antagonize me, laisse le chemin où tu es venu. I am not in the mood. ”