It's like getting a ton of bricks dumped on her head all at once. The bricks that constituted the walls she made. Walls of her own making, in mourning for what she lost and what she can never regain.
Her throat feels clogged, and at the same time hoarse. Finally, she gets the words out, though they sound different to her ears, as though the voice isn't her own. She feels twelve again, hurt and lost and uncertain.
"Take me to him." It's not a command. It's a plea.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-10-04 11:10 pm (UTC)Her throat feels clogged, and at the same time hoarse. Finally, she gets the words out, though they sound different to her ears, as though the voice isn't her own. She feels twelve again, hurt and lost and uncertain.
"Take me to him." It's not a command. It's a plea.