OPEN | prompt three | PAIN

[wrens]

prompt three | P A I N dressing-room style. start your own thread. tag others. wash, rinse, repeat. open to all.

 

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ambrose | 9witches

[closed]

[ A beat, and Ambrose's brow furrows. Her words fall from her lips like intermittent drops of water. ]

Pain is — different for everything.

As simple as the snapping of a branch or a cruel word.

[copse]

[ He watches her patiently, and waits for her words to fall like dappled rain trying to find its way to the forest floor through the canopy of her too-brightly illuminated mind. Primrose reaches up and touches her forehead, almost as if she has a fever (she doesn't). ]

Quiet today, little sister.

[closed]

[ She leans into his touch, craning her neck as the rest of her body remains still. ]

I think so, [ she says, the words almost a question in their intonation. ] Quiet. I like it better that way.

[copse]

[ She is not the witch he would have chosen to tether himself to in either service or loyalty but Primrose understands that even the oldest powers must bend to thinks like chaos and fate. Ambrose had given herself to the forest and the forest had opened to her. It was only right that he, being the heart of the woods, give himself to her in turn.

His hand lingers on her brow, fingertips stained with sap and dust feeling along her hairline meditatively. ]

The winds will change soon enough. We'll see to the boughs. Ensure they don't shake.

[closed]

The big ones shake the most, [ Ambrose whispers, focusing on Primrose's face beyond the plane of his hand.

(She is not the witch he would have chosen, had things been otherwise, and sometimes she realizes it and sometimes she doesn't. But she is grateful, no matter what.) ]

The little ones shake but they don't sway. Not carrying as much weight.