[IC/OOC] Fade Rift Inbox & Contact

[faithlikeaseed]

(( Need to get a hold of Myr? Drop him a line. Notes, in-person visits, sending crystals, spooky Fade dream shenanigans, you name it. Just specify the type of contact in the first comment of the thread and away we go.

Need to get a hold of the player? Plagueheart#0051 @ Discord or a DW PM is the easiest! ))

Comments

[faithlikeaseed]

"Whatever it is, it's food. Thank you." Though Myr hasn't much appetite for it; grief has a funny way of making things like eating seem trivial. Not worth the effort.

"I don't suppose it's too much to hope it's contagious?"

Even so. He stifles a noise between a laugh and a sob, reaching out for the bread not to eat it but to tear at it mindlessly to crumbs with his fingers. "I'm afraid," he replies softly, "we'd both have it by now, if it were.

"This isn't--it doesn't have to be their fate. We've not done everything we can. They aren't so far along--that they're beyond help." He says it in defiance of Simon hiding under the covers against the awful noise and light of the outside world, of Cade lost and drifting in memory, of ice-cold hands and tremors and unceasing thirst.

They aren't beyond hope. Knowing that this disease did kill didn't mean it would.

The crust comes off the top of the bread like a scab from a wound as he pries at it.

[nadasharillen]

There's a wooden creak as Nari sits in one of the unoccupied chairs nearby. We'd both have it and their fate he said--she hadn't been so transparent in her concerns, had she? It didn't matter, she didn't have the strength left to care. This now, right after... Myr had known Sina. Myr would--

And suddenly, she was holding Sina's hand desperately, her beloved clansister wracked with agonized coughing as a pitiless and inexorable force that none of them understood tore her slowly away. Then Cade shuddering with fever in a corner, damp with unnatural sweat, lost to the world and gripped in the claws of something terrible that lived inside him. And her; outside, always outside, always watching, her efforts futile. Meaningless.

Myr would know. "It's too much," she says simply.

[faithlikeaseed]

Myr does know--

The long hours in the infirmary listening to Sina's strained breathing, knowing with every gasp and cough a little more of his friend's light went out; how their once-lively conversations had become more and more one-sided, until it was simply him telling her of the doings of the bees and the forest, hoping she could still hear him the while. (He'd had the chance to say everything he'd wanted to before she was gone. Would he have it again?)

He sets the tattered bit of bread back on the plate, dusts crumbs from his fingers, stretches a hand out in the direction of her voice. "It is," he agrees, "after everything else--it's too much. It isn't fair."

Life isn't, he knows, but knowing with his head doesn't keep the cry of his heart out of his voice. It isn't fair, to have their prayers answered only for Simon to die.

[nadasharillen]

His heartcry is heard, resonating with Nari's own like two plucked strings of the same pitch and she reaches out to take Myr's offered hand with a grip that's almost too tight, repeating his voicing of it: "It isn't fair."

She remembers saying the same, the pain in her throat as the words ripped out of it as she'd wept angrily in Korrin's arms, and suddenly she's wondering whether or not anyone's held Myr. Simon, maybe. She'd seen something strung tenderly between them on one of her visits to the room the two Templar shared, and the resonance grew. She didn't know the mage near well enough for the gesture, but grief--this grief--was a shared bedfellow, and Nari was beginning to understand the fleeting chance of connection, the finite nature of their lives. So she stood, and after a brief hesitation released his hand to instead bend and pull him into a tight embrace.

Then, softer this time, "It isn't fair."