[Even though she’d sought out the touch – ferociously, near-viciously, clinging to the stranger with all her might – Alia is still startled by the gentle card of fingers through her hair, the returned embrace. If she focused hard, she may be able to think of two, perhaps three instances where her own mother had held her like this – but no, were those Paul’s memories, bleeding into her own, making things foggy, fuzzy?
It doesn’t matter. There’s comfort in the way the stranger holds her, and Alia is staggeringly grateful for it, even as she flinches at the fireworks, hands rising to cover her ears, a childish, helpless gesture.]
It does. [Murmured, softly, helplessly.] It’s what I was born for and I failed. And now there’s – nothing else.
no subject
It doesn’t matter. There’s comfort in the way the stranger holds her, and Alia is staggeringly grateful for it, even as she flinches at the fireworks, hands rising to cover her ears, a childish, helpless gesture.]
It does. [Murmured, softly, helplessly.] It’s what I was born for and I failed. And now there’s – nothing else.