Lauralae feels agonised, the tugging on her heartstrings a familiar grief to her. It is not quite the same as the loss of a mother, of having that one, tangible thread of humanity taken from her, but it is an echo of it. It remains that sensation of knowing that she will likely never see them again, that she would remain bereft of the comforts that had eased her heart so carefully for the last months of her time here - that she would live in a world where that sweetness had been robbed of her.
It makes it hard to sleep, hard to find rest, to do anything except mourn her losses. That is the pain of finding someone to connect with, of finding the warmth of another's embrace; once it's taken from you all that remains is the cold, and she is so tired of the edge of ice that surrounds her and makes her feel weak.
Matthew is gone, and so is that bright flame inside of her. Lucifer is gone, and so is that tender accompaniment.
When she finally dozes off, her dreams are absent, lost to her as well. Armand's presence in her room does not stir her, his scent familiar enough that in sleep she does not hesitate to know him, and the gentle probe of his touch on her bed and in her mind brings her from her black, dreamless slumber. Slowly, eyes blinking, she looks around with flickering eyes before she realises who it is, and the tension bleeds out of her in an instant.
She trusts him. She trusts him. That is such a dangerous thing. ]
Armand.
[ Lauralae does not hesitate. She leans forward, her arms opening, shifting to make space in the bed beside her. She welcomes him, without pause, her head tilting and her expression soft. ]
no subject
Lauralae feels agonised, the tugging on her heartstrings a familiar grief to her. It is not quite the same as the loss of a mother, of having that one, tangible thread of humanity taken from her, but it is an echo of it. It remains that sensation of knowing that she will likely never see them again, that she would remain bereft of the comforts that had eased her heart so carefully for the last months of her time here - that she would live in a world where that sweetness had been robbed of her.
It makes it hard to sleep, hard to find rest, to do anything except mourn her losses. That is the pain of finding someone to connect with, of finding the warmth of another's embrace; once it's taken from you all that remains is the cold, and she is so tired of the edge of ice that surrounds her and makes her feel weak.
Matthew is gone, and so is that bright flame inside of her. Lucifer is gone, and so is that tender accompaniment.
When she finally dozes off, her dreams are absent, lost to her as well. Armand's presence in her room does not stir her, his scent familiar enough that in sleep she does not hesitate to know him, and the gentle probe of his touch on her bed and in her mind brings her from her black, dreamless slumber. Slowly, eyes blinking, she looks around with flickering eyes before she realises who it is, and the tension bleeds out of her in an instant.
She trusts him. She trusts him. That is such a dangerous thing. ]
Armand.
[ Lauralae does not hesitate. She leans forward, her arms opening, shifting to make space in the bed beside her. She welcomes him, without pause, her head tilting and her expression soft. ]
Lie with me.