She might have wept then, had not the sky begun to do it for her.
She remembered the godswood, drooping branches heavy with moisture, and the sound of her brother’s laughter as he chased her through piles of damp leaves.
Do the dead frighten you?
In the end words are just wind.
I have a hole where my heart should be, she thought, and nowhere else to go.
Choosing... it has always hurt. And always will. I know.