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[longwillows]

reach out?

the smell of fresh water in dry desert air. the feeling of cautious curiosity. a place as dangerous as it is resplendent.

c

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[longwillows]

[It's strange to be told that she didn't deserve her suffering, though not entirely unfamiliar. Stranger still is feeling that insistence. There is the raw, bleeding empathy—the profound grief for someone else's loss—but this is somehow different from that visceral pain. It's certainty, as sure as death comes for those who have lived. In the immediate, Sharon refers to the memory Kalmiya was just forcefully subjected to. The meaning, however, reaches far deeper.

Telling herself she didn't deserve the pain is different than being told by someone else. And believing that she didn't deserve it is a wide gulf further from either of those things. It is one thing to have faith in those who love her; it is another to have undeniable evidence of their feelings. Knowing that someone else truly, deeply, staunchly believes this—

Well, she doesn't really know what to do with that.

So she sets it aside. Focuses on what she does know how to handle: trauma, grief, and pain, especially that of others. Her skin still feels tender, the delicate striations of feathers on her back flickering weakly with light that blooms from within, the holy scourge of her bloodline magnetized to the vivid memory of burning.

In, hold, and out. In, hold, and out.

She turns in her seat now, her opposite hand coming to close around the other side of Sharon's, cradling the shaking appendage between hers with care and intent. It's okay. Weight, heat, comprehension, melancholy—but not regret. The shuffle of it all, organized into vocalized sentiment, thin with the emotion that still squeezes her throat.] It's not a burden to better understand the people I love.

[merged]

[ As Kalmiya shifts and covers her hand with both of hers, the noise of the banquet hall dims until it barely exists at all. The clatter of voices, the scrape of chairs, the distant music echoing from Arthur's conjured record player—it all washes out, leaving only Kalmiya. Vibrant, unrestrained Kalmiya, who doesn't just care for Sharon, but loves her.

It's one of those words, one of those feelings, Sharon has skirted around from every possible angle. Love has weight. It has teeth. It's a dangerous force, one that pushes her forward even as it threatens to knock her flat, because it leaves her exposed. Unarmored. Soft in places she has spent years hardening.

Kalmiya doesn't see the memory as a burden. She treats it like insight. Like something precious, no matter how it was given. And suddenly Sharon feels bare beneath her gaze, stripped down to the bone. Like she's laid out under harsh, ringing lights, chest opened and pinned back for examination. It's terrifying, but there is relief buried in it too, because if anyone could truly understand what she's carrying, it's Kalmiya.

The tears slip free faster now, hot and heavy as they fall. Her lower lip trembles. Part of her wants to turn away, to hide that weakness, especially here, surrounded by so many people, but she doesn't. She stays. ] I am so lucky I met you, Kal. [ Her voice sounds thin, small, worn down to the edges.

She can't quite say the rest. Can't bring herself to speak the truth out loud, that what she feels must be love. But she doesn't have to. The tether between them sings with it, loud and undeniable. ]