Her hand stays—it echoes in her. This is what he has left.
She has none of her own, not like that. The last marks Loki had left on her have faded, her skin left traitorously fine save for the thin white slice of a scar on her thigh from Ghislain. The pink dashes across her palm, perhaps, from when she’d nervelessly clutched a handful of roses hard enough to make stems flush with skin, the thorns hide in her flesh.
Maybe she shouldn’t have let Thor heal them, the small bit he could. Should have grabbed his wrist and hissed.
Alexandrie sets down the thread. Flexes her hand. Takes the breath. ]
Are any of us?
[ She takes up the bandages without waiting, takes the time to wind and tuck them nicely.
no subject
It belongs to him.
Her hand stays—it echoes in her. This is what he has left.
She has none of her own, not like that. The last marks Loki had left on her have faded, her skin left traitorously fine save for the thin white slice of a scar on her thigh from Ghislain. The pink dashes across her palm, perhaps, from when she’d nervelessly clutched a handful of roses hard enough to make stems flush with skin, the thorns hide in her flesh.
Maybe she shouldn’t have let Thor heal them, the small bit he could. Should have grabbed his wrist and hissed.
Alexandrie sets down the thread. Flexes her hand. Takes the breath. ]
Are any of us?
[ She takes up the bandages without waiting, takes the time to wind and tuck them nicely.
It hardly needs answering. ]
He will be heavy.