Arete (arete) wrote,

My eyes stayed on the funeral pyre, even as I felt her approach from behind to stand beside me. No words were needed, no touches or looks either; we both knew why we had come to witness.

The loss of my sense of safety--the safety I had fought to feel in a world I could not control.

The loss of her trust in her family--the family with whom she thought she had forged bonds of literal adamantium.

Perhaps we had both deluded ourselves in the past, but the death of a dream can hit harder than any other death.


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