Shadewood no space in your broken veins

The voice that followed was not a whisper, a quiet mutter to knock against her head and muse to her thoughts, or feed the paralysing terror of the boogeyman's hold, but regardless she stilled. A wave of bitter air shivered over her cheeks, and she let her heartbeat lead the silence, to speak of words she found empty on her tongue. The voice was not soft and gentle to soothe her, but perhaps that was not what she needed - his baritones were gruff, though, demanding to know who had stalked her mind and crept beneath her bed like a child's monster; if Gwen knew anything, it was that Ithrik himself was anything but that.

She let the silence sit there like fog, a hazy mist of quietude but void of the peace she normally felt in her king's presence - no doubt, she felt protected, but drowing. Suffocating under the remains of the broken nightmares. Her mouth felt dry.

"...I..." Was the only murmur of sound that fled her system, gaze pooling out to trail the distant stars. She tried again. "I... don't know."

And that was all she could offer him.