Emberwood gravity don't mean too much to me

The sound of her name from Rosalie's lips is achingly sweet, soothing for a moment — and then her next words cut through her like daggers, and the air abandons her lungs. No, Her own voice is soft, choked with emotion. Rosalie, no — I would never — A brief sob cuts her off as the full weight of the accusation falls on her, and she steps back, limbs trembling so fiercely she wonders if they will collapse from under her. Her next words are a tremulous whisper, frantic as she tries desperately to make her understand. I thought you were dead — I thought I was going to die, too. And then someone — someone dragged me off, and I didn't know where I was, or where you were. I-I tried to go back — when I was strong enough. I looked for you — for your body, or — But it hadn't been enough; she hadn't done enough. Another sob interrupts her, but she forces herself to continue, words hardly coherent past the thickness in her throat. I'm so sorry, Lie.