Hushed Willows Paint me me like one of those french girls

It had been a day or two since her run in with Lumiya, and sleep had yet to grace her. The hours felt like years, she hadn't eaten and was feeling as lowly as the hellscape many uttered about. Perhaps that was Aoibh's proper setting, alone, suffering where the misfit and unsolvable souls went after days of toiling on the Earth's surfaces. Poor structure in her schedule, she sniffed around for poppy seeds idly, and chance would have it her picture perfect sister would appear on the scene, of course, lively and surrounded by flowers, daydreaming about fantastical wings.

Maybe Deidra could fix her, this illness growing in her mind and heart. She was a healer after all. Still, reluctant to show her face again after her outbursts, worried that Lumiya may have passed their fight on, caution those to be wary of her. She couldn't feel the ardor to hate Lumiya, or even dislike her. Because she was right. And Aoibh felt nothing to the young girl in comparison. Aoibh did not make her presence known at that moment, just wadded in the sheltered shadows of the willows, debating whether to approach out of politeness and sisterhood.