Wheeling Gull Isle tongkola

u know whats funny, i saw midnight mass like a month or so ago and im like thats bartholomew's voice right there, before u put the gif in his profile, and then i saw it the other night like whoa wavelength

she listened. batholomew brought assurance to heda. 
you confide in me and i will give you the things that your soul has had removed from it.
she sniffled a little, crooking a fore-ankle to rub at her cheek. how could he do this? the question of how remained but some part of her knew there was reply for what she wanted to hear, no step-by-step list of how exactly she could extract the agonies from her soul.
but bartholomew would be there. he would guide her. the notion of telling him anything brought the familiar propulsion of rage, but he had not said she needed to tell him right now.
they'd run down the beach. heda stared back along their tracks in the sand.
his words were poetry; at times they evaded her with the evidence of more abstract thought than she could muster. for now. she breathed. she coughed. she chuckled self-deprecatingly at herself and stood to jellied legs.
"just you and me here, then?" heda asked, looking at the rich, empty land that apparently only housed the two of them. the gardens. her tones wanted to be lighter.