Hushed Willows shimon

Reverie watched her with a faint worried frown, feeling as if she should — do more. Say more. But what was there to say in the face of such loss? Nothing had soothed her when she'd lost Rose. Nothing had made the world bright again when she'd lost her first husband. Nothing but time and the tearful mornings and fitful nights, and that lingering limp ache like something stretched past its limits.

In silence she reached out to offer a soft embrace, if the woman wished it. She wanted to tell her that it was alright, that she didn't have to pretend to be okay, not right now. But Reverie knew, perhaps too well by now, that sometimes that mask was the only defense against the threat of falling apart entirely. Sometimes that mask is all you have.