Dragoncrest Cliffs let me tell you that I saw your boyfriend walking down the street

saint's companion peppers her with questions; needling against her hesitancy. she does not wish to speak of it but in stead of telling sobeille as such, saint just keeps talking. as if possessed by an eagerness to people please, as if her mouth and words are not her own.

perhaps they are not.

nothing is her's; and if there remains anything of the true saint within it is a tiny, smoldering pile of ash.

blood. body. soul. she cannot articulate what the dark gods of the listener had asked her for, what she had already given before her great escape.