the matriarch is draped by the riverbank, gaze half-open yet dull. an overbearing, crushing exhaustion smooths her, grounding her here and making dull her thoughts.
a day. it's all she needs; one day. she'll get up again, as she always has, and forge on and pretend the weight of all those deaths, all those disappearances, all those faces that had slipped through the cracks do not seek to immobilize her, to fill her lungs and drown her. aphrodite, the death of the healer and her daughter's mentor, followed immediately by that of her brother, the man she'd given up on not two weeks before. she feels hollowed, as if every scrap of grief she's meant to have felt in this lifetime and all those that follow have been etched away, leaving her with nothing but this tiredness.
a day. and then she'll go on.
a day. it's all she needs; one day. she'll get up again, as she always has, and forge on and pretend the weight of all those deaths, all those disappearances, all those faces that had slipped through the cracks do not seek to immobilize her, to fill her lungs and drown her. aphrodite, the death of the healer and her daughter's mentor, followed immediately by that of her brother, the man she'd given up on not two weeks before. she feels hollowed, as if every scrap of grief she's meant to have felt in this lifetime and all those that follow have been etched away, leaving her with nothing but this tiredness.
a day. and then she'll go on.
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