Sawtooth Spire a silver whisper, take flight and steal into my mouth

esmé couldn't understand his anger towards her at her any better than riley could understand the terrible and unremediable extent of hers; his idealized fantasies about repairing eachother and navigating the world fingers interlocked with homespun solace was all that it was. a fantasy. some called those notions a fools paradise, but with esmé in it there was no paradise, and riley would quickly find that true as well.

but make no mistake of it, the woman never sabotaged herself. she was perfectly content to be alone. alone didn't deprive her of any sensation, none which she could fathom at any rate; riley was left more unprosperous of the two in regards to that. but he was good at metastasizing himself to foreign bodies, he would find what he wanted more easily, and he could eventually go about his life complacently knowing he'd set himself right and found a woman willing to endure his flights of desipience ... and occasional erectile anomalies, while esmé simply survived.

she felt him ease to sit beside her and she let out a soft huff, or perhaps more like a resigned sigh. esmé deliberated on her hesitation to just jump and get it over with, and concluded she might not find release but instead an eternity of boredom waiting for her, and that was torture unto itself.

she couldn't fathom what riley was thinking about, nor did she feel so inclined to ask. maybe it was just crickets up there. she couldn't conceive of a single time she'd recieved an answer to that question from a man that wasn't some dumbass thought that has no business being said out loud.

she'd come to figure menfolk had a "nothing box" in their heads where women had diegeses and elaborate bug-out strategies locked into place. riley, though, seemed to fall somewhere in the middle where he had fantasies and strategies— it just so happened they involved his positive taxis harassing her negative taxis. 

after a fashion, he stirred beside her and she tilted her muzzle slightly towards him, eyes tracking his movement. perhaps he hadn't been sitting in the nothing box when all was said and done. maybe, just maybe, he'd reckoned with the infeasibilities in his pursuit of esmé and was ready to be the one to leave. she blinked languorously at him and checked him with an uptick of her brow, but said nothing more than an insouciant "adieu?"