Florence Mary Sanford (flowering) wrote in britannia_ny, @ 2010-01-15 21:28:00 |
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Current mood: | scared |
open!
Florence wakes in the middle of the night, shaking uncontrollably. It's been years since she had nightmares like this -- standing in the stone passageway, side by side with his brother, scared and heartsick; watching helplessly as Agravain went down in a fountain of blood; Mordred screaming at him and at Lovel to go, get to their father, they should never have come --
And then she always wakes up, struggling to breathe around the blade in her ribs.
She climbs out of bed, fumbling for her slippers -- her eyesight, thank goodness, is still perfectly good, but her hands won't stop trembling -- pads slowly through the house, past Janie snoring on her bed, and out onto the porch, shrugging on her coat.
For a minute the cold fresh air steadies her. She stands there, a small shaken old lady in an overstuffed parka, staring out at the dark with the eyes of a terrified boy.