It's a Graves thing (soundofwings) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-10-31 01:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | death |
Who: Iris
What: Showing up for an apology and finding someone unexpected
Where: Turnberry
When: Around that time
Warnings/Rating: Talk/memory of dying
An apology. The short discussion in her book was supposed to lead only to an apology for the things she'd done at the party, but it had instead brought an invitation from a woman who was essentially a stranger. No matter what they'd shared under the influence of the hotel. The thought brought bashful color to Iris' cheeks any time it crossed her mind, so she tried not to let it very often. She knew that it was a losing fight, though, as she felt herself flushed several times during the drive to Turnberry.
She had no idea what to expect once she went inside, only that she didn't feel as concerned about it as Sam had seemed to be. Somewhere she had picked up an acceptance of karma, and if she felt that things at the hotel actually "counted" (no matter what her siblings said), then she would accept anything that happened upon meeting her ...companion from the party. Her fingers hovered near her scarf-covered throat without a conscious thought to put them there, and she shook her head at her own hesitation.
Between one step and the next, things changed. She had been thinking of the party, the way it had felt to lose the air she so desperately needed. But on the stairs of Turnberry, for just a second, it felt like her world rolled, and it took effort to put her foot down on the next step. She stood there, eyes closed and clinging to the railing, frozen as she tried to figure out what was wrong. Her thoughts had taken a morbid turn, that was true, but she'd never had such a physical reaction to her thoughts before. She wondered if it had anything to do with the slow (so slow) reduction of medication that she'd started, but when she started doing dose-math, the usually helpful and steady voice of Alfred wasn't there to help her. Breathing coming quicker at the realization, her fingers dug into the stair railing and her heart crawled its way up into her already aching throat.
No. There had to be a mistake. He couldn't be gone. Not like that, so sudden. She had promised everyone that she would take care of him, deliver him through the door as often as she could, and now he was gone? She felt the guilt of failure bombard her, and were her throat less sore she would have let out a desperate little sound. Instead, she was silent, perfect to hear the soft, calm, new voice in her mind.
Just breathe. We'll be okay.