cormac's notebook. (curagad) wrote in emillion, |
Every movement felt stiff and mechanic, as if Ridley's body was hoping to shut itself down before she could make her grand confession. Drawing herself into the room, she barely even glimpsed in Quen's direction, already hopelessly nervous about what was about to transpire. Talking about what was painful was good; it was therapeutic, and maybe getting it out in the open ease the ache. Words couldn't quite express how grateful she was to Quen for accepting her at this time of night, so she wasn't about to waste the older girl's time if she could help it.
Much too anxious to trust herself with handling anything hot, the younger scholar ambled into the room, uncharacteristically awkward as she slowly, gently lowered herself onto the blanket. Her fingers immediately fell against soft fabric and burrowed deep into it.
"I'm sorry to bother you so late," was the first thing to come out of her mouth, but nothing following. That was about as much preparation as she'd done on the walk over, and everything she'd wanted to profess sought to slip through her hands like sand. In a moment of clarity, she peered at the book that had been set to the side on her behalf.
"You were studying," she pointed out, matter-of-factly. Another apology, of sorts.