Oh, my. A breath caught in her throat and stayed there, anxiously stuck in limbo in her lungs and no help at all to her weakened knees. Her heart nearly hurt from the rapid beating, not unlike the quick drumming of a march. She was suddenly quite obviously wishy-washy (Sadie had thought she had wanted his attentions until she was absolutely enveloped by them, overwhelmed by the space between them and whether it would remain and whether she wanted it to or not).
“I—I’ve, I’ve not left London,” she whispered, voice dripping with the nerves of a virgin.
Or rather, she was wishy-washy, until the whisper at her ear sent goosebumps blooming down the curve of her bare neck. As if the man embracing her were a hypnotist and she the volunteer at a show, his use of the word ’faint’ seemed to inspire such a state in the woman.
The water in her glass had turned to a dark, pungent tea. It left her grip, shattering on the office floor, but the sheer amount of liquid spilled on the ground was enough for an entire pitcher. Though it had been water when she drank it, the dream tea had weakened her all the same; she went limp, eyes fluttering closed as they had in her bed, though gravity was her enemy this time. The desert was gone then, replaced by the door from earlier.