The sourness in his tone was the answer she needed, and brought with it a bittersweet sort of relief. He obviously wasn't having the same weird dream- if he was, even in this downward spiral he would've told her. At least there was that. Now... there was just everything else.
After a few heavy heartbeats, Gretel slipped herself down the length of the bed in silence, keeping her arm under his head in the process. She faced his back, hunched like it was, it reminded of how they slept like this as children, whether on church pews, stable floors, or yet another orphanage that needed breaking out of. Wrapping her other arm around his middle, her brow rested on the back of his shoulder.
"You remember that Christmas we spent in the Klintoch manner house-?"
New subject, new approach. New atmosphere. Gretel would shove away all this pain and suffering by sheer fucking will, and her weapons were the few, but shining happy memories they had growing up.
"When they were gone, and we found their pantry..."