'And he's the best fuck that ever walked. He's beautiful - rich, in money and everything else; he's a rockstar to boot, trapped in the body of a fighter. And how he fought; at a state of turmoil with himself - somewhere inside his soul that only she...
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♱
'It's cold in here there's no one left And I wait for you And nothing stops it happening And I knew, I'd cherish all my misery alone And I wait, praying to the Northern Star I'm afraid it won't lead you anywhere He's so cold raining on the world tonight All the angels kneeling to the Northern Lights Kneeling to the frozen lights Feel their hearts they're cold as ice
And they paid, I cry and cry for you Ghosts that haunt you with their sorrow I cried 'cause you were doomed Praying to the wound that swallows All that's cold and cruel Can you see the trees, charity and gratitude They run to the pines It's black in here blot out the sun And run to the pines Our misery runs wild and free And I knew, the fire and the ashes of his grace'
Hera laid her head on the hospital wing pillow, her bloodshot eyes staring up at the ceiling fearfully, as if afraid it would collapse any moment. She counted every crevice in the stone and the little carvings in the pillows, her body language purposefully closed off so that no one would come near her. Hopefully, they'd think her asleep and move on with the next tragedy.
Hera wouldn't be surprised if she never slept again; that's how terrible she was feeling. Only once he was gone did she realise the little things he had done to help her, and it had only made for a more crushing end. She could only sleep if she was beside him, and that couldn't happen anymore...
