Wishes, Dreams, Butterfly Wings...August 13-- Catelyn
She promised me. That thought pounds through my head as insistent as my breath as I tear through the forest. Heavy rain and wet branches lash at my clothes and skin, stinging as I fight my way through them, striking out at them like I want to strike out at the other thought that flashes unbidden into my mind: I still haven't forgiven her.
A pause now, a chance to clear my mindthere are too many paths she could have taken. Where is she? Her house or our safe spot? God help me God help us both. My chest lurches as I stare into the forest ahead.
"Emma?" My voice sounds unnaturally shrill and panicked. "Emma?" Please, Lord, don't let her hear me now If she can hear me in the middle of this desolate forest, that means things went badly. It means she's not in her home any longer. It means she's out of places to run. And even though we were mad at each other, I don't want things to have gone badly. Don't know what could hav
Your TurnIt's your turn. You watch as he walks down the row of cells, a soft sigh at all of the empty onesglass and steel mixed with antiseptic white, with no life inside to animate this barren bunker. You look down as he finally comes to the first occupied cell. Yours.
You thought you had burned away all traces of your fear long ago, but your stomach rises and begins to practice knotwork as he stops in front of your glass-fronted room.
He studies you and you study him right back. He is older than you remember, older and wearier than the day he put you in this room. His hair has all faded to gray, messy as it never had been before. It makes a startling contrast to his spotless lab coat and the suit underneath. As you study his form, you notice a roughly-hewn cane at his side. That is new; a sign of age that is unable to be ignored. But you suppose that you are older as well, though you wouldn't know it. There are no mirrors in your room. Your hands have grown larger, at least, judging by