There's Nothing Lower Than Six Foot Deep

*Iolaire* · 03-15-2021, 11:50 PM

Let her just die. Please... she just wanted to die. Mentally, Iolaire had given up. There was no reason to live without Roan. The emaciated woman, dirty and broken, hadn't stopped berating herself since the time that her husband had taken his last breath. He had gone south because she was sick. It had all been because of her. Now he was dead and gone. His line had ended because she couldn't give him the family that he so desired. This was her fault. She had killed him just as much as the southern sickness that had ended his life. Had it not been for her... had they never met...

Curling in on herself, Iolaire sobbed. She had always been so well put together, but there was no semblance of that now. She was not only dirty, she was filthy. Her pelt had lost its sheen. Her eyes were wild and bloodshot. Claws were broken. Pads were rubbed raw. Her coat was torn and stained with sand. She was a mess. Collapsed on the ground in the frigid wasteland of quicksand, Iolaire gave up. If she stayed here, unmoving, eventually the land would eat her up. That would be the end of her.

It barely registered that she was being held. Eventually, the warmth sinking into her from the other body was enough to make her feel like something had changed. Pulling herself out of the misery that was her mind, Iolaire looked up. Deathbelle looked down at her, of all wolves. Her mind really had broken if she was capable of making lifelike apparitions. But then Belle spoke and a little more clarity came over the smaller fae. Her brow furrowed and she fought to focus on Deathbelle's face. She sheer concern in her friends features brought a soft whine from Iolaire. Spectre or no, Io buried her face into Deathbelle's chest and sobbed.

"Speech"

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