[Maelle allows herself to be led, hand holding onto his. She doesn't want to let go. When she sits, she looks at their hands. He feels real. Looks real. If only this were still her reality.
She has no appetite, but reluctantly uncurls her fingers from Gustave's hand and reaches for the bread. Soft and warm when nothing on the continent offers that. Even the vibrant parts of the land have been dull since Gustave's death. Only here do things have color again.
With a sniffle, her gaze returns to Gustave. There's no need to memorize everything about him because it's already committed to memory.]
I don't think you want this back.
[Her other hand holds his handkerchief. It's damp.
Above all, she misses his open heart and his silly nature. He could always make her smile, and she tries so hard to muster one up for him. To joke, even as her heart aches.]
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She has no appetite, but reluctantly uncurls her fingers from Gustave's hand and reaches for the bread. Soft and warm when nothing on the continent offers that. Even the vibrant parts of the land have been dull since Gustave's death. Only here do things have color again.
With a sniffle, her gaze returns to Gustave. There's no need to memorize everything about him because it's already committed to memory.]
I don't think you want this back.
[Her other hand holds his handkerchief. It's damp.
Above all, she misses his open heart and his silly nature. He could always make her smile, and she tries so hard to muster one up for him. To joke, even as her heart aches.]
It's moist.