[private] The Wounds of My Past || {Wound}

[wound]

I t’s embarrassing, falling apart in front of a stranger. The threads holding her together are unraveling and, in some dainty corner of her mind, she is struggling to weave them back together. She is grateful when her fall is broken by his strong chest, but her mouth will not work to offer her thanks. The forest presses in on them, so heavy Wound feels as though there were leaves packed in the depths of her lungs. Her chest wheezes, sucking in dramatic gulps of air, while her mind races a hundred miles a minute. It had been a long, long time since her last episode as severe as this — and it had only been surrounded by the comfort of her brothers while wolves snapped nearby. There are no brothers to kiss her forehead or nestle against her sides. But his closeness stills her. It is the physical touch that lessens the threat of the thick forest around them and makes the darkness seem less penetrative. His words ease her even more so and Wound forces herself to breathe deeply. Her shaking, slender fingers slowly begin to weave the undone cords back together. “Thank you,” she whispers. She continues to rest herself against his chest, at least until the thickness in her chest seems lighter and her breathing has stabled. It is then that Wound pulls away, still remaining close to Hephaestus but relying not-so-much on his physicality. The silvery bay clears her throat, this time speaking louder. “I… Thank you.”

credit to nat of adoxography.

@[Hephaestus]