[color=gray][CENTER][img]https://i.imgur.com/mnuXeVg.jpg[/img][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=978184][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]Flashback. Infirmary Gardens . - P.R.C.U. Campus.[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=#978184][b]Take On Me #3.048:[/b][/COLOR] [I]sugar.[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][center][sup][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#928b85]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#9b948d]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#928b85]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][/sup][/center][INDENT][sub][color=#978184][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR] gil. - [@Roman][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=#978184][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [color=gray][I]Won't Be A Thing To Become.[/I][/color][/right][/SUP]
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[i]She awoke with a subtle start; vibrations of awareness swept through her entire body, down the length of her spine curved and flush against the warmth at her back, cheek pillowed on the crook of her arm and opposite fingers nestled against the pout of her lip where a shuddering breath brushed over the delicate touches of her gestures- the same hand that had been entangled with his the night before. It was the coming dawn and the feathering light chasing away the comforting shadows that Amma realized she did not suffer any sort of nightmare or terror, she had [b]slept[/b], such simplistic sleep and comfort afforded to her waking world. Her lashes fanned against her cheeks, blue eyes still wreathed with catches of exhaustion, illustrating her usual intensity with softer features that beheld a sort of glow. She felt Gil move and became just that more aware of his presence and the quiet exhales of sleep before he stirred and came to at the sounds of his phone’s alarm. Amma’s breath stills, her eyes falling shut, not prepared to acknowledge that she had slept in his room, that she had pursued the comfort of night and companionship here, the slight tranquility that fell over the two of them with cords of tension that spindled through and down to her core that hummed with appetence. She felt him: felt the wealth of his stare, the weight of his body as he moved, her breath heightened to catch up on the cage of her ribs before she smothered that slip of a whisper against her arm and curled inward, preserving the warmth sought and given through the night.

He didn’t disturb her, and she was grateful, for she did not know if she could withstand the depths of those steel-blue eyes witnessing her in such vulnerability. 

Implications donned the day, the touches of sunlight luring her further away from her feigned sleep whilst Gil assumed his morning, content to let her remain, the intimacy is not lost upon her, but Amma can hardly discern what it even was that had swept betwixt them by just the grace of touches alone. When he departed, her eyes immediately snapped open, and an uneven slip of a sigh fell over her pout before she arose, blanket pooling around her waist whilst she studied the cold space left behind. Her gaze lingers, lids panned down low, an unnamed emotion woven into a medley over her heart eerily calm where she palmed her scar and smoothed away at the ache bundling there. A phantom slice of pain and power that bled red and silver, the remnants of pleading mercy woven through her mind, a scream and a cry of fear of death given by her kiss. A declaration to the monster that had won and the undeserving spoils of a life she had taken.

Amma spared one final glance to where Gil had lain beside her all night, where he had not moved to touch her, where they had simply [b]been[/b], where the physical temptations had been replaced by something that dwelled within the mystery of an emotional connection under the disguise of moonlight and shadow.

She sighs, one hand sliding through the waves of her hair, nails clutched against the crown of her head where wistful trills ebb and flow, a laugh that hummed with all the hopeless wonder of the world.

The timing could not be worse.

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An afternoon breeze found Amma lying beneath a dogwood tree, sunlight filtered through gaps of leaves and branches, delicate catches of wind slid through waves of midnight hair draped over the stone bench she reclined on, eyes fixated on her phone trembling in her grasp. Darling rays of light suspended over her frame dressed casually in lace and an oversized jacket hued olive and trimmed in black. Her thumbs continuously pressed and slid over the fortified glass of her mobile, twitching fingers caressing the case as she continuously typed and deleted message after message, unable to acknowledge the wealth of emotion that sunk betwixt her ribs and tormented her spirit postured over the unknown. 

Lorcán was hurt.

The group text she had begrudgingly accepted filtered with some numbers saved and others not, the simplicity of words lost to the truth of what had occurred. He was here in the infirmary like she was, like Gil was, and no further news had been proffered and who was she to demand otherwise? None had visited her whilst she remained locked in solitary, none had inquired about her affairs or state of release or healing. There were no messages from Blackjack as the days carried on and the only text she had revealed in her recent recipients gave her eternal pause every time she clicked back to it.

[quote][color=FCE205][b]Gone to physical therapy. No dreams. Drop by again if you want to talk more about mending. 

Thank you.[/b][/color][/quote]

She had no method with which to reply, fingers hovering over digital keys, lashes fanned against her cheeks as she memorized each letter and clicked out of it once more. She allowed her phone to relax within her grasp as one arm draped across her brow and the opposite left to hang off to the side, the grass brushing across her knuckles whilst she glared at the swaying tree above. It was not often, if ever, that Amma was left out of sorts, spiraling into the uncertainty of where she belonged and questioning the beat of her very heart that seemed spliced through and through with hate, desire, and a comforting wealth of emotion found next to a man she had hardly spoken to before. Did the path of vengeance afford her minuscule doses of comfort? Did revenge owe it to her for the yearning wealth of companionship that ventured beyond the physical? Amma’s mind listed back to the forest clearing and the intensity of heat that had fanned away at her core, their powers that had forged into a singular unit of raw, unfiltered energy and having felt the entirety of him through the sluicing manifest spiraling through her even now.

A whispering voice, one that was seeded deeply with malice and doubt, the face of a demented creature looming on high that spun through her a hated voice that fed upon her ambivalence like a glutton. 

	[color=000000][b]The unexpected and the always desired. [/b]
	[b]But never chosen.[/b][/color]

Amma laughed, a rueful sound spun from her risen chest as she breathed, punching out the ironic humor of her life undone. For she was a creature of life unforgiving and uncaring, she carved her path through the world without regret, spun hated words of truth that none wanted to hear, tore her hands through the shuddering veil of reality to take what she wanted, a woman of vanity and hubris, the sins of humanity compounded through her for all the oppression she had endured under the hellish dark of her past. 

Yet here she lay, undone by a simple text. Undone by the reveal of helplessness. Undone by the very in-between in which she dominated and lived her life. Her faults within and without and a question that hazed through her half-lidded stare.

What did she want?
Everything.

But, now, lingered the exact quantity of what everything entailed. Did she want to visit Gil again? Did she even want to be friends with Katja, Haven, or even Aurora? Did she like Lorcán? Did she want to visit him too? Could she even bring herself to do so?

Amma won’t find the answers now, but as the day continues and the breeze sweeping through her fringe turns cold and the sun banks yonder the clouds of twilight, she finds the answer to at least one weighted inquiry as the hour tolls midnight once more.

Down the hall, alone, no guard to hasten after her haunting steps unhurried and unbound, a sweeping gesture down a familiar door that yields to her touch as if awaiting her very arrival by the heralding of the shadows soft and delicate along her profile. Gil is once more tossed within the throes of a nightmare, beaded sweat and laden groans at whatever stalked his dreams, the revelations the trial had revealed to him about his very self always known but ignored. Amma is beholden to his figure under the disguise of the night, a time now belonging to them, a moment she cannot place or name, and perhaps she did not want to. Perhaps he didn’t want to. 

But then, what did Gil want? Did she care? 

Carefully, Amma approaches, silent, as if unreal, hair tumbled down to her waist as she studies his features and commits such to memory. With their inevitable discharges from the ward, she wonders if they could even continue meeting, and if so, would he come to her dorm? Would she dare venture to his? If neither could sleep alone, what did such even entail? Did it have to mean anything, she wondered, tucking wayward strands of black behind her pierced ear. As if feeling her there, but unable to acknowledge her presence by the vice his nightmares maintained, his grip suddenly turned lethal and clutched at the space where she had lain the night before. Amma hesitated, a fluttering gaze bidden to the line of his arm before sweeping down where his cast had been traded for a boot to allow further mobility. She considered leaving, if only for a moment before she rested her hand on his, entangled her fingers with his own, and marveled at the immediate tension that unspooled through him and quieted the hellish sire of his terrors. She knows then that she cannot leave.

Slowly Amma entered the bed to lie down beside him, facing him this time instead of offering her back, the line of their bound gestures not allowing for another position, thus she told herself, the blanket provided creating another barrier between them. For maybe an hour she lay there, counting her breaths and his own, cheek pillowed on her arm, eyelids fell halfway through her gaze aglow in the shadows of the moon, silver framed on her lashes before sleep finally claimed her.

For the second night in a row, Amma Cahors does not dream.[/i] 
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