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imogen wished she hadn’t spent so much time angry, that she hadn’t let that stupid rock take hold of her and drag her away from who she loved most; she wished that the rift between them had been easier to close, that laudna didn’t have to spend so much time trying to fix what she hadn’t broken.
imogen wished for a lot of things as she laid next to laudna’s eerily still body. her hands clasped atop her chest in a way she’d never sleep, her cheekbones somehow more sunken than they ever had been. she found herself reaching towards her, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, to trace the lines of her cheeks, anything to keep contact with laudna; to pretend she was still there. to act like the gut she was told to trust didn’t lead to this, that it wasn’t her fault laudna was dead.
the word was still foreign against her lips. dead . it had been used to describe laudna before, but it never held any gravity. because laudna was lively, and excitable, and joyous. whether by magic, or by luck, or by delilah fucking briarwood, laudna was alive. and nobody could take that away from her.
not until now.