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Summary
Szocha opens her eyes to find Albeleo crouched between her thighs, as naked as he was when he went to bed on her spare futon. His hands are the ones wrapped around her own, and the wetness under her nails and the ache on her stomach tells her that she had been clawing at herself in her sleep again. The smaller cracks have long since healed, etching her fingers and toes and little shoots around her legs and arms in shining gold, but the bigger cracks still ache and ooze and itch.
Series
- Part 5 of field notes on (in) love
