Work Text:
Bedsheets are all they have. Worn by countless nights away from the tower, unworthy of the aes sedai who gave her life to protect her sisters. Kerene shouldn’t have fallen. They weren’t worthy of her.
Bedsheets are all they have — dirty and stinking, unworthy of the women they hide.
The procession stops. Sisters sing their sorrow. Warders stand still. The candle burns between her hands.
Snow falls on the makeshift shrouds, and on a bed of white they now rest.
Sisters sing their sorrow. Warders stand still. The candle burns between her hands. And the sky itself sheds a tear.