[ Luna walks a fine line still with her mother's presence. she's still torn over it, her existence in Deerington gives her an unspoken joy but still strikes her with the feeling that it's terribly wrong. and Pandora's odd behaviour that's starting to surface only worries her more, gives her cause to truly believe there's something unnatural about it all.
she feels a lump in her throat, shifting slightly as if to look and check on her. Pandora shifts in the chair and Luna stops, curls back up again, clutches her fluid a little tighter. Peter. keep talking to him. ]
no, i think she will follow me. she only seems to wander away if we're in the same room. she won't go much further than that. and i don't want to trouble the others. [ she pauses, horror-struck. she doesn't mean it like that. ]
i'm sorry, that sounded awful. because it sounds like i'm troubling you instead. i don't mean it like that.
[ she doesn't want to be troubling him. maybe a... distraction. or solidarity, she supposes. she might be talking about her mother but the act of actually texting him at least somewhat gets her mind off the initial, biting thought that her mother's here in the room with her. ]
what's she drawing?
is she angry at me for stunning her?
[ there feels like an unspoken superstition in her last text - of course she knows one should never speak ill of the dead. but what of angering the dead? it fills her with a cold, dull burning. ]
no subject
she feels a lump in her throat, shifting slightly as if to look and check on her. Pandora shifts in the chair and Luna stops, curls back up again, clutches her fluid a little tighter. Peter. keep talking to him. ]
no, i think she will follow me. she only seems to wander away if we're in the same room. she won't go much further than that. and i don't want to trouble the others. [ she pauses, horror-struck. she doesn't mean it like that. ]
i'm sorry, that sounded awful. because it sounds like i'm troubling you instead. i don't mean it like that.
[ she doesn't want to be troubling him. maybe a... distraction. or solidarity, she supposes. she might be talking about her mother but the act of actually texting him at least somewhat gets her mind off the initial, biting thought that her mother's here in the room with her. ]
what's she drawing?
is she angry at me for stunning her?
[ there feels like an unspoken superstition in her last text - of course she knows one should never speak ill of the dead. but what of angering the dead? it fills her with a cold, dull burning. ]