[ he lifts her up and all at once she feels how exhausted she is, all the fight draining out of her with the dissipation of the waking dream. she aches all over, deep down to her bones, in her mind and in her heart. it's been so hard to stay strong, to fight this thing that wears her down, and alisaie is a spitfire by nature, resistant to pain and fear and hardship but gods this illness is relentless in its cruelty. rather than deliver a hard blow it is instead chipping away at her slowly, bit by bit, eroding her body and spirit both.
she'll get through it. she knows she will. she must. but some days are just so hard.
thank the twelve for prompto, though. he has been her tireless support, and even now, through all this he has come to her rescue. it makes her feel.. weak, useless, a burden and it's a feeling she reviles but can find no remedy for, when each day seems harder than the last. but she holds to him anyway, her arms slipping over his shoulders by rote as if they know where they belong, and though it shames her she allows his voice to wash over her, warm and familiar and reassuring. and she cries against his skin, soaking the collar of his shirt - gods, how long has it been since she's wept like this? certainly she's shed a tear here and there since her arrival, but this is not an errant tear, she is weeping openly, hiccuping between quick breaths, holding to him with the desperation of a woman swept up by a brutal tide.
she's so godsdamned helpless. powerless. weak. all she can hope is that prompto will not judge her for it too harshly, that her need of him will not drive him away or color his opinion. she can't bring herself to put it to words, all she can do is hold to him, but at least by the time they're home again her mind has settled, even if her heart has not. her faculties are her own again. ]
no subject
she'll get through it. she knows she will. she must. but some days are just so hard.
thank the twelve for prompto, though. he has been her tireless support, and even now, through all this he has come to her rescue. it makes her feel.. weak, useless, a burden and it's a feeling she reviles but can find no remedy for, when each day seems harder than the last. but she holds to him anyway, her arms slipping over his shoulders by rote as if they know where they belong, and though it shames her she allows his voice to wash over her, warm and familiar and reassuring. and she cries against his skin, soaking the collar of his shirt - gods, how long has it been since she's wept like this? certainly she's shed a tear here and there since her arrival, but this is not an errant tear, she is weeping openly, hiccuping between quick breaths, holding to him with the desperation of a woman swept up by a brutal tide.
she's so godsdamned helpless. powerless. weak. all she can hope is that prompto will not judge her for it too harshly, that her need of him will not drive him away or color his opinion. she can't bring herself to put it to words, all she can do is hold to him, but at least by the time they're home again her mind has settled, even if her heart has not. her faculties are her own again. ]