[She can see where this is going. Where this went. The mad dash within the reverie already made sense, but now the sickening guilt clicks in.
Rosamund looks to Arthur and senses a fissure form in his stiff posture, his clipped words. This is one way to respond to pain. It's probably not the only wound he has, to become so reticent as he is.
She throws prudence to the side. Rosamund approaches and winds her arms around his shoulders in a soft embrace, chin nesting at his shoulder.]
no subject
[She can see where this is going. Where this went. The mad dash within the reverie already made sense, but now the sickening guilt clicks in.
Rosamund looks to Arthur and senses a fissure form in his stiff posture, his clipped words. This is one way to respond to pain. It's probably not the only wound he has, to become so reticent as he is.
She throws prudence to the side. Rosamund approaches and winds her arms around his shoulders in a soft embrace, chin nesting at his shoulder.]