[ her hand pulls free from his, once he's off his feet; a couple foot steps a way on those soaked heels, before she stops, bending her leg up and body down to tear each shoe off, dropped carelessly to the floor in two clattering thuds. water drips, and the fabric still clings, but he's not sitting there to rest, and she's not taking off her shoes to relax. there's candles to find, to light.

she can't help him if she can't see the damage. ]

Sandust. [ her voice is low, working around the tightness of her throat. if words could show their age, the letters would have the tinge of rust, of metal well used but never cleaned, left without shelter from the passing of time. ] It was my dad's bookstore, before he and everyone else left. I never had the heart to sell it.

[ it was easier to talk about the dead past, at least, than it was the now.

a flick of a lighter, the emergence of flame; light emerged, reflecting bright on the wet streaks on her hands. torchbearer she, the light in the room never became bright, but it did chase away the bulk of the darkness as she moved around the small back room, lighting hidden half-melted candles all around. even if she paid the rent, she'd had most of the other amenities turned off.

who paid for cable in a tomb? ]

No one's going to look for us, here.