DELPHiA
Delphia remained quiet and patient as Remi took his time answering, clearly lost in reveries. Instead she focused on his demeanor - the way the corners of his lips tugged down, the slight wrinkle between his brows, and the distance in his eyes. It struck her that perhaps he too could see the dead as clearly as she, in his own grief ridden way. It was a haunting of sorts, and self-inflicted as it was, not so straight forward to fix. There was no soul to take away, no soothing words to calm a restless spirit. His memories, it seemed, were the worst spirits of all.
Was this the true root of mourning and not selfishness as she had always thought?
His answer, given at length, is both illuminating and vague. She understood what he meant literally, but not philosophically. "Why do you need it?" she asked, willing to pull the information from him at whatever speed he happened to give it.
Was this the true root of mourning and not selfishness as she had always thought?
His answer, given at length, is both illuminating and vague. She understood what he meant literally, but not philosophically. "Why do you need it?" she asked, willing to pull the information from him at whatever speed he happened to give it.
she has witchcraft in her lips
