Never ownED myself

Come back to me

https://youtu.be/tDPpex1wvOc
Play the music plz
👆🏼
Quote:
One's destination is never a place but rather a new
way of looking at things.
Henry Miller

»•» 🌸 «•«

Night fell without ceremony. There was a frenzy in the room, the air itself felt heavier, or so she thought while begin tossed, cleaned and dressed.

Annie was wearing a white dress.
The fabric lay against her skin with almost no weight. It was a contradiction on its owns, after all a nightgown meant rest, not survival. There was also nothing beneath it. No armor. No layers. Her body felt wrong in it. She was too exposed, too fragile. The women around her moved with ease, strong hands lifting her as if she were made of breath instead of bone. She barely felt the shift, as she was being carried though the tunnel.

She caught her reflection in a polished surface as they passed. Her skin had lost its warmth, the sun-browned tone replaced by something thinner, paler. Her face was sharper now, cheeks hollowed just enough to betray how little of her was left to spend. She looked nothing like the women carrying her. They were alive. They were solid. While. She was... fading.

The thought tightened her ribs.
A new door opened. Cool air brushed her ankles.

Then Tom was there.
The change in her was immediate, involuntary. Her heart kicked hard against her chest, startled into remembering its job. Heat rushed to her face, a faint bloom of color she hadn't felt in days. Her lashes fluttered before she could stop them.

He was dressed in white too.
No armor. No uniform. Just fabric, loose enough to follow the lines of his body, close enough that she could see the strength beneath it. He looked uncomfortable in it. Overly aware,
but his eyes never left hers. The rest of the room ceased to exist under that gaze.

"Ready?" he asked.
She didn't answer. She couldn't. But she didn't need to.

He stepped forward and lifted her without hesitation, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Her body responded before her mind could catch up. She was leaning into the heat of him, fingers curling weakly at his shoulder. She had been cold for so long. Too long. Now warmth seeped into her, slow and startling, and she had to bite down on the ache it caused.

Her head settled against his neck.
His skin was hot a net contrast with hers. Nervous energy radiated from him, sharp and restless. She felt it through the thin barrier of fabric, the tension in his muscle, yet his grip remained steady and strong.

For a moment, she forgot where they were going.
Forgot why.

Only his presence mattered, his breathing, his nervousness. It kept her anchored.

Tom adjusted his grip, carefully. He'd drawn the line himself while he prepared himself. He would restrain his emotions, do what was necessary, what would keep her grounded, and from slipping further away. He hated the garment, hated the way it made him feel exposed, but it was necessary for the ritual and the alternative was nit an option.

Wolves disliked clothes.
But Annie and him needed them.
He jolted when her hands reached his neck and the urgency in his eyes sharpened. He couldn't afford doubt. He had to keep it together. Not for him, but for her.

The women stepped aside as he carried her forward, the voices ahead lowered, movements slowed, as if even the sound might break her.

Annie thought was too focused on one thing: the rhythm of his steps.
One.
Then another.
As long as that rhythm held, she was still here.
And for now it was enough.

Her face rested near his collarbone. Then she noticed it, she wasn't cold anymore though the snow was still visible. He was holding a spell around them, she realized dimly, keeping the cold from settling into her bones.