#VOLCHTSA / TIFFANY SONG.

[storyhaunt-a]

continued : @volchtsa

before the full brunt of the terror had so much as touched tiffany, andras had been at her side. his own dreams of nothing were cut short by the tight cinch of paranoia in his chest, a rushing anxiety that something was wrong — that tiffany was in danger. an attunement that neither knows the origin of, that neither can quite put their finger on, but which exists between them nonetheless, and is to thank for how quickly andras might be there for her.

she is scared, and he has no answer for her, no guidance or soothing words that will lull her back to sleep or alleviate her of the condemnation that scorched her chest, drew ash and cinders up into her throat. they hold her hands as if the very act will keep her with them; keep her from drifting away, breaking into a million scattered, irretrievable pieces. she speaks of the bard, of alfira, and though his memories of that night are hazy at best, still does he remember it — washing her shaky hands, unbothered by the blood, more fearful for her — and still does his stomach curl with a familiar nausea. he grips her hands a little tighter, as if the act can stave off the bare memories that she has.

they often say that when one person panics, the other steadies themselves, if only to be the anchor that they need. he is trying to be her anchor. gods, if he could rid her of her guilt —

" sia myvish, " he murmurs to tiffany, still holding her hands, squeezing them. " look at me. understand me. we will figure this out, and we will put an end to it. i promise you. " with a deep breath, he shifts, moves forward slightly, if only to press their foreheads together, an attempt to keep her focused elsewhere. " your hands are my own — i will make sure they stay clean, that you do not lose yourself. i promise you. "