(no subject)

[falsities]

[ And there Francis is, walking slow, unsteady circles around the base of a streetlamp. ]

Comments

[inheritances]

[ She's running late and she doesn't know why. Her body is off, there's something wrong and Phillipa can't understand why she's suddenly sleeping so much when just the week before and for every week before that (ever since she was a little girl) it's been a case of never sleeping enough.

(She dreams of her mother, of an open hotel window; she dreams of Francis pushing her from it, murmuring under his breath; she dreams until she wakes, sitting up with a jolt, the sound of her mother's laughter still ringing in her ears.)

It's almost half a hour past the agreed meeting time when Phillipa finally appears at the end of the block, fiddling with something in her purse. When she sees Francis she breaks into a light jog, abandoning the distraction for the time being. Her expression is apologetic and so very tired. (There are circles under her eyes, worse than he's ever seen them before.) With a hand, she reaches to touch his elbow, wanting to pull him closer and apologize proper. But her fingertips are awkward and the touch is stilted so she lets it drop away again, fingers balling to a fist her side. ]

Francis, I'm sorry, I— [ It seems weird to say. ] —I overslept.