[The quiet, soft snap of the bond had driven Sypha up the wall when it had finally happened, and she'd immediately gone out. Away. Anywhere but near the house they shared. It wasn't that she couldn't face his death, but more that she didn't know how to process that it had actually happened. It hurt, thinking of it, worrying that he might not come back, despite all evidence to the contrary.
When she feels him return, she decides, perhaps, that it might be best to give him some space. The torrent of emotions in the bond, the ravening hunger, that's enough to give her serious pause.
When it all seems quelled, she slips in, looking down at him with a concerned furrow to her brow.]
No apology necessary.
[She makes her way over to sit next to him, plunking down on a chair by the bed.]
no subject
When she feels him return, she decides, perhaps, that it might be best to give him some space. The torrent of emotions in the bond, the ravening hunger, that's enough to give her serious pause.
When it all seems quelled, she slips in, looking down at him with a concerned furrow to her brow.]
No apology necessary.
[She makes her way over to sit next to him, plunking down on a chair by the bed.]
Are you feeling more yourself now?