[ As she gets closer with an unnatural gracefulness, her scent solidifies. It's dead. Not in the way that rotting things are dead, or the way that stale things can smell dead, but it's like grave dirt and cold and empty. Somewhere that death belongs, but has never been truly alive and thus can never rot. Her heart is even beating. ]
Too bad. It would help support their research if we were.
[ She comes to a stop just beside him, examining the pillows with some amusement. Even though she'd known it was coming, seeing it is still something else — it's like he's nesting. ]
no subject
Too bad. It would help support their research if we were.
[ She comes to a stop just beside him, examining the pillows with some amusement. Even though she'd known it was coming, seeing it is still something else — it's like he's nesting. ]
Social lubricant.