[Each successive story she hears of these places gets worse and worse. That it ties so closely with other she cares about (Lucien, who's suffered enough for several lifetimes) and comes to such acute ruination puts her heart in a vice grip. Rosamund swallows back a hard lump in her throat, head shaking as he comes to the end of the tale.]

The ways that they draw up all our old wounds is just insidious. I can't blame you for not wanting to fight them.

[Taking their forms, taking the shape of his family. What could you be expected to do?]

Still, it's a little sad. Even it couldn't find the will to keep living. [She presses her lips tight.] I'm sorry. That sounds awful, Sidon. You shouldn't have had to see or do any of it.

[Her head turns, just so she might press her nose against him, weld her cheek to his side. His chin stays firm atop her head. She breathes more evenly for it, letting her eyes close.

Dreadful that he had gone. Miraculous that he came back. That she can keep him so close, if not for always then for when it counts the most.]

I hope your head is more clear now. It hasn't lingered at all, has it?