elizabeth isn’t quite sure what to expect in asking the other for such comfort, but what she gets is more painful than anticipated. donovan is a sore subject for her still, even a yearlater, and lips will part as the countess is rendered SPEECHLESS. her hands will squeeze the one of liz’s, and it’s all she can do to keep in control of herself, though ‘control’ is used sparingly.
❛ —— i have not. there is no one to compare.
❜ elizabeth has realized the greatness that donovan was to her, but such a thing had come too late. meeting her dearest friend’s gaze, her own sad and lost, the countess goes on.
❛ i try every single night, but i feel… nothing.
❜ the first few she’d taken to her room had ended up dead, but such a cycle quickly grew boring. she let’s them go now, but nothing is as fulfilling as donovan himself had been.
❛ what do i do?
❜ leaning towards the other, it’s obvious elizabeth is desperate for guidance.
❝ OH, SWEETHEART, ❞ leaves her lips in a whisper :silent sorrow expressed in blatant sympathy, tongue parting tiers with a hushed click. arms of lankstir to envelop the other in a warm embrace ––– but gesture falls short; uncertainty of comfort laces fingertips as they instead rest softly on the curve of elizabeth’s shoulder. grasp tightens briefly, gently, as hesitation melts away, & regard for her friend’s wellbeing cements in the forefront of her mind. ❝ ––– it’s best to let those things happen naturally ; you’ll find someone eventually. ❞ while knowledge of such an idea is not concrete, the words of reassurance enter the room with hopes of solacing, but do so quietly, dancing on cracking glass. ❝ in the meantime, what about other forms of companionship ? it’s never too late to mend old wounds ––– especially with eternity on our hands. ❞
