[ Little things he can fix. He finds his flint and steel to spark it, blowing a cool stream of air to ignite them- soon there is a warm glow for him to stare at rather than back at his bed. Their bed.
The bed. ]
It is not something that is done, not in the brothel and not in the Crows. Why make a fuss over it? I am alive. What more do I need to mark a day I do not remember and, on my worse days, genuinely regret?
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[ Little things he can fix. He finds his flint and steel to spark it, blowing a cool stream of air to ignite them- soon there is a warm glow for him to stare at rather than back at his bed. Their bed.
The bed. ]
It is not something that is done, not in the brothel and not in the Crows. Why make a fuss over it? I am alive. What more do I need to mark a day I do not remember and, on my worse days, genuinely regret?