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The train has left the station motherlovers.

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5
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I am lost, a fraction whispers…

Though her face is buried in his shoulder below his jaw, the Gaze has not moved. It watches as before, infinite scrutiny hanging from the memory of where her eyes had been.

“Yes …” she says. “As are we.”

Zero, glaring from nowhere, showing him his measure… and how disastrously far he had wandered.

The rank folly of :marseytrain2:ery.

I am darned.

Her small fists twist knots into his tunic, make rope of a portion. The boy watches, for once immaculate and inscrutable. “I forgive you,” she cries into his shoulder.

I forgive.

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