I Write Sins, Not Tragedies

Alise sniffed and rubbed a tear off of her cheek as she looked out the window. The sun was risen now. Not she she really cared. Her eyes wandered back to Sacha, another sob rising in her throat.

"Mama loves you too," she whispered, turning away again. "So very much,"

Reluctantly, Sacha handed the child back to the healer, his sense of loss seeming to abruptly escalate as his arms became empty once more. He turned his gaze away, rather than watch her leave with his son. Sacha wasn't certain he could resist the urge to snatch him back if he didn't.

His hand sought Alise's, fingers tentatively resting over hers. She may have needed space at that moment, but Sacha was the opposite. He needed contact, at least a little bit.

Alise flinched at his touch, then slowly moved her hand from under his. Her heart was heavy and cold now, as if something was missing from within her. Her son was gone and something told her it was all his fault.

"I wanna go home," she said, her eyes watching the wall with intensity. "Don't make me stay here,"

Though she had withdrawn from his touch, flinching away, Sacha remained unmoving. The rejection stung, all the more because he felt that she surely blamed him as he, in turn, blamed himself. He deserved no better. After all, what sort of man could not safeguard his own family?

Finally, after a long moment, the man composed himself. A wall that he was not even consciously aware of - that he never even realized had been slowly broken down - erected itself once more within his mind.

"Very well," Sacha stated quietly, rising to his feet. Grey eyes, void of any feeling save a lingering dull grief, shifted to Alise. She avoided his gaze. If he'd noticed, he gave no indication of it. "I shall go inquire as to when you may leave." Turning, he put action to words.