Allie Turns Into Her More, Finds Her Fingers Quickly And Squeezing Them. They're Just As Cold, But At

        allie turns into her more, finds her fingers quickly and squeezing them. they're just as cold, but at least they're shaking. at least all of her is. she doesn't feel like death, allie has decided. her heart is still fluttering, like a scared little bird. she's supposed to know how to fix this, but she doesn't even know what it is. the fairy girl clings to willow like letting her go will mean losing her forever. i love you. don't leave. don't leave, i need you.

        if she's not dying- and of course she isn't, willow said so. she needs to stop looking around so much and thinking and doubting and worrying because willow doesn't need to feel that too -then she must be sick. but she doesn't feel sick here, she just looks it. like her body is somewhere far away. she presses her head to willow's chest, ear to her heart, just to feel it beating. she doesn't think about how weak it seems, how afraid. you feel ... wrong. i- i don't ... i don't know what it is. i'm scared.

Not dying. Willow answers without being sure. She doesn't want to think about what's happening to her. Here it's warm (never mind that she's sweating, Willow feels like her fingers are going to fall off if she doesn't get warm) and safe and even if Allie is hurting her it is not as bad as what she's feeling out there. She feels it now, echoes of it. Swallows down the scream that wants to come bubbling from her lips. She's not speaking. So she can't scream, anyway. In the real world she tastes blood in the back of her throat.

She rests her head on Allie's shoulder. She's so tired. She's so tired and her surroundings are nothing but soft light from the fireplace and Allie's face and flowers and comfort and if she is dying, she would rather be here when it happens than out there.

Love you Alliebean. Scared.

just finished telling myself allie wouldnt wear long pants probably but

like cmon...

@witcheri

        she sits on the edge of the counter, watching evie curiously from her perch, as she finishes a seam. her feet kick gently against the surface as she hums, occupying her body as her mind and attention is fastened tightly to the blue haired princess. it was amazing to watch her work, almost as fastening as nature was. that same sort of tenderness enveloped her as the outside does, but a different overwhelming space in her heart. " what's that one gonna' be like? i like the purple, it's really pretty! "

Ocean’s Eight (2018) dir. Gary Ross

and if i said. starter call for allie's descendants verse..

        willow? everything in the room bleeds black, shadows dousing every surface and climbing further. it's wrong, and it only gets worse when she sees willow pressed into the corner. her stomach twists with dread, afraid that this must be a shadowed, scarlet version of the willow she had held only days ago. but it's not. she glows like moonlight, still, except she's shivering. except she looks sick beyond sick. except everything is wrong.

        she pushes against all of it to reach her. the scarlet ribbon, the shadow color that's taken her hair and eyes. allie grabs her with such an intensity that she worried it'll feel like claws, but it doesn't stop her. allie hugs her, tight and warm and squeezing even when she doesn't mean to, her fingers press little pink dents into the cold skin. everything is wrong, and she doesn't know how to ask. she's scared to say anything, or to try, or to think, or whatever makes willow understand. she's scared to shatter the room, the space. book spines in dark browns and purples threaded with bursts of pastel colored petals, glitter tracing the shelves. a red rose, wilted, tangled in willow's hair. she can't find the life in it, she can't find the life in anything besides the barest beating of willow's heart. allie can't hide the fear, and it manifests into something shaped like words. are you dying? you feel like... death.

@springthings

Allie? Willow whispers. Somewhere in the real world it comes out as a scream. It must, because all she's been doing for the past two days now is scream. Her mouth agape, air passing in hot short bursts out of her control. Somewhere in the real world, she's weeping into a pillow and begging to be suffocated by it. But here, she's simply curled up in the corner of the room, wherever this is, and shivering. As if her only problem is the cold. Is that you?

Her lips aren't moving, she realises. They're speaking silently, without their lips -- or at least she is, unable to speak and scream and whisper all at once. The pain comes in waves but she's not conscious so the effects are dampened. Her eyes droop, her hair is stuck to the sides of her face. Willow shudders,

What's happening?