[/html]SQUIRRELSSSSSS.
Perhaps she had let it fester because she had not heard the silence at all, or the words she'd said to break it. Instead, Cassandra became suddenly aware of the thundering in her chest and the way it seemed to be escalating in volume and quickness, accumulating in a wrenching, twisting feeling in her torso, halfway between her lungs and her stomach. As her false smile crumbled, she wanted to retch and somehow expel the gnawing pain, which spread again to her throat, her head, her heart, her fingertips. Unwittingly, she tensed her grip on her sister, pulling her a little closer, ignoring completely the stinging in her wounded shoulder. That was an insignificant hurt, just then.
She felt light-headed and unsteady, as if she would lose her balance, despite being seated. And she almost didn't understand that the feelings that rushed at her were memories she had pulled away from herself. More than sadness, there was terror; more than anger, there was despair. More than simple pain, there was an overwhelming grief that trapped her breath under her tongue and made her body shake. She had not loved Jerome, but maybe she could have, if things had been different.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but opened them again almost immediately. Memories surfaced more easily in the dark. Her mouth was dry and she felt like dying. "I don't know," her voice mumbled, though it felt faraway. Perhaps he had been an idiot, and all his pack and family as well, but the word seemed a laughable descriptor. "I was the idiot."
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