[/html]Over long moments and longer minutes, Cassandra's breathing steadied and the thundering in her heart faded to a quiet pulse. The tightness in her chest remained, along with a dull aching, but it no longer made her body tremble and shake, and it no longer tried to erupt from her throat. She had slept a long time already, but the new exhaustion was no less potent than the old. Her arms and legs felt flimsy and weak, as if there were no bones to hold their structure, and the muscles stung distantly, reminding her of some pretend marathon she'd run to escape phantom pursuers.
Warm and shielded in her sister's arms, the pallid woman recognized many things. They were basic observations, but no less profound for their simplicity. They had betrayers' blood in them, madness and treachery in scores, a list of crimes for life lived thus far. And they would each fall further. But Cassandra supposed that falling would not kill them, necessarily, and they didn't have to fall alone. Not yet. And there was still forgiveness, in each other, if no one else. There was forgiveness and trust and maybe the weakness that came with that was worth it. Maybe.
Her breathing matched Myrika's, and her mind emptied into the comfortable silence. The memories were gone again, whatever they'd been. She closed her eyes, eventually. If they came to her there, she didn't remember.
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