[/html]Even as she allowed herself the moment of weakness and vulnerability, Cassandra reined herself in to some degree. She did not cling to Myrika like she might have as a child. Her whines and whimpers were high-pitched and girlish, but they came in punctuated bursts and were not sustained. She cried, but she was not breaking down, not yet, not here. The wound up ball of anger and despair and hurt and guilt remained tight in her chest, but some tension did leave her stiff body, and the pressure eased slowly from her skull as she sat there, face buried in her sister's hair.
It had been a long time since she had found any touch reassuring, but Myrika was quiet and gentle, as she had always been, though Myrika had not often believed it of herself, then. But for her yearfound loyalty to Inferni, Cassandra could not yet tell how much her tawny counterpart had changed. She was still kind, and her words were still a little bit rushed and awkward, and the pallid woman found it in her to again be envious, as well as grateful. Her sister had not suffered as she had; that much was clear. But this was not something she could hate her for, even if it would be easy to.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and at last, she lifted her aching arms, mostly cleaned of blood, and embraced her sister. They stayed like that a long time, and slowly, Cassandra drifted again. It was warm and she was safe, and though she knew their conversation was far from over, she indulged again and let go.
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