[/html]Though parts of her wanted to disagree and cling fast to the righteous anger, Cassandra knew with a resigned certainty that she had forgiven Myrika the moment she had decided to come to her seeking sanctuary, however temporary, within the skull-lined borders. And in the quiet moments they had shared since, for all the uncomfortable pauses and awkward, transparent pretense, Cassandra knew she was trusting her sister, believing in her, loving her still. And she knew that these feelings would come back to betray her somehow -- it was inevitable; everything did.
The wall between them remained because she wanted it to and felt safer behind it, but still she would reach through the iron bars for feeling and comfort and warmth. Ever the needy child, even if she pretended otherwise. For this lingering weakness, for this love, the albino hated herself, but held on yet.
She turned away again, but this time didn't flinch, or shudder, or cry. "There's nothing you could have done," she said again, just as quiet. "And there's nothing you can do now that you aren't already doing." The pallid woman leaned gently against her sister, her wounded shoulder between them. "You don't really want to know what happened." For once, there was something she could protect Myrika from, or pretend to.
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