She simply sat on the bed, motionless, even as Aria's body lay face down beside her, the soft trembles that ran through Aria's bare limbs coming and going in silent intervals. But still, Rymora made no move to fetch a cloth to cover her. She knew—instinctively—that Aria wasn't trembling from cold. It was something deeper, something far more consuming.
A short while passed, long enough for the water to dry and for Rymora to finish tending to her own hair. She had set the towel aside, her gaze flicking to Aria only occasionally, respectful and quiet as always.
Eventually, Aria pushed herself up from the bed. Her hair clung to her damp back in places, strands curling at the ends. She moved slowly, like someone shaking off the weight of a nightmare that still lingered at the edge of her mind.
"I'm just…" she began, her voice raspy and uneven, eyes flicking toward Rymora as though searching for the words she herself couldn't quite touch. A flicker of conflict crossed her expression.
