#randomescribbles

[maevecottonwood]

What do you do when hope dies?

Ira sat down on the storm-torn ground beside me. I didn’t look up from my contemplation of the gravestone before me, huddling deeper into my cardigan. A moment later, his leather-clad arm landed across my shoulders and drew me against him. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispered, his voice a comforting rasp in my ear. “What happened. It wasn’t because of you.