(Alistair's been waiting to die since he was nineteen years old. Yet the closer they come to that inevitable ending, the more he tries to scramble backward, pushing against the acceptance he was so sure he'd maintain until he walked into the Deep Roads. I don't want to go.
I don't want to leave him.)
"Cullen, it's not mere novelty that's kept Mia writing to you for so long. She loves you. You may have to...get to know each other again, a bit, but everyone has to do that after they've been apart a while. And she knows at least some of who you are now from your own letters. And mine."
no subject
He rests his head atop Cullen's; shuts his eyes.
(Alistair's been waiting to die since he was nineteen years old. Yet the closer they come to that inevitable ending, the more he tries to scramble backward, pushing against the acceptance he was so sure he'd maintain until he walked into the Deep Roads. I don't want to go.
I don't want to leave him.)
"Cullen, it's not mere novelty that's kept Mia writing to you for so long. She loves you. You may have to...get to know each other again, a bit, but everyone has to do that after they've been apart a while. And she knows at least some of who you are now from your own letters. And mine."