andhiswife | (Reply)

She's freezing.

She doesn't own any clothes that are really meant for this weather. Just the few things Greta had helped her get when she'd first arrived, and that's not enough. Saoirse'd had plenty, so Regan had layered socks and shirts and leggings under her jeans before they'd set out. They'd kept close together, hands clutched tightly.

She isn't sure how they got her. She'd felt Saoirse's hand tighten, a tug on her arm, and even as Regan had whipped her eyes around, they'd grabbed her. They moved better in the snow than she does.

And she'd tried to follow them. She had. But then she'd found herself back at the house, first, and realized she'd gotten turned around, somehow.

So, tears streaming down her face, Regan had set back out to the Gardens. Her eyes are still red, and she's sobbing when she slams the side of her cold-numbed hand against the door. She can barely even feel how hard she's hitting. She has no idea if anyone inside can even hear her.