“What snapped me out of it?”
“I did. I used a spell to dispel it.”
“...then let’s just hope it’s not Liv next time.”
Robyn wasn’t sure she was completely adjusted to the dim light of Palen, but she needed to remember Caine’s face more than just in her mind. She was no artist, not like Liv, but this wasn’t art so much as recalling facts - drawing the truth as she remembered it.
The picture was accurate, she was confident of that - the angle of his face and ears, his hair loose and swept back out of his face, the taper nose and curve of his mouth. So young for his race, yet he had a wisdom and patience that belied his supposed youth and spoke to his strict upbringing. A wonder he rebelled as firmly as he had to pursue what he thought was right.
He’d be alive if he listened to his mother.
Robyn felt her eyes sting and she tipped her head back quickly to make sure she didn’t smudge the pencil with errant tears. She blinked firmly and took a steadying breath before looking back at her work.
It was accurate but… flat. She supposed that was the key difference between art and just drawing - she wasn’t sure she’d properly be able to capture his kindness on paper.
Robyn flopped back on her bed, despondent, closing her journal and her eyes at the same time. That the only person who realistically - safely and quickly - could have saved Caine was himself wasn’t exactly a comfort. She had heard grief came in stages but who could tell where she was at right now, bouncing frequently between denial, anger and depression.
She kept her eyes closed as she set her journal on the bedside table, screwing her nose up as she underestimated how close she was and didn’t set it on there properly, the weight of the book overhanging the edge too much, causing it to topple to the floor. With a huff, she angrily turned on her side, opening her eyes to stare angrily at the wall of the room.
There was no bringing Caine back, but she would learn, and not let it happen again. The tricky part was figuring out how.