Charta Prescott's Literatures

“You’ll be the death’a me ahs Ah am, Winston Prescott.” Charta whispered against his hair, leaning down to press a secret kiss into the white strands.

As he walks away he glances back over his shoulder, smiling. “I cannae sae tha’ I mind.”

I’m.. I’m still alive then? I’m going to make it?”

“No, you’re quite dead. That’s no reason not to go on living though, is it?”