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synne

. . . mmm. "vinnie." that would be my mother, yes. as irritating as it is, i think i understand her intent in asking about everything— i guess she's... worried. for some reason. not sure why. i'm fine. but i don't... think she really believes me, though. or trusts me. on that, or... well, on anything else, honestly.
lavinia

ahh... the kid. i love her, of course, to bits and pieces— but it's been a bit difficult since we lost her mother. maybe "a bit" is an understatement . . . she wanders off a lot, says she's "just looking for stuff," never really wants to explain much further than that. but- y'know, the things our marches have seen lurking in the treeline... it has me worried for her. for her safety. for her stubbornness.
synne

honestly, did they really have to leave us? why now, of all times? and she won't even talk about mama anymore. every time i ask mom, it's always "they wouldn't want you to worry, sun," and "there's nothing to be done now," and– ...mmmm. i don't think . . . i never really got to mourn.
𖦹 muse

. . . i'm sorry.
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