[closed-ish] revelations come at last

[eolasemah]

WHO: Sina and anyone who wants a starter
WHAT: The diplomacy mission did not agree well with her.
WHEN: Some backdated to Harvestmere 4th/5th, some current.
WHERE: The healing tents or Sina's tent in the garden.
NOTES: Warning for some icky injuries and pretty severe downers!

"Adelaide," comes a cry from the gates, and the newly-conscious Sina removes herself from Herian's horse to stumble towards the healing tents, the darkness staved off by her glimmering shard, which is definitely brighter than the last time anyone here saw it.
"Adelaide," she wheezes again, her voice thin and desperate, an injured fawn bleating for its mother; but with this part of the courtyard filled with only unfamiliar faces, she finds she's not strong enough to keep looking. Sina drops to her knees and hugs herself, keeping the palms of her hands away from her arms in strange clawlike poses. "Ghi'lan," she sobs, her voice growing quieter.

This is only the beginning of a long month in which few hear from or see her, as Sina is spending it curled up in a ball on her bedroll. She resists eating, won't talk to anyone without persistence on their part, and ultimately seems at a total loss of spirit.

[If you'd like a starter, hit me up!]

Comments

[rowancrowned]

He stops for a moment, one hand still resting on her back before he instead touches the opposite side of the shard on her spine. There is nothing to say—and less to do, in all honesty. Solas has gone off somewhere, and Thranduil is no closer no finding out what was in the Elvhen empire, even with Galadriel’s aid.

He takes the bucket and fills it with warm water from the basin, and gives her a bit of warning before he tips it and lets it was her hair clean. He could feel her ribs when his hand was on her spine, but he won’t attempt to get more soup into her unless she asks.

“What makes the pain worse?”

[eolasemah]

Sina sighs softly with the warmth of the water pouring onto her scalp and down her neck; little pleasures still reach her, even if they are fewer and farther between.
"Being near a rift," she murmurs, "...or a demon... or the wrong kind of magic." She bites her lower lip and sighs again, resting her head back, finally seeming to relax at least a little. "It never doesn't hurt, hahren."