"Olia," she said again, more firmly this time, the last traces of humor gone. "You used to cry at everything, remember? Gods, you were unbearable." Her voice tightened slightly. "But it's been over a thousand years since I've seen you cry like that. Carelessly."
A pause.
Then, quieter—
"And don't insult me by calling it 'tired.'"
Olia turned to her fully.
Her eyes were still wet.
But this time—
The tears weren't clear.
They ran red.
Thick. Slow.
Like blood.
Alide's breath hitched as she grabbed her hands without thinking, her grip tightening almost painfully. "Olia—hey. Look at me. What's wrong? Talk to me."
Olia shook her head weakly, something breaking loose beneath the surface. A low sound rumbled from her throat, unsteady, like she was holding something back and failing.
"I tried," she said, her voice fraying at the edges. "I tried to stop it. I really did."
Her fingers tightened around Alide's.
"But I wasn't enough."
