[ she sets the wilting flower she brought with her on fire. it's small and already pretty dry, so it doesn't take very long until it's engulfed. she holds it as it burns, wincing as the flames lick down to her fingers. once they die down enough, she blows out the embers and ashy remains of what was once a flower. ]
[ He watches with attentiveness particularly when the fire burns close to her fingers, but goes up to watching her expression when the embers die out. ]
no subject
Lighter.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Your own tradition?
no subject
her the tips of her fingers are a little red, but that'll fade quickly enough. she doesn't brush the ash off once she lowers her hand. ]
Something like that.
[ she's probably doing it wrong, but the insecurity feels so minuscule compared to her grief.
she hands him back his lighter. ]
no subject
[ He pockets that back. ]
No wrong way to grieve.