It wasn’t right.
Too dry, not enough life. Too alone. This wasn’t right. Not like home. No little places, no secrets, no perfect moments waiting to sneak up on her. Not right.
Her fingers clenched, almost feeling the stroke of skin, the heat against her palm. Needing him. Her one. Perfect. This wasn’t. Wasn’t perfect, wasn’t close. It wasn’t enough. Wasn’t ever enough. It hurt.
She dug deeper, probing her long, pale fingers deeper into the earth, trying to find something, anything, to meet the perfection she longed for. Nothing. Nothing she wanted. Nothing she had dreamed about.
She sighed, brushing her dirty finger along her angular cheekbone and leaving a smudge of earth there. A trace of mud.
Her eyes closed as another bit of damp fell from her bowed head. A second of shock, a moment of power, of anguish. Loss, lost. She was lost.
A bit of green beneath her fingers blossomed and she curled to the ground around it. Perfect.
She stretched out into that life. Let herself go, just…go. No time. No past. No-one but her.