[i] reaching out | s. trelawney

vi. the child

During the final months of her pregnancy, Sybill fell father down into the void of her own madness. She let the grief of the loss of the man consume her inside and out. She never left her room in the North Tower.

She spent all of her time drinking tea and watching the night sky. She didn't see any patterns there—only an endless sea of nothingness.

It seemed everything was stolen from her. The man. The Sight. Happiness.

And then there was the child. Like a phoenix from the ashes, everything cycled back around. Good to bad. Night to day.

The child.