To quell the tempest softly
Just after Holiday Spirit.
Exactly as Albrecht had predicted, Cora found herself in front of Makko's door. So frazzled and preoccupied with holding herself together, she hadn't realized where her feet had been carrying her until they'd stopped of their own accord.
She adjusted the burnt fruitcake in her hands, cradling it awkwardly as her fist hovered millimeters away from his door.
Makko was inside, she could tell that much through their bond, but something had stopped her on the precipice of seeking comfort.
Albrecht's cruel words still rattled in her skull. Was there any truth to them, or had they been embellished by anger? She couldn't dispute his feeling of being rejected for his culture, but his barbs had been personal and she was still reeling from how intense their brief encounter had been.
Did she even deserve comfort?
Cora's fist uncoiled and fell to her side like a wilted flower. She lingered in front of Makko's door for a few moments, sniffling and using a wrist to try and head off the tears at her lash line before they could fall.
She wanted badly to have shouldered Albrecht's beratement with grace, but parts of her were more fragile than she liked to admit.
It wasn't weak to rely on those you trusted in difficult moments, she reminded herself. Maybe Makko could help her untangle this confusing weave of unpleasant feelings.
After a few deep breaths, she finally knocked.
