Beware. Even still waters can hide a deep pit.

“You’re…not going?”

He clings. He is held. There is little else for him to do. None of it is correct.

“You’re. Not going.”

Hadn’t he said that already? Sorry, his voice, it really ought to be louder than it is. Was. Could be.

“Of course. Yes. Quite. You’re quite right. It’s a sensible thought, really. You, with how I suspect it all works, would really ought to, yes. You’ve got it right. Completely right. Yes. Good.”

She enfolds him in her arms. She tucks him beneath her chin. Stone cannot truly tell how tightly he clings. She will not see the permitted words spilling from a face all wrong. A good servant bears a burden kindly.

“And Hades, he said we could. Stop here. And, so, and so! So. So we can. Stop here. If we. If we w. I-If we. If.”

Dolce sits in the center. And the center can hold no longer.