One hundred S/U words.
aishamano means 'beloved'.
She wakes, arm outstretched, her mind tumbling through scorched russet skies, grief raw in her throat.
She can’t breathe, can’t move.
Hesitant fingers graze her back, his mind closed to her – the walls he cannot hold in sleep, restored. “I should leave.”
“No.” Sweat cools her skin, she shivers. “It’s not your fault.”
In the darkness, his eyes gleam. “I should have more control, I—”
“Your grief is my grief, aishamano.” She touches a finger to his lips. “Your joy is my joy.”
His breath is warm against her skin – a vow, a benediction. “Nyota…”