[ She's. Still, and silent, and her hand covers her mouth as though to physically prevent her from interrupting. Speaking, texting, breathing more than shallow breaths might break the spell. Speaking might somehow jar him out of this rhythmic patter, which seems to Katrina to be the greatest possible tragedy.
He's awake.
He's sober.
And his storytelling is bewitching. Haunting. Has anyone ever seen this part of him? Has he ever taken the time for anyone else? Maybe Wallace, but she suspects even then, it was a drunken ramble or a half-remembered incident from a night gone by. No, this seems like something just for her, something just between a husband and wife - and doesn't she love subjects of morbid fascination? Monsters and ghosts and mystery, and stories with atmospheres akin to the end of the world?
Doesn't he know that?
She loves him. She loves every last thing about him, every layered flaw that happens to shroud this person, with his beautiful eloquence. ]
no subject
He's awake.
He's sober.
And his storytelling is bewitching. Haunting. Has anyone ever seen this part of him? Has he ever taken the time for anyone else? Maybe Wallace, but she suspects even then, it was a drunken ramble or a half-remembered incident from a night gone by. No, this seems like something just for her, something just between a husband and wife - and doesn't she love subjects of morbid fascination? Monsters and ghosts and mystery, and stories with atmospheres akin to the end of the world?
Doesn't he know that?
She loves him. She loves every last thing about him, every layered flaw that happens to shroud this person, with his beautiful eloquence. ]
Still not giving up on you.
[ Or the story. ]