[ There can be no rest for her, not truly. There is the only echoes of what she has done and what she deserves to suffer for the things she has done.
But the exhaustion has its own price, so even if she cannot rest, she does pull herself to sit at the edge of the fire, and wrap her arms around her legs as she tucks them to her chest.
The rest is silence, in the end. There can be nothing else to say. ]
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But the exhaustion has its own price, so even if she cannot rest, she does pull herself to sit at the edge of the fire, and wrap her arms around her legs as she tucks them to her chest.
The rest is silence, in the end. There can be nothing else to say. ]