Grey.

[Unseelie]

Breakfast:

Oh. Finally. The most delicious thing I've ever tasted. Its warm, too. White rice, pounded into gruel, with vitamin supplements, stirred into a watery soup. I tremble, just a bit. Struggle, really, to not spill a drop. Its cold down here, so cold. Just hold the bowl. Hold it, bend over it, breathe the steam and shovel spoons into my mouth, past cracked lips...hold a hand against my jaw as I chew, forcing driblets back in, where it might mix a bit with blood. Don't sit down. Don't ever sit down. The ground is too cold. It will steal the warmth, the wonderful warmth, all tied up in slop and steam and hope. Breakfast is hope. If I've had breakfast..I might..I might....

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