Sophia grabbed Yuuta.
Even though she had lost her mind, even though her thoughts were scrambled and her memories shattered, something inside her remained, something primal, something fierce, something that refused to let go.
It was the part of her that had survived the well, that had clawed her way through years of darkness and hunger and despair.
It was the part of her that had found a broken child and decided, against all reason, to love him.
She was eager to protect him, to feed him, to keep him close.
She did not let him walk.
She carried him everywhere, clutching him to her chest like a mother wolf carrying her cub, her arms wrapped around him so tightly that he could barely breathe.
Her fingers were curled into the fabric of his rags, and her body was pressed against his, shielding him from the wind, from the snow, from the world.
She was obsessed. Consumed. Driven by a love that had outlasted her sanity.
Yuuta squirmed in her grip.
