[podfic] i've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel it's all that i can give to you (my dear)

Back in the early days of this peculiar form of cohabitation neither of them ever fully acknowledged, the things Philippa would find on the scraps of parchment Triss left behind— abandoned, forgotten, maybe, but more likely requiem to truths missaid. Tucked between the pages of a book, tucked away in silence, in a corner, under a long-forgotten story, she finds these reminders of Triss’ limerence, like pin-pricks of light through blackout curtains.Sometimes Philippa forgets how much finding these little shards of truth—of Triss’ heart—reminds her of startling awake in suffocating sunlight. There's loss in every awakening—eyes that do not wish to open, to remember again how the light stings. Not all things can be restrung softly, some truths are indebted their scar tissue.