im tirtzi

She doesn’t stop running until her sides hurt and she can’t breathe. The pounding in her head and the sandpaper rasp of her tongue quiet the voices a little, if only because she’s listing on her feet as she lets herself back into the hotel, the slowly lightening sky at her back.It’s not enough, so she rides the elevator back up to her room and does pushups until her arms are quivering before turning over and doing sit ups until her abdominal muscles give out.And then she just lies there on the floor and cries because the back of her mouth tastes like dust and sourness and she can feel the specks of dirt clinging to the film of sweat on her forearms and everything is just–just–“Breathe, Mog,” Jupiter says, a hand on her shoulder.morrigan knows better than to listen to the thoughts bouncing around her head when she's tired. but that's not always easy, and sometimes she needs a reminder.