[It goes right to his heart. He can feel it, a tectonic echo of the hospital, the gunfire bouncing off the white walls, the cold and the snow. The whole scene's been replaying over and over through his mind since he got here, over a month ago. Maybe it's the pristine walls of this compound, the way everything's always a little too clean, smelling slightly of soap and solution. He doesn't know. All he's got is the fact that he's there again.]
[He touches his head to the glass. It's more weakness than he'd let anyone see if they weren't on death's door. There's something in that vulnerability to be shared. Something he should have done with Beth, when he had the chance. Shouldn't have hid in false words.]
[He still hasn't mourned.]
[To the dying queen behind glass (isn't there some fairytale like that?), Daryl can only say one thing:]
no subject
[He touches his head to the glass. It's more weakness than he'd let anyone see if they weren't on death's door. There's something in that vulnerability to be shared. Something he should have done with Beth, when he had the chance. Shouldn't have hid in false words.]
[He still hasn't mourned.]
[To the dying queen behind glass (isn't there some fairytale like that?), Daryl can only say one thing:]
why