(tw: insanity, delusions, etc.)
Martien sat at the bedside for the fourth day in a row now with an ever unmoving Yanire before him. Her stillness had started to calm him in an inexplicable way. The further away their incident got, the less it felt as though she had fallen unconscious beneath his angry hands. It had become more like the woman had simply slipped away into a peaceful sleep.
He watched the rise and fall of her chest closely. Her breathing had slowly become more steady again. There were less hitches and the airway of her throat sounded less ragged. The bruises were still stark and ugly against her throat- a reminder, a warning. Martien had observed all of these details delicately, doing his best to keep her hydrated as she rested.
