PC. ANJO NALA

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[ There's a hand, held out. Shinjiro can hear her just fine, but he merely regards that outstretched offer with a melancholy.

The smell of rot mingles with the iron tinge of blood. He's heard this all before. ]

I couldn't leave if I tried.

[ Something brushes their ankles, waxy and cold. Finger-like. If they don't look, maybe the hands will disappear. ]

[fetteredwings]

Why not?

[She shudders, and without waiting, takes Shinjiro's hands in her own]

You'll leave me here to fight on my own?

[if it is guilt Shinjiro is suffering from, she can weaponise an entirely different form if it means she can pull him out of this mire]