morganhausen
Breathing out was the easy part. It was the inhaling that had her caught. As the tarry smoke coated her throat and mouth, she struggled to hold in the splutter that was threatening to burst forth. Everything smelled like Nicola. Everything tasted like Nicola. Internally, she berated herself. How had she never seen this before? Never at the smell or taste had she before put the two together. A whole portion of her life, one she often didn't have the energy or will to analyse, came crashing into place.