"I am. But sleep won't fix it." She's slow to withdraw from it, but lets him, all the same. Want nor interest in trapping him. Said what she needs to say, and tired as she is - his suggestion is easy. Trailing across his jaw as he pulls from her, unwinds their fingers. It's not an excuse - she'd insist if she still weren't so exhausted, that it didn't change anything. She is tired and the sun rises and they are the words she gripped into his clothes as blood bubbled up her mouth.

But he wouldn't be him, she wouldn't have done it if he reacted any other way. Her fingers instead curling around the pillow again, drawing it into her. Tucking herself into it. Watching him underneath the blankets and forces the words up her lungs. "When it is my time, Daryl? You burn my body and you spill the blackwater to the ground."