one little soldier | {pillar/kellan}

It's quiet in the room after Garnet leaves, taking the sound of her shrill sobs away with her. Morganite waits in the hallway, eyes down and biting the inside of his cheek, but he lifts his gaze and gives you a solemn nod when the door opens and Garnet finds her way into his arms. He had hidden his sadness well, but you noticed the trembling of his lips and the shaking of his hands – like petals unfurling and tearing themselves against their own thorns. And when you're left alone, a thought comes to you uninvited, and though you know it's morbid, part of you finds it funny – how your undoing is bringing two different halves of your friend group together. They'll keep each other safe, you realize, and that comforts you. You're not leaving any scars that cannot heal.

But they were just two of a few visits, with more to come. Corran has yet to appear, and only a handful of your siblings and your parents had taken the time to come see you. Did they do it out of love? You're not as hopeful as you had been when you were a child, but they offered you pointed fingers and ordered you to not let them down, so you took it with tensed shoulders and a clenched jaw. They said farewell, and you had blinked. They ran their fingers across the last stretch of skin that they hadn't yet maimed, and you bit their hands and told them to let you die in peace.

But your throat isn't dry, and you're a liar –
you didn't tell them what you felt.

A lion's courage wrapped in the fur of sacrificial lambs, you didn't fail yourself. You just didn't live up to your strength – but silence is better than screaming, you see that now. Burning throats and flushed cheeks bring you no peace of mind – but pursed lips and fingertips pinched until they burn a distinct shade of white at least keep the pain of feeling away. You've mastered that, haven't you? Stab a girl ten times, and by the eleventh, she'll feel nothing. That's the beauty and promise of torture – it's a fleeting Hell. So you continue to pull in all of your emotions, skin cracking like earth during a drought, but you're fine. You're fine – and you're okay; you're alright. Set Icarus on fire, and she'll just laugh.

The door opens, and your brother stands there –
and a coarse laughter crawls out from your core.

"What's there to get started on?" you ask in response to his greeting, and it comes out softer than you had meant for it to, but you're trying so hard be okay with this. Either you're okay or you're devastated when the world comes and slaps you across the face, and you're tired of being the latter. The decision is yours, so you put on a smile and shake your head. "You act as if this was my choice, Kellan." Another laugh, but you're fading. You inhale.

"You can talk to me if you want. While we have the time, y'know? Say goodbye, or tell me a story, or-... Whatever you want to do, Kellan. Just don't yell at me, okay? Don't pity me. Think me brave, just this once. Just tell yourself that I can make it out, and let this moment be good. Please? That's all I ask. I'm scared, Kellan – I'll always be that same little girl you grew up with. And-...," you find your words trailing off, something wet and hot sliding down your cheeks, but you swallow all of your fears like they're honey and they don't hurt you.

"I love you, Kellan. Know that. For now, let's believe that this isn't the late time, okay? I'll be around to bother you for years. Let's trust in that. Then when I'm gone, you can break. You can crumble and scream and cry, whatever it is you do when no one's looking – but let me be brave today."

You smile, chest rising and falling, and your head collides with his entirety and rests against his form – like he's something holy and you have a confession that needs to be made at the altar.

"Remember me like this."