i love you with what is undying — nessa v. vin / d4, day 7
Dec 25, 2023 23:46:57 GMT -5
Post by lucius branwen / 10 — fox on Dec 25, 2023 23:46:57 GMT -5
❦
In the evening, the beach turns gold, turns blue, footprints like dunes and valleys, holding bodies of shadow and light.
High tide crashes over the rocks, water misting yellow in the setting sun.
They tilt their head up.
And there is the day moon again, wavering faintly against the purest blue. Beautiful and terrible. No fragmenting from branches. Darkness comes down like a cloak.
They don't leave Roe.
They watch the sun dip below the horizon. And they are sitting at the place where they dragged him to shore, holding his hands, his head tucked to their chest. The night is cold and Roe is strangely colder for once. When the sky goes indigo, they hug him a little tighter to keep him warm.
Morning again.
They stare out at the sea.
Perched on the pier, a flock of gulls study the glint of the glaive resting there.
When the tide pulls back, a sword washes to shore beside them and drags out a cut in the sand. Low fog clings to their bodies in droplets of dew. The air is a little sweeter.
The wind is stinging on skin from the sun and salt. It plays through their hair.
Their gaze falls to his face.
At dawn, Roe lies still.
All the blood is only a faint stain now. It fades out of his skin despite the warming air, leaving his cheeks the colour of an old bruise. He doesn't lean into their touch, doesn't light like a flame. He doesn't wake up this time.
So much in the world had spoken their name during the seventeen years of their life, so many forms of a person made nearly mythic. Heralded, reviled. It doesn't matter in the end. He will never call their name again.
They brush the hair from his eyes, fingers falling over the sharp bridge of his nose, the high part of his cheekbones.
It's still his body, and those hands, unnameable in how they feel being held. So they hold them, watch the sunrise now, kneeling on the shore.
Morning passes. Balmy afternoon.
In the training center, there is no temple to contain them. No place to let them lie in emptiness, to drag their hands across the splintered walls. Nowhere to scream until the end of the world passes.
But they're quiet anyways. Just sitting.
Early evening.
The light is leaving now. Pulled back across the ocean. The sky goes watery as it falls into the sea. Footsteps on the beach. Against the brutal crash of tide, the sound is muffled.
They know though. They don't need to look.
Today, the daisies are withering. It's past their season out in the real world, wilting in the forests of Seven, where their dog loved them most. But on her wrist, the dead stems still cling in the braid, knotted from when they met last on the roof. It is the smallest devotion.
They close their eyes. The water ebbs up closer to them.
“I don't have any more flowers for you.”
vin attacks nessa | twin tantō (sword)
leUa1Uxy1Vsword
