in the heart of the flame [WINDY] // blitz.

His waiting room is just as cold as he is. It's sterile, devoid of life, filled only with the echoes of remnant souls. Sometimes I can hear them whispering from far away, calling out to me. Or is that the woman at the desk? She waves me over impatiently, face stern and mouth drawn tight. Her words are sharp, accented by metalic scribbles on a log of visitors of any kind, and then she is calling in to him with a fake sweet accent. Human lives are so very fragile, so very simple. Her life is working, but soon it shall be just dust in the winds of time. She will be gone and no one will remember her. There is no way to remember the records of all the dead of bygone ages. She will just be another one lost to the cause of living.

When she finally tells me to head in, I nod, quick steps leading me next to her desk and down the small hallway that leads to his office. It's been a while since I've last visited, since he had shown sympathy in the event of my parents' deaths. Our correspondence by mail had been plentiful, but then came the letter telling me to drop in instead one day, have a chat. It's been so long that I've chatted with anyone that I hardly know how to anymore. I used to be a great arguer, an oratory of legend in my school, but now I am just a shadow of a child born into circumstances far beyond his control. His door is closed and I knock shortly, entering only when I hear a call from the other side. And there he is.

"Hello, Cerberus."

[ooc: yeah, idk what this is either.]

Cerberus is a strange man, to say the least of him. He is a recluse by choice, often shutting himself away from the world in his work. When he has to attend functions, he is civil and to the point. Small talk hardly exists in his world of influence. He does what he has to and walks away. I know it stems from his past, from the loss of his wife. I cannot blame him. I cannot deny him the subtle victory that solitude can provide. It can heal a soul, cutting the bonds that so destroy every one of us in the end in favor of holing away with oneself. There is merit to loneliness, a flash of hope in a change of pace and life. Sometimes, it is what a person needs to move on and live again. For us, it seems, it is a way to keep death close.

Death has always been close to me, whether I knew it or not. It's clung to me like a second skin, tiny strands of regret and loss tying it to my skin with complicated knots. They're so tangled that even now I cannot undo them. Death is a part of everyone, but I have let myself fall into its arms more readily than anyone I know. I have embraced it and secluded myself to it, holding it close as I let everything else drift away. Is not our fear of death that makes us die? If I am to cling to it, shall I not live? It is a strange predicament of life, the constant battle between keeping a spark aflame but not letting it burst and dwindle out.

Cerberus's voice is just as deep and commanding as always, a subtle lick of fire rolling from his lungs. I smile lightly and nod my head in the beginnings of a reply.

"I've been well, thank you kindly. As well as I can be. And yourself? It's been a while. How've you been?"