[P] come home to my heart

[Raum]

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

 


He watches Bexley Briar come and does not move. He sees her, the gilded gold of her skin and the ugly scar that branches down her face and Raum knows. Bexley has heard of his sins.
 
Grief leadens her limbs. They drag through the sand and the sand marks her path for all to see. She moves like a ghost and idly Raum wonders if it might be a gift to send her to Acton. Then they might wander together… But Raum would never bless their unity. He would never bless their afterlives. No, he would leave that to the gods of death and purgatory.
 
The Crow does not smile at her plight; he does not delight in her grief. He simply watches and waits as Bexley drifts towards him, a golden ship upon a sea of sand. Raum is the land that stands, unmoving before her. This reunion will be a wreck, he knows. Raum and Bexley are day and night, fire and ice; they are the opposites that she and Acton should have been too.
 
If he were a prophet, Raum might see the debris they would leave upon the desert, the carnage of a grieving girl and the cold hatred of a man hell bent upon destruction. Yet, he does not delight in the carnage of them as he did not delight when bathed in the blood of his brother.
 
Oh he watches this girl roam, how she strays. Raum has not seen her for many moons. Not since the day Acton gave her the scar upon her face – what a mystery love was that it could grow from violence! The sands groan as if they know and roll away beneath his feet. Does it beg him leave? That it might not have to witness what will become of Raum the murderer and Bexley the lover?
 
Ah, Raum loathes, with perfect hatred, Bexley Briar and all she is. Best friend of his once lover, left hand advisor to Seraphina (that queen now gone, left ragged and broken upon the Steppes) and a girl of Day. Her sins, in his eyes, are bountiful. Upon his heart is a vow, upon his lips is poison and in it he holds all the terrible things he would say to her.
 
But this is Raum. And Raum says nothing at all but simply stands in the brilliant silver of his skin and waits for Bexley to see him.  He waits for the bruise of those violet eyes and the vengeance the violence he would find within them. Oh he wants it! Oh he craves it! Oh how he needs it! Their shared deeds are as countless as the grains of stand the Day girl moves upon. The wind pushes her closer and it rushes to him carrying her voice and the litany of words upon it. The wind is eager and it wants him to know that Bexley knows. The girl passed on the message and…
 
He is dead, yes.
 
Raum hurts just a little, he aches for his brother and recoils from the ghost of Acton’s blood that still haunts his mouth with its metal taste. Yet there is no space for grief or regret within Raum now. Deftly he quashes down all his feelings for his broken brother. But, his soul is dying, it twists and turns and rots away within the bones and sinew of Raum’s torso.
 
Yes, Bexley, Raum thinks but does not say, Acton is dead. Shall we celebrate together?

---

@Bexley