I clutched my life and wished it kept,
my dearest love, I’m not done yet
my dearest love, I’m not done yet
On more than one occasion Vikander had been told that his tendency to lose himself could lead to his death.Usually it was by Senna, but lately it had been Aghavni and August, and on the rare occasion by Madeline. Losing his sense of self, his awareness, and his surroundings could prove fatal if in the right situation. He could trip and fall off of the edge of a cliff. He could fall in the lake and drown. An assassin could sneak up behind him with very little effort and shove a dagger in his heart. Oddly enough, the Friesian found the simple idea of that dangerously enticing.
Please, he wanted to beg to his imagined attacker, his eyes still shut, his heart clenched with a terrible, awful pain, Please do it.
No matter how long he stood there in mourning, however, the imagined assassin never came. A pity. What did come was a voice; feminine. A stranger. Her voice cut through the fever of his mind but the soft, dulcet tone of her inquiries did not warrant a physical reaction. He hadn’t the strength for it.
So, Vikander listened, his head lowered in that same defeated stance simply because he did not have the energy to turn and walk away from her well-placed concerns. The frigid breeze kicked up, toying with the long, curling, knotted strands of his ebony hair. It seemed that he had forgotten to brush it recently, if the tangled mess was anything to go by.
He uttered not a single word in reply. Every word that the woman earnestly spoke seemed to fall on deaf ears. The soul weaver remained a stationary statue, frozen by the cold that he felt deep within his breast. It infiltrated his heart and his mind and stole all form of meaning and reasoning. It was a familiar chill, reminding him very intimately of the cold kiss of the dead. It was the woman’s delicate final statement that finally snapped Vikander out of his macabre reverie.
’The one the candle was lit for… I can't imagine they would wish you to join them before your time.’
With a great deal of effort, he finally moved. The sullen shadow lifted his jaw and something in his neck cracked, the freezing depths of his soulless, icy eyes rolling until they focused on her. His jaw worked itself, tongue pressing against the back of his filmy teeth as he feebly looked at her without truly seeing her.
What would this kindly woman think if she knew that the one the candle had been lit for was currently a cold corpse occupying the empty space in his attic? That he climbed the hidden narrow stairs every evening to press a tender kiss to her frozen, preserved cheek?
Vikander blinked very slowly, feeling numb. When he spoke to reply he couldn’t feel his lips, and his voice was a raspy croak. “... What?” It took a few moments but eventually the soul weaver was able to piece together what this silvery woman had said to make some semblance out of her concerns. “Oh. The c-cold. It isn’t that bad.”
After all, he had been frozen for so long that it was only a matter of time until the outside matched what was within.
@Caelum <3
