REICHENBACH ROMMEL
Her petals brushed his cheek, feeling like gentle kisses in the cold night air. Confusion had his great heart stuttering at the touch, at the smell that had once heralded the love of his life — or so he had thought. They'd once set his heart racing, now they made it ache and stumble, unsure, uncertain. Her eyes were closed, those wonderful honeyed lashes brushing against her cheekbones, her hair shifting slightly in the frigid breeze... and he tried to memorise the moment — not the hurt, anger and confusion, but just that picture, his flower girl in a moment of calm. He tried to pretend, just for a moment, that when she reopened her eyes they would be laughing, shining and happy.
“Are you no longer in love with me?”
It's a sentence, like so many before it, that he can't quite tell her the answer to. It's worse, he knows, not to know. Instantly words spring into his mind, cautious words, truthful words — I don't think I could ever not love you. His heart is too big, so vast that it could have encompassed all of them — Aislinn, Florentine, Isorath... but that wasn't the way the world worked, it wasn't the way he worked. A heart didn't break evenly, after all.
Each tear that tracked down her cheek was an agony, and in fact he'd rather have endured her screaming at him than this — this raw hurt, this soft, sad hurt. It's not all soft though, for he can see the anger gleaming behind her eyes too, the stoicism and determination not to be undone.
"When one dusk hour does not return to you fast enough, you look for another so readily?”
He frowned — that was not what had happened. He hadn't touched Isorath, hadn't sought him out... it had just.. he didn't really know, he only knew he felt guilty despite his technical innocence. He knew all too well that not touching someone did not mean you didn't care for them, and Isorath... he cared for the man, a lot.
Florentine's satin cheek touched his neck and Reichenbach stilled, going so silent and so frozen that he might have turned to stone underneath the gentle contact. His heart sputtered and started again, her scent overwhelming against the winter air as she spoke, gently, sadly. His Dusk girl, his wild, unrestrained petal fluttering upon the breeze... how she ruined him, tore him to pieces — only now it was misery and not joy that tore him apart. He was the maker of his own ruining, their downfall, their end. It could be placed upon his shoulders, strong as they were, and he would take what punishment the world deemed fit.
When she stepped away coldness took her place and Reichenbach felt the chill of winter for the first time that evening, watched her with pained silver eyes as she dismissed Lysander as nothing. He wanted to believe her. In fact he wouldn't have minded rewinding the whole evening and starting over, if only to avoid the sudden void that had yawned between them. But they were too similar, and he had loved her so much that he knew that razor-filled breath was in preparation to tell a lie.
A gentle drumbeat filled his soul, thrumming along with his heart, a music that was so ethereal and eternal that he knew it came from another world — from a demi-goddess, perhaps. When he spoke next his voice was infused with that music, mournfully soundless but full of song. His shadows coiled in preparation as his voice, unbeknownst to him, shifted into something compelling and coercive, an impossible voice not to fall down, down, down into...
"Please don't lie to me..."
The shadows upon his nape curled outward, tasting Florentine as if she were a delicious flower and they the bees at harvest. There was a strange feeling, a vibration, humming along his bones as if Caligo were present, unnerving and new to him.
"Tell me what history lies between you two, then I will return to Night" his voice softened, hurting, "and I will let you be."
For as long as she needed.
@Florentine ew bad ending!! So I kind of left this open for the hypnotism, I will discord you about it tonight! <3
“Are you no longer in love with me?”
It's a sentence, like so many before it, that he can't quite tell her the answer to. It's worse, he knows, not to know. Instantly words spring into his mind, cautious words, truthful words — I don't think I could ever not love you. His heart is too big, so vast that it could have encompassed all of them — Aislinn, Florentine, Isorath... but that wasn't the way the world worked, it wasn't the way he worked. A heart didn't break evenly, after all.
Each tear that tracked down her cheek was an agony, and in fact he'd rather have endured her screaming at him than this — this raw hurt, this soft, sad hurt. It's not all soft though, for he can see the anger gleaming behind her eyes too, the stoicism and determination not to be undone.
"When one dusk hour does not return to you fast enough, you look for another so readily?”
He frowned — that was not what had happened. He hadn't touched Isorath, hadn't sought him out... it had just.. he didn't really know, he only knew he felt guilty despite his technical innocence. He knew all too well that not touching someone did not mean you didn't care for them, and Isorath... he cared for the man, a lot.
Florentine's satin cheek touched his neck and Reichenbach stilled, going so silent and so frozen that he might have turned to stone underneath the gentle contact. His heart sputtered and started again, her scent overwhelming against the winter air as she spoke, gently, sadly. His Dusk girl, his wild, unrestrained petal fluttering upon the breeze... how she ruined him, tore him to pieces — only now it was misery and not joy that tore him apart. He was the maker of his own ruining, their downfall, their end. It could be placed upon his shoulders, strong as they were, and he would take what punishment the world deemed fit.
When she stepped away coldness took her place and Reichenbach felt the chill of winter for the first time that evening, watched her with pained silver eyes as she dismissed Lysander as nothing. He wanted to believe her. In fact he wouldn't have minded rewinding the whole evening and starting over, if only to avoid the sudden void that had yawned between them. But they were too similar, and he had loved her so much that he knew that razor-filled breath was in preparation to tell a lie.
A gentle drumbeat filled his soul, thrumming along with his heart, a music that was so ethereal and eternal that he knew it came from another world — from a demi-goddess, perhaps. When he spoke next his voice was infused with that music, mournfully soundless but full of song. His shadows coiled in preparation as his voice, unbeknownst to him, shifted into something compelling and coercive, an impossible voice not to fall down, down, down into...
"Please don't lie to me..."
The shadows upon his nape curled outward, tasting Florentine as if she were a delicious flower and they the bees at harvest. There was a strange feeling, a vibration, humming along his bones as if Caligo were present, unnerving and new to him.
"Tell me what history lies between you two, then I will return to Night" his voice softened, hurting, "and I will let you be."
For as long as she needed.
@
