take this burden away from me and bury it before it buries me
She is with Lilli when the world ends, watching the colors of the sun bleed across the blue sky, swallowing it whole. It is subtle at first when the earth trembles, when it rises and falls like a chest beneath their feet. Subtle, until the rocks from the peaks of the mountains of their ancestral home loosen and rain down against the peaceful valley below. The trees, their great trees, their weeping willows sway with no wind, and snap and crack.
It is subtle until it isn’t.
Until the world is stolen from beneath their feet on the guardian’s ledge, and they fall, they fall, they fall.
There isn’t enough time to say anything, not enough time to see if the fearr that etches across her face is reflected in the crimson curve of her cousin’s. There is just enough time for Elena to reach for Lilli as she falls, trying to bury herself within her once last time, feel her against her, press her brow into hers. But she cannot reach, and Elena feels nothing. She doesn't even feel like she is falling through the air, through the world, to the end. There is just enough time to wish too, that Lilli would grow wings and fly away before the dark leaps up to take her.
She wakes on the floor of her home and she is alone. It takes roughly the length of a heartbeat to notice that she is safe, in Terrastella, in her cottage beside the sea. This was the first time she has dreamed of Lilli since seeing her in Taiga when she had pulled there by a magician. Elena cannot help then the way her stomach sinks, and she thinks something might be wrong.
A sound is at her window and Elena turns blue eyes. “Noctura?” She questions the familiar creature. A letter awaits her, accepting the proposal Elena had sent not so long ago. She had tried to resist, tried as hard as she could, but she put pen to paper, and put that paper to the leg of a white dove and sent a letter to the man of stars that has so illuminated her.
Dear Azrael,
Delumine is holding a festival. Meet me by the carvings in the garden.
Warmly,
Elena
And that had been where she had struggled. She had written: Love, Elena countless times, only realizing what she had written after she had traced the l and the o and the v-e for endless moments, and realizing she needed to start over.
His response arrives and there is a sigh caught in her chest, a longing that buries its fingers in the pit of her belly. She will never know about how he dreamed of her. And how in the dream, she had walked beside him, and he had looked at her, and she had looked at him. She had smiled, without burdens. And then she had gone, into the stars.
“Stars are guides to bring you home,” Aletta had once told her. There are no stars against the blue skies and so Elena makes friends with the sun. In some ways, this is better, the daylight, as far away from Denocte as she could be. It loosens those shaking fingers in her chest so that she can remember how to breath evenly again. So that this time when she exhales, the sigh spills like water from her lips.
There is a part of her that says maybe she shouldn't do this, that this is more dancing along cliff edges, but here she invites an innocent partner into her dance, but Elena has never been able to resist going headfirst into anything. She was told this brazen personality came from her father, her godfather had always said he was a bit “against the grain”, while that grace in which she took on the world was entirely her mother’s.
She finds him, waiting for her in the garden and relief floods through her. He was as perfect in the daylight as he was the night. The golden girl walks towards him, the air tastes like fall and Elena for a moment forgets that all this is real. “Have you learned anything new from the stars or dreams since I last saw you?” She asks him, so ready to run into his arms because the distance between them feels like the distance between lonely stars. But she disciplines herself enough to slowly move towards him, sunshine skipping across water. She realizes only when she closes the distance between them that the ache in her chest is soothed. Her nose brushes against his shoulder. (So easily, Azrael always so easy to touch). “I have heard that is where all our secrets hide.”
so take away this apathy bury it before it buries me
@Azrael
let's light this house on fire
we'll dance in the warmth of its blaze
pixel made by the amazing star
07-04-2020, 11:51 PM - This post was last modified: 07-04-2020, 11:53 PM by Elena
He had dreamed of her – of course he had. How could Azrael not dream of the girl who was the light to his darkness, the sun to his moon. A part of him had tried not to, for Elena wasn’t his to dream for… but he longed for her, as much as the desert longed for rain. Still, Azrael was a man of principle and a man who did not give into his baser instincts. Instead, he simply fantasized in his dreams, blind to the other who stole her away, touching her in all the ways he wished to, as she returned his touch and promises of love.
Naïve to her romance, the magician simply continued through his dreaming days and scrying nights, until her message reached him on the wings of a dove, bringing a smile to his lips. It was the herald of a romantic, and though he appreciated the sentiment, Azrael returned a more touching envoy to the golden mare – his owl, now well enough to fly from her healing touch.
Noctua tapped at the window, preening in the sunlight as Elena's window swung open and she extended a leg. The owl stands patiently and still as Elena unties Azrael’s scroll, turquoise eyes settling on the golden mare's face as it breaks into a quiet smile. She hoots quietly and fluffs her feathers, accepting a gentle pet from the healer before returning to her master once more.
And so the man of stars and night departed from Denocte, winding his way northward to the gardens of Delumine. His step is hurried, if only due to eagerness in seeing Elena once more, his heart fluttering at the thought of her, even as he pushes his nerves to settle. As Azrael nears the Dawn Court, music finds him first, followed by the fall-scents of mulled spices and flaked pastries. There are musicians and dancers, artisans and merchants. He weaves his way through their wares, stopping only once to trade a bit of coin for a filigree sunburst bauble which reminded him of Elena, before making his way to the garden.
Alone, he stands for a moment, cyan eyes searching the crowd for her face. And as she steps through the clearing, a feeling of peace washes over him, a warm smile edging at his lips as he stepped forward to meet her embrace. “I’ve missed you.” he whispers, lips hovering at her temple before they deftly plait his sunshine-charm into her mane.
“Have you learned anything new from the stars or dreams since I last saw you?” She asks, “I have heard that is where all our secrets hide.”
If only she knew – how he dreamed of her, how he ached for her. The secret pining his dreams alone would know.
“Dreams can be tricky…” he trails off, remembering a too-vivid dream of Elena herself. She screamed in pain, and he had rushed to stand by her side, but it was as if Azrael ran through water – as if he could never catch her in time. Yet here she was, bright and vibrant – far from a creature who suffered. “I find that dreams can hold some truth and some fiction, that they distort reality or prey on our wishes or fears.” His words were as much to reassure himself as her, banishing away the memory of her cries.
“But,” he counters, “Would you believe me if I told you I dreamt of you – like this? With the sun upon you like a glowing halo and flowers at your feet?” For he had, only she looked even more beautiful in person. The romantic in him allowed him to turn into her touch, his glow falling warmly over her. Drawing in her scent, he files the memory away, observing the garden with an appreciative sigh.
“I can’t admit to know the names of flowers or plants, but Delumine’s garden is certainly something to behold.” He motions for her to follow, stepping reluctantly away from her touch and toward the overflowing table of crafting materials. There were many to choose from – rock and wood, colored beads and feathers, flowers and leaves. Unsure of where to begin, he looks across at those who gathered in the garden, simply watching and making note of it all before picking up a charcoal pencil and beginning to sketch the faces of strangers around the table.
he should not be doing this to him, but she does it all the same.She had told another she loved him, had let another touch her, had let another hold her. And still she is here, with words she should not tell him on her tongue because Elena will never change and her heart rules her. When her heart tugs, when it pulls, Elena follows, when it might better to just let that rope drop and maybe let her mind takeover.
When Noctura returned with his response, Elena would never deny the way her heart had jumped, leapt, sang. There crossed a thought too quiet that told her this idea she had, these feelings that burrow, were wrong, unfair, but Elena, she does it all the same.
She had traced his handwriting like a girl who wasn't in love, had imagined what it would be like seeing him like a girl who’s lips had not been kissed. And Elena walked to Delumine, to a man of stars and dreams, like there was not another man waiting in shadows to hold her in Denocte. Elena loves to punish herself, but she loves to create things to punish herself for even more.
He holds her and everything else is forgotten because none of it matters, not anymore. He is strength and wisdom and joy. Please don’t let me go, please don’t let me go,’ she chants less like a mantra and more like a prayer. It feels so good, but it is too fleeting, always too fleeting. But Elena knows that he is starlight, she knows she cannot hold him forever. She cradles her head underneath his strong jaw (wishing for a fraction, his lips would touch hers) and he buries himself in her blonde mane. What does he place there? A wish? A hope? Dreams seem fitting. Later, when Elena braids her hair, she will find it tucked within the blonde strands. But the problem with her heart in too many places at once, Elena will not remember who it was who planted such a secret.
He speaks and she feels relief blooming in her chest. He missed her. He missed her. Oh, he missed her. Elena smiles a little wider. She watches his lips, they are so perfect and she wonders in an instant why she has not dreamed of them more. “It's been a while.” Longer than it felt like. Dreams didn't count. “Azrael,” she utters his name like a plea. “Thank you, for coming,” she says, and he would never know how much it meant to see him.
“I would expect nothing less of such fickle nighttime companions,” she says pulling back slightly to look up at him. She listens to his words of dreams and Elena’s heart wrenches in her chest. The only dream she had was of Lilli, Lilli and the entire world ending.
“You did?” She asks him and would blush if she could. The golden girl ducks her head slightly. “I would,” she says. She would believe him, even if she cannot see herself in the way he sees her. “I would believe you, I just might ask you why,” she says coyly, before she bumps his shoulder lightly. “But I would also tell you that you didn't have to tell me.” She tells herself she doesn't know why he would. Tells herself she doesn't know, because it hurts too much, there is too much guilt to think otherwise.
She follows him, looking at the decorations, the flower crown one made, the bracelet of vines another made, and paintings all across the garden, assembled by brushes and inspiration. Azrael picks up the charcoal and Elena settles herself close to him. “What are you drawing?” She asks, watching the movement of the charcoal across the paper. And then she turns from him, picks up a tiny knife and tiny piece of wood. “I’m going to make something for you.” She says and turns away further. “It’s a surprise.”
code by rallidae
picture by cannon
@Azrael
let's light this house on fire
we'll dance in the warmth of its blaze
pixel made by the amazing star
07-24-2020, 10:10 PM - This post was last modified: 07-24-2020, 10:15 PM by Elena
Azrael. His name is a song on her lips, his heart leaping at the sound of her honeyed voice purring over each syllable. There is a quiet comfort in her voice, edged with longing which mirrored his own – and Azrael is glad for it. He tucks her easily under his chin, letting the world fall away around them, letting the music hush and the scents fade, until there is only the moment of peace between them. And it is he who pulls away, reluctantly but eager all the same to embrace the memory-making in the festival they shared. It is he who leads her to the table, and he who begins to draw as she whittles away with a sly sort of secret.
He indulges her surprise, grinning boyishly as his gaze shifts from her to the others here – strangers, all of them. For Azrael was a solitary creature, the sun a strange sensation across his back – as foreign as the guests who laughed and crafted at their table. With every stroke, he captures their expressions, joyous and unburdened, with autumn wind toying in their manes. The drawings start as something crude, but as he turns the pencil on the page, they become more refined. And as Elena carves, he begins to draw her now – feminine curves and sunlight beaming from the gold of her coat. To the charcoal lines he adds a gilded bit of paint and rouge – paling in comparison to her beauty but capturing the essence of her sunkissed frame.
He draws her with flowers in her feet, and with a hunger in her eyes – as she had been in his dreams, watching him – wanting him. And when she tries to steal a peek, Azrael simply chuckles and nudges materials in front of his paper, blocking her view until he finishes and wraps the drawing in a tightly furled scroll, tying it with a bit of burlap twine.
“For you,” he offers, nudging the completed scroll toward her with a flush of self-consciousness. The stallion was far from an artist, though he’d dabbled with sketches from time to time. All of the shed-stars were taught the basics of artistic endeavors as children – for those who did not read the stars were destined to become entertainers and merchants, true vassals for Caligo’s ideals of passion and art. Curiosity grips him as he cranes his neck to get a better view of her carving with a smile.
“What secrets are you hiding there?” His innocent question was strangely ironic, for there was much the shed-star had still to learn about the Terestellan mare, beyond their own rendezvous beneath the stars. Azrael gives her a teasing smile, letting the mood of the festival wash over him as he offers to get them refreshments, stepping away to collect the spiced drinks with easiness about him.
“I’m told this is speciality of Delumine.” He places the cider upon their crafting table. “They tell me it is made from Oriens’ own apple orchard.” He sips the warm beverage gingerly, enjoying the way it soothes his throat in the briskness of autumn, and the bite of mulling spices against his tongue.
And he waits beneath the dusky sunly beside her, to see what she would offer to the harvest table, and what her hands had made for him to hold.
smile sinks into those sharp, pixie-like cheeks of hers as he holds her. She forgets that she needs to be strong because he has so much strength in the way he holds her. She thinks, I don't have to be strong, she thinks she doesn't have to be fire anymore. Not with him here. She follows him with the quiet confidence he gives her to the table.
She carves away, whittling the wood like she thinks a merchant may. Blue eyes tilt over towards him occasionally, warm with gentle curiosity. Wood chips fall upon the table as she continues. Elena looks over once more but is met with a chuckle from the starred stallion and she laughs back. “Okay, okay,” she says in defeat as he hides his work like a squirrel hiding acorns for winter.
And then there is a scroll placed in front of her, and her blue eyes turn a summer’s day. “Oh, Az,” she says. Is this how he sees her? Beautiful amongst a field of flowers, so flawless. There is a sudden urge to rip it apart, to break this illusion, this vision she hasn't earned from him. How can he think her so lovely when she sits here with another man’s baby so close to her heart? “It’s not finished yet,” she says in mock accusation, shooing him away, trying to forget the guilt that rattles in her rib cage like a lion desperate to roar. “I am not as fast as you are.” She drops her eyes to the drawing he has made for her. Everything inside her clenches like a vice. What secrets was she hiding? She wishes she could cover them up as easily as a carving.
He leaves, she knows he will come back, Elena thinks it might be easier if he never returned to her. She needs to tell him, she needs to tell him. He comes back though, there is relief in her eyes as she takes the drink, but she cant meet his eyes as she takes a sip. The change in her is evident, the guilty silence, the pained frown on her lips.
There has always been something kind about Azrael, something sturdy.
Something so wholly different from the darkness that consumed and ate away Tenebrae. Tenebrae had been masterful in the way he had taken her apart, piece by piece, but Azrael is so wholly wonderful at putting her back together. She sinks into the depth of his voice and finds comfort. She forget everything here. The lake, the stars, the wish—the baby. She has almost forgotten all of it. She lets out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding.
All of the emotion she has kept so tucked away. All of the ways she has pretended that she’s okay when she’s not. She’s not. They come tumbling down. She is not the reliable healer, or the bubbly kingdom greeter, she is not the stable friend who offers a shoulder when needed. Instead, she is what she has always been, a broken woman. She floods with grief and confusion and pain. Hot tears form in the corner of her eyes and she begins to tremble, the warning signs of the rumblings along her faultlines. She begins to sob quietly, ashamed of herself but unable to hold them back any longer. She grits her teeth against the soft cry that builds in her throat and she presses her cheek against him suddenly.
He is so steady and she hates herself for releasing all of this onto him, laying it at his feet. All of the jagged parts of her that she never wanted him to see. All of the ways life has mangled her heart.
“I am so sorry,” she finally chokes, her voice thick. “I am so sorry.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, even though she knows she doesn’t deserve it. She steals it anyway, when she has the chance. She wants to tuck it away for another day, another day when she deserves to kiss him and has earned the right for him to kiss her back. “I am so broken.” She feels the tears as they trace down her too prominent cheekbones, the path of them burning. “I don't deserve to have you standing there.” And she finally admits it out loud. “Azrael,” and oh how she does not deserve to speak his name right now. It burns her lips with the taste of sin. “I’m pregnant, the father, it’s a man named Tenebrae.” She throws the weight of her burden onto his shoulders because her legs are buckling beneath her. “I’m sorry,” she says again, as if this time it will make a difference. “He—I cant tell him about the baby, he cant know,” she says quietly, as if there is no longer any air in her lungs. “Can you forgive me?” She says, because she knows, she can feel it from him that this is more than just friendship. She waits, to feel the emotions slide from him, those bruised blue eyes hang on him like he is a buoy and she has forgotten how to swim.
She turns away.
Carve.
Carve.
One final arch of the tool and it is done.
“I made this…for you.” She says, suddenly, pulling something off the table towards him. The carving—is poorly done, there is enough evidence to see that it is a bird, although what type may be harder to distinguish. “It’s Noctura, to remember,” she is practically hiccuping over her words, her sobs. “That night we found her.” She peers up at him from long lashes that still cling with tears. Elena wears agony well, it glistens her eyes and sharpens her cheeks. “Please, don’t let that be our last night together.”
Nothing could sour Azrael’s mood as he stood in the dappled autumn sunlight with Elena, wholly engaged in his company as he steals easy glances at her over the table. He watches as she carefully turns the wood over and over in her grasp, concentrating as her delicate touch brushes lovingly over her work. Not for the first time, she catches his glance and he chuckles at her teasing before stepping away to gather their drinks with a sense of relaxation washing over him. It was the perfect day, he decided, passing the cider and waiting patiently for her to finish carving.
He did not expect her confession - would not have even dreamed it to be possible, even for one who dreamed as vividly as he.
No, Azrael cannot know the admission which burned like sin within Elena, but he can sense that something is wrong the moment he returns, the moment she cannot meet his gaze. Something twists deep within him, the feeling unfamiliar. Confusion, concern, and comfort meet as he steps closer to Elena, nudging at her chin to raise her gaze while quietly searching her face for the source. He sees the pain in her eyes, his own clouding with worry as he whispers only to her, the rest of the festival seeming to fade away around them.
“What’s wrong, Elena.”
Though there is concern in his voice, there is also a gentle encouragement - a reminder that he was here for whatever came next. But nothing could prepare him for her apologies, tumbling like waves as she struggled to find the words, tying his own emotions into knots as he waited helplessly beside her.
I don’t deserve to have you standing there…
It made no sense… none of the sudden change in her made sense.
Azrael. His own voice sounded a thousand miles away. I’m pregnant.
The words which came next were a blur, his world reeling as he struggled to make sense of her news, his own mind going numb as reality hit him like a ton of bricks. In that moment, a thousand thoughts rushed through him. Who? When? How long? How could he not have known?
It was true that the shed-star held no claim on the golden mare… but someone did, clearly. Tenebrae. His mind blanked for only a moment before he remembers the monk in the starfield… the way he’d spoken of loyalty to Caligo before all others. And then there is something else which clouds Azrael’s thoughts - something darker - far more than simple jealousy. Betrayal.
In taking from Azrael the illusion of love he’d begun to spin around Elena, Tenebrae had also betrayed his oath. It was an unspeakable thing, he decided, to turn against one’s own god and commitment. A stern frown creased his lips as he fought back words which he knew to be only driven by anger. For Azrael is not one to be rash or haughty. Instead, it is clear that he struggles for composure as he stands quietly before Elena, his eyes - once warm - now cold with hurt.
“A man has a right to know, Elena… this is not something you should keep from him.” Though he struggles to keep the hurt from his voice, Azrael cannot. His words are edged with pain as he turns away from her outstretched reach, unable to offer her the warmth he felt within his heart.
“I… I thought we had a connection - something wonderful between us.” The quiet of his voice seemed as loud as the crashing sea - for the weight of his words spoke louder than his poised demeanor ever could. “I cared for you, Elena.” No, that wasn’t right… for cared indicated a thing of the past. “I care for you, that is - I wanted this… all of this. All of you.” He trails off, his gaze falling on her carving as her words offer little more than emptiness to him.
“I thought, that night - today even, for that matter - that you wanted this too.” Azrael’s voice is barely a whisper then, as his eyes meet hers and hold - her betrayal unmistakable with the bite of jealousy that licks in his next words. “But now I see I wasn’t all you wanted… that what we had wasn’t enough?”
Elena had chosen what she wanted… and she had chosen another man. Azrael knew he should walk away, hold what shreds of dignity he could, lick his wounds and move on… but a part of him held back, lost in the swimming tears of her eyes, lost in the fantasy he’d built in his dreams. And so he simply stands before her, defeated and lost, as unable to forgive as he was to walk away.
is laugh. It is what stands out most to her. Maybe because it is the thing Tenebrae does so little of and when he does, it is encased in darkness, not like Azrael’s, not like the twinkling of starlight and the glisten of the moon. His laughter is so utterly perfect that she remembers how much she just does not deserve him, and how she is hurting him the longer she holds onto a secret. She is so scared of losing him, so, so selfishly scared. She hangs onto his laughter, cups it in her hands like it is a firefly, peeking a blue eye inside to see it glow, cherishing the remembrance of it when summer closes and winter comes.
What’s wrong, Elena?
Yes, Elena.
What’s wrong?
Everything.
No, not everything—
Just you.
You are what’s wrong.
Something creeps into the happiness of the moment, something darker and sadder and she cannot shake it. She feels the very edges of it and does her best to ignore it, to turn her face to the sun and pretend that there is not an undercurrent of sorrow of betrayal.
She closes her eyes and feels the familiar saltwater on her cheek. Everyone of his emotions is read like a sad book to the empath. “He doesn't want to know—he is a monk,” she says, as if this answers the entire question. He doesn't want to know what he does not know. Elena can offer that man little else now and so she gives him the bliss of ignorance. Why she could not offer Azrael the same thing only reminds her of how much she cares for the starry man.
“We did,” she pleads with him, She turns her face away, it hurts too much to stare at her reflection in his eyes. Her heart explodes a thousand times over again in her chest and she can hardly look at him, can feel her jaw tremble with tension at the way she forces it to be still even as she’s falling apart. His words bury themselves likes hooks beneath her skin and she turns back to stare up at him, not entirely composed but also no longer falling apart by the weight of their sheer proximity. “We did,” She says again in a voice that is dangerously quiet, dangerously low. The moment is almost too much—almost more than she can bear.It rises in her throat. Splinters along her bones. She stops herself from stepping forward for a moment, he wasn't hers to touch.
Cared for her, he says and that hits most of all. He changes it, patches up the words he has said, but that single addition to the word that could change it so much stays with her like a fish hook in her belly. “Azrael,” she says and then she is silent, as if she did not deserve to speak anymore to him, but his name is sweet on her tongue regardless of the ache in her heart and she steps forward, because Elena cannot stand the rules, even the ones she places for herself, even the ones she has so constructed. She is too bold, she is too selfish. She reaches out and gently touches the strands of man that collected up his neck. It’s his right to ignore her, to push her away from him, to push her out of his life, to focus on everything else within it.
She pulls back, doing her best to keep the pain from her soft eyes and she breathes, heart simultaneously wrenching in her chest as it softens for him. She should be angry, Elena had never told him she was his, but she knows she had in quiet ways, in smaller ways. In the way she crept into his dreams and he into hers, in the touches against his strong shoulder, in the smiles she offered to him and him alone.
In the way she would breathe his name across galaxies.
“It was always enough, I just—” and she doesn't remember how to form the words that come so easily to her in dreams, how easily they were said in the light of a lantern by a lake.
How can he not see the way she lies dismantled at his feet?
It sears across her belly—his presence and his distance each cleaving into her breast with a sharpness that causes her to suck in her breath between her teeth, the ache spreading through her bones.
He wont walk away, she realizes, and this is the last shred of hope that sits ignited on her skin like flames. And so she gives a silent promise to him, by taking the first step. “Find me again,” she begs, no prays to him like he were a god. “Find me again,” she repeats. People are meant to find stars, not the other way around and so she knows what she asks of him, it is too much, but she asks all the same—before she goes.
There is a great and tragic love story on her skin. It tells of a man of shadows, of a bonfire, of a lake. It is a story that has been written, the book has been closed.
It opens again.
It tells of a man of starlight, of mountain air, of a garden. It is a story that has been written, ripped apart, scribbled out, but Elena cannot close it.
He doesn’t want to know… he is a monk. Azrael knew this, just as Tenebrae knew, just as Elena knew… and still his oath did not seem to hold much weight. If he were a good monk, Tenebrae would have honored his word to Caligo. He would never have taken Elena from Azrael. Still too, the star-stallion knew that conceiving a child was an act that took both of them. He couldn’t put all the blame on the stallion of darkness and lies. No, Elena had been complicit too.
Azrael cannot look at her in the same way, knowing she had stolen kisses and touched another in the intimacy of night – in a way that she hadn’t offered to him. Did she love Tenebrae? Did he tell her that he loved her too? The questions sicken him as he wonders, trying hard to push them away even as she assures him that they too had something special. Not special enough – he wants to counter, but instead the stallion bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. It is the only way he can keep from retorting in anger to her, from letting his hurt turn to something ugly.
Only his eyes betray his inner thoughts as Azrael fights to keep his emotions in check. When she reaches to his neck, he wants to pull away – but he doesn’t. Instead the shed-star simply stands still, her lips longing against him. He wants to turn into her touch and return the gesture… but Azrael can only maintain a stony composure as his heart churns with an ache for her. She wasn’t his – he reminded himself. She had given herself to someone else – and now, their love child grew within her.
Azrael didn’t know how he could ever see her in the same way again – the girl lost in the wonder of stars, or following the haunting pull of magic through uncharted shadows. That girl was gone now, the illusion shattered.
It was always enough, I just- You just what?, he wanted to ask. But he doesn’t. Azrael wants to know why, wants answers to his thousand questions… but at the same time, he doubted his heart could bear to hear the truth. Perhaps things were best left unsaid. Understanding how the monk had earned her love and intimacy would help the situation at all.
So he lets her go, watching her leave as all the warmth of the celebration falls cold around him. Where only moments ago, he had felt hope blossoming in his chest, now there was only the ache of emptiness as he closes his eyes and tries to forget. Now, there is only a hollow numbness as he gathers up her carving with half a mind to leave it with the pieces of his heart in Delumine. But instead, Azrael mindlessly ties it to his staff, picking up the shards of his pride and leaving the garden with little more than broken dreams.
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