Evie
Did you ever love her? Do you know?
She can hear the sleep still clinging in the husk of his voice, but hearing him at all helps her steady her hands and draw in a deeper breath. She is not ashamed to admit he is her rock, and knowing he will be here at her side within minutes makes the weight of the moment ease away from her shoulders. Together, she and Yosef sit in silence, Evie's wavering energy giving him what little she has left now that reprieve is on the horizon. When the quiet sound of the handle turning breaks their silent vigil, the Evergreen's tired, blackened gazed finds Deimos within seconds. There is no heart left to smile, but he will see the wash of relief that loosens the clear strain in her expression.
"Deimos," Yosef wheezes from the bed in reply, always far more formal with the Sword than with Evie. As man and unicorn approach, Evie turns her eyes to Zuriel. "Can you take over for me for a moment, Zuriel?" Always striving to give agency to the proud mare whenever the opportunity arose. Yosef's eyes close as her hands pull away, and she turns towards Deimos, knees knocking together as she sways into his gravity. This, she appreciates more than anything; that he does not complain or question her choices, merely asks what he can do, confident in her judgment.
"He is dying slower than we can support magically or medically," she whispers in turn, though her voice is clearly strained and thick with past tears shed. "I can't keep the pain at bay much longer. And he's - he's done Deimos. He doesn't want to keep suffering." To keep worsening agonizingly slowly, entirely reliant upon the efforts and energy of others who are more than just nameless faces to him now. As proud and independent as any old Halovian. Evie knows it hurts his soul as much as it hurts his body. Her eyes are bloodshot from fatigue and grief alike as she turns them to Deimos' own, clearly begging. "He's of sound mind. He wants - he -" How can she say it? How can she word it in a way that will have her lover understanding instead of reeling away as if burned by the gravity of her request? Her hands reach for his, perhaps selfishly, and her thumb traces the dip of his palm. "Your magic is an exact antithesis to mine. It would ensure a peaceful end for him that even our tinctures cannot provide." Natural means would be swift, yes, but equally painful. But this is Evie's world, not Deimos', and she has no way of knowing if this is a moral boundary for him. "You can say no. I promise, you can. But if you do, I will need your help because it will take all I have left to keep him pain free until the end even if Zuriel helps." Which means she will likely fall unconscious herself, utterly magically drained. "Whatever we decide, I - I need you here." Physically and emotionally.
"Deimos," Yosef wheezes from the bed in reply, always far more formal with the Sword than with Evie. As man and unicorn approach, Evie turns her eyes to Zuriel. "Can you take over for me for a moment, Zuriel?" Always striving to give agency to the proud mare whenever the opportunity arose. Yosef's eyes close as her hands pull away, and she turns towards Deimos, knees knocking together as she sways into his gravity. This, she appreciates more than anything; that he does not complain or question her choices, merely asks what he can do, confident in her judgment.
"He is dying slower than we can support magically or medically," she whispers in turn, though her voice is clearly strained and thick with past tears shed. "I can't keep the pain at bay much longer. And he's - he's done Deimos. He doesn't want to keep suffering." To keep worsening agonizingly slowly, entirely reliant upon the efforts and energy of others who are more than just nameless faces to him now. As proud and independent as any old Halovian. Evie knows it hurts his soul as much as it hurts his body. Her eyes are bloodshot from fatigue and grief alike as she turns them to Deimos' own, clearly begging. "He's of sound mind. He wants - he -" How can she say it? How can she word it in a way that will have her lover understanding instead of reeling away as if burned by the gravity of her request? Her hands reach for his, perhaps selfishly, and her thumb traces the dip of his palm. "Your magic is an exact antithesis to mine. It would ensure a peaceful end for him that even our tinctures cannot provide." Natural means would be swift, yes, but equally painful. But this is Evie's world, not Deimos', and she has no way of knowing if this is a moral boundary for him. "You can say no. I promise, you can. But if you do, I will need your help because it will take all I have left to keep him pain free until the end even if Zuriel helps." Which means she will likely fall unconscious herself, utterly magically drained. "Whatever we decide, I - I need you here." Physically and emotionally.
Or did you just never want to be alone?
