Told you not to worry, but maybe that's a lie
It's a small solace, something she'll hold as close as the pendant clutched in her fingers; but she doesn't relax, her eyes devouring every movement and micro expression in hopes of anticipating that final moment. However inpatient she's always been, Thal doesn't want this to end, doesn't want to find another, doesn't want -
And then he's gone.
Pierce is gone.
The purple bond in her chest beats for a final moment, a death beat that echoes in her ears before falling silent - so silent.
She's not sure whether she's breathing, uncertain if her own pulse is still beating or if the quiet chill is suggestive of a fatal wound she can't feel - because she can't feel anything. There's a disconnection, an emptiness that leaves her thoughts unable to form. It's quieter than the eye of a storm, the winds stilled despite knowing the chaos that's barely a thought away.
She doesn't know when she fell to her knees or whether the wood had attacked when she wasn't looking - because she's not really looking at anything anymore - but she wishes the ship would swallow her. Maybe she'd sink to the bottom of the ocean and drift in the currents, listless and numb. Maybe it would take her somewhere where the pain couldn't reach her; because slowly, like a frozen dagger tip splitting her open from the crown of her head to the pit of her stomach then twisting deeply, cruelly up into her heart, there's no escaping the pain that bleeds from her soul and the piece that's been ripped out.
The roots have been torn from beneath the thorny purple vines coiling in her and now they've become dull, nothing to feed or fuel them, nothing to direct or stabilize them, nothing to give them life - a barbed cage of death and emptiness that shreds deeper into her with each shaking breath.
It's then that she feels the wetness that drips down her face, her tears mixing with the blood that pools in the grains of wood. She subconsciously knows it's from the death grip she holds on the necklace, the gems slicing into her palm, but it might as well be from the deep wounds that butcher her dark heart and she curls her body around it, helplessly trying to staunch the bleed but only opening the jagged wounds wider. A small, aching sob leaves her chest as she tries to pull the pieces together, unable to find purchase or reason, unable to think beyond the pain as she rocks in the sea of despair without a compass to guide her.
[FIN]
And then he's gone.
Pierce is gone.
The purple bond in her chest beats for a final moment, a death beat that echoes in her ears before falling silent - so silent.
She's not sure whether she's breathing, uncertain if her own pulse is still beating or if the quiet chill is suggestive of a fatal wound she can't feel - because she can't feel anything. There's a disconnection, an emptiness that leaves her thoughts unable to form. It's quieter than the eye of a storm, the winds stilled despite knowing the chaos that's barely a thought away.
She doesn't know when she fell to her knees or whether the wood had attacked when she wasn't looking - because she's not really looking at anything anymore - but she wishes the ship would swallow her. Maybe she'd sink to the bottom of the ocean and drift in the currents, listless and numb. Maybe it would take her somewhere where the pain couldn't reach her; because slowly, like a frozen dagger tip splitting her open from the crown of her head to the pit of her stomach then twisting deeply, cruelly up into her heart, there's no escaping the pain that bleeds from her soul and the piece that's been ripped out.
The roots have been torn from beneath the thorny purple vines coiling in her and now they've become dull, nothing to feed or fuel them, nothing to direct or stabilize them, nothing to give them life - a barbed cage of death and emptiness that shreds deeper into her with each shaking breath.
It's then that she feels the wetness that drips down her face, her tears mixing with the blood that pools in the grains of wood. She subconsciously knows it's from the death grip she holds on the necklace, the gems slicing into her palm, but it might as well be from the deep wounds that butcher her dark heart and she curls her body around it, helplessly trying to staunch the bleed but only opening the jagged wounds wider. A small, aching sob leaves her chest as she tries to pull the pieces together, unable to find purchase or reason, unable to think beyond the pain as she rocks in the sea of despair without a compass to guide her.
[FIN]
Thalassa
Honey, what's your hurry? Won't you stay inside?
