Zavien
Ronin's here. He'll fix it. He can save her. He can save Lena.
Zavien takes a deep breath, relief daring to grasp at the strands of his tension, ready to unravel the panic, to embrace the blessing and walk her through recovery. He clutches her a little closer, waiting for the wound to stitch together, for her lungs to pull air, for her heart to beat - for his heart to beat.
But she remains cold and lifeless in his arms.
The apology hits like a warning bell, the final words the executioner gives before opening the door beneath his feet.
'It's too late.'
The noose wraps tight around his neck, the world constricting to nothing but darkness and despair. The last dim glow of hope flickers and banks, snuffed out by the reality that's suddenly suffocating him. It's too much, too real, too catastrophic for him to bear. "No no no. Lena." His head's shaking, the words a plea that he prays for anyone to answer, knowing they won't. He's barely conscious of Ronin leaving, too focused on how cold everything is, how the air isn't moving through his tightening throat, how it feels like his sternum has been cracked open to expose his heart, seizing it in grief like another victory for the tragedy of his life.
The next breath he takes shakes with the weight of tears, regrets and shattered dreams slicing thin lines through his thoughts, leaving wounds that sting before they turn so cold they burn. Everything hurts and he can't do or think of anything but the blank stare of Lena's eyes, the dried blood flaking from her skin, the gray pallor of her lips. He wants to scream, to run, to wake up from this nightmare - but he can't leave her, not when he's already failed her once. So he pulls her closer, resting his forehead against hers like he has a million times before, like it might teleport them back to another time, when all he'd had to worry about was whether she'd let him kiss her. The memory aches, pulling words from the rattling whisps of breaths making it through the hold grief has on his throat. "I'm so sorry - I love you." The confession isn't enough - just as he hadn't been enough to protect her - but he says it again, pushing strands of dark hair from her face as he sobs, his heart shattering in an endless loop of crashing despair. "Please - please don't leave me. I love you." But she's already gone, the chill of night having stolen any reminders of her warmth, and nothing of her remains to reassure him, to comfort or lessen the strain of the loss ripping him apart.
"Come back." The words echo in the darkness, over and over in hopes they might reach her in Mort's realm, calling her back to him. But she remains cold and stiff in his arms, a broken vessel for the precious soul that has been stolen. And she's not coming back.
Only when the cold weight of acceptance sits heavy in his chest does Zavien move, planting a soft, tear-soaked kiss against her forehead. His eyes close one more time against the reality, trying to recall their last moments together, wrapping her in his arms, the smell of lavender, her laughter sending butterflies scattering in his chest every time - the laughter he'll never hear again.
A sob rattles through his shoulders, ripping away the fragile delusion to leave him with pain and grief as company, darkness greeting him like the host of an indefinite reservation with his name on it. He pulls away, but not all of him comes back, a broken piece of him clinging to her even in death - it'd always been hers anyways, and he plans to bury her with it. "I love you, Lena." He meant it then, he means it now, and he'll mean it until his own dying breath.
He lifts her into his arms, the movements so numb yet so delicate, cradling her close, pathetically protecting her when it no longer matters.
[FIN]
Zavien takes a deep breath, relief daring to grasp at the strands of his tension, ready to unravel the panic, to embrace the blessing and walk her through recovery. He clutches her a little closer, waiting for the wound to stitch together, for her lungs to pull air, for her heart to beat - for his heart to beat.
But she remains cold and lifeless in his arms.
The apology hits like a warning bell, the final words the executioner gives before opening the door beneath his feet.
'It's too late.'
The noose wraps tight around his neck, the world constricting to nothing but darkness and despair. The last dim glow of hope flickers and banks, snuffed out by the reality that's suddenly suffocating him. It's too much, too real, too catastrophic for him to bear. "No no no. Lena." His head's shaking, the words a plea that he prays for anyone to answer, knowing they won't. He's barely conscious of Ronin leaving, too focused on how cold everything is, how the air isn't moving through his tightening throat, how it feels like his sternum has been cracked open to expose his heart, seizing it in grief like another victory for the tragedy of his life.
The next breath he takes shakes with the weight of tears, regrets and shattered dreams slicing thin lines through his thoughts, leaving wounds that sting before they turn so cold they burn. Everything hurts and he can't do or think of anything but the blank stare of Lena's eyes, the dried blood flaking from her skin, the gray pallor of her lips. He wants to scream, to run, to wake up from this nightmare - but he can't leave her, not when he's already failed her once. So he pulls her closer, resting his forehead against hers like he has a million times before, like it might teleport them back to another time, when all he'd had to worry about was whether she'd let him kiss her. The memory aches, pulling words from the rattling whisps of breaths making it through the hold grief has on his throat. "I'm so sorry - I love you." The confession isn't enough - just as he hadn't been enough to protect her - but he says it again, pushing strands of dark hair from her face as he sobs, his heart shattering in an endless loop of crashing despair. "Please - please don't leave me. I love you." But she's already gone, the chill of night having stolen any reminders of her warmth, and nothing of her remains to reassure him, to comfort or lessen the strain of the loss ripping him apart.
"Come back." The words echo in the darkness, over and over in hopes they might reach her in Mort's realm, calling her back to him. But she remains cold and stiff in his arms, a broken vessel for the precious soul that has been stolen. And she's not coming back.
Only when the cold weight of acceptance sits heavy in his chest does Zavien move, planting a soft, tear-soaked kiss against her forehead. His eyes close one more time against the reality, trying to recall their last moments together, wrapping her in his arms, the smell of lavender, her laughter sending butterflies scattering in his chest every time - the laughter he'll never hear again.
A sob rattles through his shoulders, ripping away the fragile delusion to leave him with pain and grief as company, darkness greeting him like the host of an indefinite reservation with his name on it. He pulls away, but not all of him comes back, a broken piece of him clinging to her even in death - it'd always been hers anyways, and he plans to bury her with it. "I love you, Lena." He meant it then, he means it now, and he'll mean it until his own dying breath.
He lifts her into his arms, the movements so numb yet so delicate, cradling her close, pathetically protecting her when it no longer matters.
[FIN]
I'd rather have a broken arm than a broken heart.
