Even for him—tattered and broken and barely held together—it was difficult to remain in darkness when so clearly loved. It was not the nights spent under the same blankets as Jigano that devoured him, nor the mornings and evenings when the bard passed through, but the long hours of sunlight in between. It was in the empty spaces, in the dust in the nooks and crannies, in the single shadow he cast—it was the death that laid over him, but pulled back every time someone else's soul brushed against his.
She was the spring sun thawing the winter from his bones.
She was the breeze blowing off the dust, breathing life back into him, giving him strength to hold out a few more hours—
He lived from touch to touch.
"I suppose not," he responded, a slight laugh pulling on his words; oh, he wished there was some way to join these two parts of his world, some way to mend the rift between them, but.. he didn't see a way, not now, not then, so they would just have to live with the fact that he would not cut either of them loose. That was not how Rory worked: he did not compromise on family.
She pulled back, then, and he let her; she had already given him what he needed, so with haunted eyes beneath some escaped golden hairs he watched her. Feral, raw, honest; whatever downward spiral he had begun after the barrier's fall had brought him low, deep into a shadow he did not know how to escape.
Perhaps it was just mourning.
"Mmh," he mumbled, thinking about what she had told him the year before, how the monsters had come to his house—into his house—and threatened her. He thought of how he had wanted to help her, solve the mystery, of how he had almost died during his fool's errand and how Jigano might've died because he was in the barn but also, how, of all the places to spend that long night, Wessex (and Amalia) had chosen his place.
But at the question he let his gaze slip away, and he caught his lower lip between his teeth. It was still..too much.
"Karlia came for me," he finally said, deathly quiet, a confession that needed no further explanation: a monster in the shape of my sister came to kill me.
"I wanted to let her in."
She was the spring sun thawing the winter from his bones.
She was the breeze blowing off the dust, breathing life back into him, giving him strength to hold out a few more hours—
He lived from touch to touch.
"I suppose not," he responded, a slight laugh pulling on his words; oh, he wished there was some way to join these two parts of his world, some way to mend the rift between them, but.. he didn't see a way, not now, not then, so they would just have to live with the fact that he would not cut either of them loose. That was not how Rory worked: he did not compromise on family.
She pulled back, then, and he let her; she had already given him what he needed, so with haunted eyes beneath some escaped golden hairs he watched her. Feral, raw, honest; whatever downward spiral he had begun after the barrier's fall had brought him low, deep into a shadow he did not know how to escape.
Perhaps it was just mourning.
"Mmh," he mumbled, thinking about what she had told him the year before, how the monsters had come to his house—into his house—and threatened her. He thought of how he had wanted to help her, solve the mystery, of how he had almost died during his fool's errand and how Jigano might've died because he was in the barn but also, how, of all the places to spend that long night, Wessex (and Amalia) had chosen his place.
But at the question he let his gaze slip away, and he caught his lower lip between his teeth. It was still..too much.
"Karlia came for me," he finally said, deathly quiet, a confession that needed no further explanation: a monster in the shape of my sister came to kill me.
"I wanted to let her in."
