hold tight the hand of the heart that breaks

i'm tired of the weight of mortality, i want to tear it from my veins

until i bleed silver and gold

Oh, she knows he wants to argue – but she hopes the tightening of her arms keeps it at bay, keeps him from rumbling his worries and fears, keeps him from admitting they hold the forceful leash of him. She wants him to be happy, to live and live, but there’s very little she can do if he harbors so much guilt. But this is a dream, and she’s incapable of giving him the tools to figure out just how to let go of the guilt, aside from reminding him over and over and over again that it isn’t his fault.

The subject of letting go, though, has her peering up at him from dark lashes, from where she’s buried into his chest. “You have to.” Comes the quiet prompt, the announcement that they very much indeed needs to be something that he lets go of. Even if it’s softly at first – so long as the memory of her doesn’t pain him every time he thinks of her.

And then, she begins to flicker and filter into something far less tangible, until only her face remains and the rest of her is wreathed in mist like a ghost, still grinning, still beaming. “Stay safe, Deimos. I love you.” She murmurs softly, blowing him a kiss of mist until the cloud covers his cheek with an ice cold kiss.

maybe one day they'll chant our names

and name galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal

REXANNA