You are the night-time fear
What looms in the dark is not what he remembers: it is a broken, scattered shadow of his memory, ruins clouding the horizon where it should've stood proud and tall (or at the very least, whole and functional). He blinks. Is he malfunctioning? But as he swings his head from side to side they stay the same, tumbled down and disused.What has happened here?
He doesn't bring it up, just follows along. "Do they take strays in the Temple itself?" he asks, mild humor in his voice, a smiling tilt to his mouth.
For a stray is what he is. He does not need four walls to contain him (though he will, when the darkness comes to stay), or a roof over his head, nor food, nor water, but he admits that having a place to call home is .. convenient. He will need a place to sort out his thoughts, and his life.
She tells him of death, tells him it is quiet, peaceful, enjoyable, and if he ever doubted, he knows now that he never died. There is no doubt in what she tells him; she merely searched for words. She felt something, remembers something, even if it isn't more than a feeling.
Between Point A and Point B his timeline is blank.
He wonders if he should regret leading her back to life, but assumes it was a choice she made. Then who is he to judge?
"No," he says after a moment, when it is clear she will not say it out loud. It feels complicated, and a delicate frown lines his forehead. "I was merely... turned off."
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
