if time is a river

Now the ashes of tomorrow sing your sad song

Meeting under a dark sky seemed appropriate somehow. From being a friend of a friend, to once nearly accidental lovers, to a dream murderer and victim, to now whatever the hell they were (forced teammates?), midnight seemed the only time of day that made any sense. So, surrounded by mist and a growing sense of dread, the Lullaby waits.

Though there's hardly any wind, the thick waves of fog roll and crash like some strange inland sea. Watching them with slightly narrowed eyes and tense shoulders, the alchemist sits on a large rock with one knee drawn up to his chest and his fingers (those that remained, anyways), interlocked together.

the lullaby

Styling stolen from Sky (obviously)