cinders and smoke

remi The higher I climb the farther I fall when I do "Well, for one I wouldn't be sitting here think we were on the same page about all of this." He muttered, almost unhappily. There had been comfort in knowing that his self-destruction was mirrored in Ronin. That it was them against the world, their hearts similarly scorched and dark. To find out that he had been wrong on so many levels—the grave, the manner in which they let Aoife ago, willingness to step back into the world they'd left behind—was isolating. Looking into Ronin's eyes was hard. It filled Remi with a melancholy kind of wonder and sadness. Those eyes that had seen so much, had seen him once upon a time, were just a lonely sort of blue now. Remi's brow furrowed for a moment in recognition—of course he remembered—though he didn't understand the relevance. "Are you comparing the blight to the death of our daughter, Ronin?" He asked in a low voice. "Interested." The alchemist recoiled slightly at that, pulling his hand free of Ronin's to ruffle it through his curls. "That's the thing Ronin. I don't think it will be awhile." Swallowing hard, Remi smirked sourly as he puffed a breath from his nose. "You were gone today." Petty and unfair, but the words felt real and right just then. There was being away, and then there was being gone. Today, it had felt like Ronin was gone. Then again, maybe it was just poor timing. Instantly Remi shook his head. 'You see? An anchor. Without me pulling you'd down, you'd never consider such otherwise."