Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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08-13-2023, 01:25 AM (This post was last modified: 08-13-2023, 01:31 AM by Evie.)
Evie
Did you ever love her? Do you know?
His smile makes everything feel a little more bearable, even half-lit and shadowed by the dark of their room. Familiar, rumbling tones, banter she could engage in even in her sleep. Knowledge and understanding hard-won through vulnerability and effort. Something Evie never thought she'd have - never thought she'd want.
Evie always prided herself on her independence, her self-sufficiency. Where Sam had wilted without a parent to guide him, Evie had sown her seeds early so that one day she might grow beyond the iron fences her parents planted around her under the guise of safety, ready to embrace the world on her own two feet and with no bars to hold her. She'd always looked down on Samuel with disdain for his inability to find purpose or happiness without someone else's existence.
Over the years, however, Evie has been shown how wrong she was to think independence did not come with a cost. In her years of isolation, she'd been forced to face the fact that sometimes, independence went hand-in-hand with loneliness. The Evie of the past had no idea the love that she was missing out on, or the comfort brought by a face memorized so perfectly even the shadows can't hide the curve of their smile.
Evie mourns every day she ever spent thinking she was better or more whole without Deimos at her side.
She catches herself lifting her hand towards his face, driven by emotion more than cohesive thought. "I love you," she murmurs in the dark. "And I need you to know I didn't call you just assuming you would be okay with it. That you're cruel, or hardened, or anything like that." She prays he doesn't think that anyway, but if he ever wondered for even a moment, she needs to kill that thought here and now. "You're a good man. And I'm - I'm happy you felt comfortable telling me no." Just as she hopes he did not begrudge her for asking, and would appreciate her respecting his decision. "Thank you. For coming." Her hand touches his cheek, and the burn in the back of her eyes throbs in time with her headache, but she ignores it. The hurt of Yosef's passing still lingers, and will for some time, but Deimos' presence had made it easier to bear, even if he couldn't do what she'd called upon him to do. And Evie would never begrudge him that.
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
Loneliness had been in the root of his being for a long time – mostly a side effect of losses, casualties, and the way the earth had broken him many times over. Isolation had been far easier after lending his heart out only to watch it become calloused, blackened, scarred, and marred – the incantations running through his blood a worthy excuse, and his shadowy figure nothing more than a piece of marbled weaponry. Helovia and the Basin had been the Reaper’s domain of sacrifice and nothingness, to carve his niche of violence and vehemence because everything else hurt too damn much. Then came Huyana. And Amalia. And he’d tried and he’d tried and it still hadn’t worked. He’d resolved to healing, and to being alone. He’d always been confident in the latter, and horrendous in the former.
To be in the moment – here and now – was leagues and legions of growth and willingness, of change and vulnerability. The exhaustion played along his face, in the furrow of his brow, no mask delivered or cloaked, watching as her hand swept towards his cheek, as the words echoed and bound through the room. Some manner of self-deprecation instantly clung to his tongue, to expel into the void, rather than linger in those threads. Swift denial lingered there too, sticking to his teeth, but only his eyes widened, then flickered downward.
The rush of emotions wasn’t what he expected, and he steeled, forged, them quickly; even then, some still managed to rumble from his throat. “Sometimes I am exactly that.” Cruel. Hardened. Malicious. Cold. Vicious. Capable of great power, precision, and might, all in the name of justice or blood, reveling in vengeance or revenge. However, he didn’t blame her for the call in the middle of the night; for recognizing she’d needed assistance, and uncertain as to what or how. The explanation contorted in his mind – for he’d never placed her in those bounds of presumption, thinking he’d be adept at taking simply because he could. “But I came because I thought you needed help.”
He could argue away the meanings of “good” too – some days were far easier than others to overcome those notions of barreling into nefarious deeds. “I have slain many. But none like Yosef.” Weaponry and bombardments had come towards those across a battlefield, with intent to maim and demolish themselves – mercy hadn’t been on any of their minds. His eyes flickered back towards her, watching, waiting, permitting a slow breath as he wasn’t punished or condemned for utilizing a boundary; for having one at all. “I have not disappointed you, then?” Because he’d become used to that too – inferior and unworthy – of so many damned things. “You are welcome.” Of his presence, of his sanctity and shelter, even if the logic of his morals seemed to skew and divide.
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
It's nothing she doesn't expect him to say, even when her eyes ache in her head and her thoughts come slow and sporadic, so in this, she has some measure of anticipated defense. "When the situation calls for it. When you must." Her faith in him is a stubborn thing, all gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, exerted against the very man she has that faith in. "I only asked because I wasn't sure how you felt about merciful deaths. It was an option I had to try - nothing more." And her eyes burn like blue fire, as certain as the sun's rising, easy for him to read and understand even without an Attuned bond to guide them. Evie had not called him because of his past, or the blood on his hands. She'd called him because she thought of him as a merciful man, one who could help one way or the other.
His quiet question is the snapping of the faint tethers of her restraint, the only things keeping her from reaching out to him in some misguided fear that he would take it as her trying to emotionally sway him. Her hand reaches across the dark bedsheets to find his own, tangling their fingers and squeezing firmly as she gazes unblinking into his eyes, headache be damned. "Never," she growls with ferocity fit for an Attuned, not an Abandoned. "You could never disappoint me. I have never been prouder of you than the moment you told me no." To see him so willing to stand up for himself and to have faith that Evie would not turn him away had filled her with intense emotions that the context should not have allowed.
Whether it's her own intensity or simply the byproduct of having been sitting up for too long, Evie's head pangs fiercely, interrupting her unbroken eye contact and making her press her free hand to her temple with a whine. She shouldn't be awake much longer, but she can't sleep until she knows everything has been said.
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
The inkling of maybe mulishly clambered around his head, as she tried to refute his claim. Sometimes must were the pinpoints of rage, and nothing to be sullied except unhinged vehemence – but that was neither here nor there, and he was too tired to argue the junctures and points. Instead, his gaze watched hers, adamant and certain, another breath crawling through his lungs as he nodded; storing up the amount of faith lingering within the threshold.
But his inquiry, made in fatigue as it was, must’ve done something, because the ferocity befitting her vocals surprised him – eyes widening for a moment, half-tempted to oblige her with a light laugh or a snort. Yet, her words were far too important for his ears, his heart, his lungs, his soul, to hear, catching over the sudden savage inclinations, threading fingers through hers. “Okay,” he whispered in return, accepting it for what it was worth, which, in the moment, was everything. “Thank you.”
He might’ve said more, but sometimes it was all he could bear – and Zuriel’s soft footfalls outside the door signaled more healing measures. Given the Evergreen’s reaction thereafter, it was a necessity. The glow of the unicorn’s horn started as soon as she reached Evie’s side, and his breath unwound, no longer so tight and contorted. “Do you want to try to sleep again?”
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
She will never truly win this battle with the demons in his head, but if Evie Wordsworth was ever known for something, it was sheer stubbornness. She will play tug-of-war with his self-doubt until they're both in their graves, and then Mort will have to play third fiddle to her fervent declarations in the afterlife too.
Okay so maybe she's getting just a little bit delusional now that her brief bout of energy has been exhausted.
Perhaps a little flustered by her own vehemence, she merely nods at the bestowance of his gratitude, hand tightening around his. Zuriel's arrival has her squinting in the half-light, but the wash of magic that sweeps over her has her slumping nearly boneless and at risk of finding herself swiftly horizontal. "Thank you," she manages to murmur, eternally grateful for the proud mare's abilities and her willingness to tend to Evie's arguably self-imposed consequences of her heroism.
Rest sounds even sweeter now that it is a chosen thing, and all the more so on Deimos' quiet rumble. Leaning sideways into him (and unintentionally dragging them both back down to the pillows) Evie tries to squeeze his hand again and manages only a tired pulse. "Yeah," she whispers against his shoulder, eyes already closed and halfway to unconsciousness. "Night, love." She'll rest easier now knowing they're home, that he's at her side; but her hand clings to Deimos' anyway - just to be sure.
