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More Stuff.
Angsty, depressed, Beleth/Blandine fic snippet.
This is the way the world ends.
It ends with you on the ground, Marches-stuff melding with soul-stuff that looks like blood but really isn't (so much, so much I don't care), looking up at me with eyes as blue and clear as infinity.
I loved those eyes, once.
It must cost you terribly, stretching out that hand/paw/hand like that. Palm up, not-bloody fingers beckoning. Even now, you want me here. You want me to take your hand in mine, and give you comfort before the darkness. Such delicate fingers (broken all broken I don't care), but so strong. It won't be much longer.
If I could hold your hand, we wouldn't have come to this.
I squat down beside you, my own wounds protesting. Easily ignored, now that the battle is won. I reach out and brush my fingertip against yours, pulling you into my personal Symphony, smothering you with it. I can't hurt you, but that's okay. I already have. You're a part of me, now, and I feel (love-not-love-nothing-but-everything) cold satisfaction at a job well done as your hand falls, the slightest cry of surrender coming from between your lips.
At the end, I am here. (I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.)
This is the way my world ends.
Not with a bang, but a whimper.
This is the way the world ends.
It ends with you on the ground, Marches-stuff melding with soul-stuff that looks like blood but really isn't (so much, so much I don't care), looking up at me with eyes as blue and clear as infinity.
I loved those eyes, once.
It must cost you terribly, stretching out that hand/paw/hand like that. Palm up, not-bloody fingers beckoning. Even now, you want me here. You want me to take your hand in mine, and give you comfort before the darkness. Such delicate fingers (broken all broken I don't care), but so strong. It won't be much longer.
If I could hold your hand, we wouldn't have come to this.
I squat down beside you, my own wounds protesting. Easily ignored, now that the battle is won. I reach out and brush my fingertip against yours, pulling you into my personal Symphony, smothering you with it. I can't hurt you, but that's okay. I already have. You're a part of me, now, and I feel (love-not-love-nothing-but-everything) cold satisfaction at a job well done as your hand falls, the slightest cry of surrender coming from between your lips.
At the end, I am here. (I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.)
This is the way my world ends.
Not with a bang, but a whimper.
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Very much.
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Like that, but eek. o.o
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