TEMPEST.

⚔️ //  he  rounded  upon  her  ,  raising  hellfire  as  his  voice  roared.  though  the  hairs  at  the  back  of  her  neck  stood  tall  ,  and  goosebumps  shivered  down  her  skin  ,  she  didn’t  flinch.  she  stared  down  the  maw  of  the  beast  once  more  ,  and  could  only  comprehend  his  sorrow.  rodrigue…  did  dimitri  remember  something  she  didn’t?  the  way  he  spoke  …  it  was  as  if  even  his  name  was  one  of  the  ghosts  of  the  dead.  but—…

         (  moonlight  cascaded  through  the  gaping  hole  in  the  cathedral.  he’d  joined  her  that  night  ,  and  she  had  found  rodrigue  too  KEEN  to  allow  her  to  slip  through  the  cracks  when  he  asked  why  she  remained  awake  there  ,  praying  to  the  skies.  )            if  he  was  gone  …  if  even  he  was  gone  ,  and  byleth  couldn’t  remember  —…

          i fear i am not a strong enough man to scold His Highness for his foolishness.

                                     even  if  that  was  so.

            i entrust the young prince, and the future of faerghus, to you.

            byleth  shook  her  head  ,  and  her  whole  torso  along  with  it.  “no.”  she  halted.  shook  again.  “you’re  wrong.”              the  cold  and  the  rain  as  the  wind  picked  up.  fading  star.  falling  star.  in  the  throes  of  this  tempest  ,  would  her  pale  light  be  enough?

            she  didn’t  know.  still  ,  she  ached  with  care  for  him  anyways  ;  wanted  to  go  to  him  anyways  ,  and  dared  to  draw  closer.  she  didn’t  need  rodrigue’s  urging  to  close  that  distance  ,  even  if  it  was  only  a  few  steps.  “you’ve  suffered  enough.”

       PERHAPS HE HAD BEEN A FOOL TO ASSUME HIMSELF ALREADY BROKEN, for pieces of him fall away still, scattering at his feet like shards of a mirror. they stare back at him, each reflecting a life he... thought he knew; the flames that burned that day, the academy, the blue lions, edelgard’s betrayal... shattered memories he dares not put back together, for they would only cut him open again. he has come undone, and nothing remains---

                                    only the eternal flames await him now.

       dimitri knits his brow; is he? is he wrong? does she truly believe in such a folly as atonement? that another purpose awaits him beyond the revenge he yearned for since that day? he is beyond repair, and yet, she holds on to her fruitless hope.

               ❝  i failed you, did i not...?  ❞ the words are leaden to his tongue--- and to his heart.

       she approaches him nonetheless. he wants to spurn her, walk away, leave her standing alone in the rain and return to the dark from whence he came... but he stays, stilled by the ache which assails him. he is tired of it all, of running, hiding from her light... perhaps it will burn him away instead.

                                you’ve suffered enough.

       lifting his head, the tempest king peers at her, briefly taken aback by her assertion... before it fades.

               ❝  ... hmph.  ❞ his tone is hollow, disbelieving, but he resigns to it all the same.

       turning away, he raises a hand, appearing to examine it, as though he might find the answers there. his voice drifts into the dead air parting them, unsurely, searching for its footing in the silence.

⚔️ //  how  could  a  question  have  an  answer  so  plain  ,  yet  so  hidden  from  sight?  none  of  her  words  quite  seemed  to  fit  right.  but  at  the  end  of  it  all  ,  all  byleth  knew  to  be  true  was  that  she  wanted  to  be  here.   he  was  her  friend.  (  ignore  the  whispers  in  the  back  of  her  head  /  could  a  ghost  ever  have  friends?  )  she  chose  him  once  ,  and  she  would  choose  him  again. 

           despite  everything  ;  because  of  everything. 

         “it’s  not  about  that,”  she  settled.  “even  if  it  was  ,  i’m  not  wor—…  i  couldn’t  cast  that  stone.”  how  could  she?  she  was  still  no  better  than  the  many  thoughts  that  plagued  him.  perhaps  worse.  she’d  make  for  a  poor  minister  ,  when  condemnation  was  what  he  sought  ,  but  not  what  he  had  once  delivered.  only  ,  now  ,  she  knew  guilt’s  gargantuan  weight.  she  could  see  it  crushing  his  spirit  ,  snuffing  out  faith’s  flame  ,  and  she  understood. 

             even  if  she  couldn’t  understand  all  of  it  ,  she  could  understand  at  least  a  little.

             she  wanted  to  understand  him  more. 

           “dimitri  ,  please  ,  tell  me  what  burdens  you.” 

       THE RAIN FALLS HARDER, like a crowd amassing to witness the exchange, their chatter rising to a crescendo. it grates on his mind, joining the many voices in their choir; they condemn him all the same. they pull him into the dark, while her pleas beckon him somewhere kinder, somewhere... brighter. he must turn away from her, for that is not where he belongs. the words of the damned thunder in his skull, and he lifts a quivering hand to cradle his head--- it’s more than he can bear.

                                                                     i deserve this.

       the fraying twice holding every wound together breaks, and dimitri can suppress his pain no longer.

               ❝  what difference would it make?!  ❞ he snaps, rounding on her, ❝  my burdens are my own! every sin crawling on my back is my own!  ❞

       his posture wilts slightly, and his storm abates, merely a flutter of the wind passing through. he gazes at her, defeated, sodden rivulets of blonde adhered to his forehead and cheeks... but beasts do not weep.

               ❝  father, stepmother, glenn... rodrigue--- i... i killed them. it... it was my fault.  ❞ droplets of rain run off his jaw, his voice quaking, ❝  i... cannot even deliver to them the justice they deserve. i... i have failed them all.  ❞

       he lowers his head, closing his eyes. the peace he craved is nowhere to be found in that darkness. the blood staining his hands runs much deeper than flesh, marking his bones--- his soul.

⚔️ // “….”  fragments  of  time  danced  along  her  peripheral.  his  back  to  her  in  the  cathedral.  (  GO  AWAY.  )  his  eyes  wide  and  wild  ,  snarling  as  he  spoke.  (  STAY  OUT  OF  THIS.  )  he’d  barked  at  her  once.  something  he  had  never  done  ,  before.  its  echo  in  her  mind  was  a  strange  counter  to  the  wilted  tone  he  took  now.

           what  do  you  want?  and  though  it  was  a  RHETORICAL  question  ,  the  truth  of  her  answer  remained  clear.  it  scraped  at  her.  gnawed  at  her.  begging  as  it  ever  did  to  be  released.  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  time  ,  byleth  gave  up  fighting  it.

                    “…  i  …  wanted  to  see  you.” 

          a  hushed  admittance.  she  curled  her  toes  against  the  gravel  as  the  words  fled  her  on  this  frail  wing  of  whim.  “…  i  wanted  …  to  make  sure  you  were  here.”

       NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES HE TURNS HER AWAY, no matter how many times he brutally spurns her attempts to reach out, she always seems to return to him. what folly her senseless faith has proven to be, yet she keeps it all the same; it is carried by every word she speaks to him, aloft in every hand she offers to him, but he does not want it. he made his decision a long time ago, and now, he is more convinced than ever of what he must do.

                                  i... wanted to see you.

       her voice, her words... albeit tender, they serve as nothing but a cruel reminder of something he cannot have--- something he no longer deserves. although he turns away, he can feel her eyes burning into the back of his head, awaiting his own gaze expectantly, but he can’t bear to meet it. why does she look upon him with such kindness? like he can be saved? reaching around to grip areadbhar with both hands, he can feel his body grow heavier, bowing his head.

                                             it cuts him more deeply than she shall ever know.

               ❝  ... why?  ❞ he asks, broken; pleading, ❝  why do you continue to seek me out--- despite the things i have said, despite what i---  ❞

𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨 &. 𝐣𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐭. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐥𝐞𝐭. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn, mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐡. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia. headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐝𝐨 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall, hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. stuff getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

     WATCHING SOMEBODY BRUSH THEIR TEETH.