Erased - Written in Colors - Chapter 7
Enjoy a story of goddess falling for someone who is out of reach until their paths cross again. All she ever wanted is to help and defy the puppeteer behind it all just to meet an end... But what is death for a goddess if another start?
Music choice from this part: Persian Nocturne (only on ytb)
Or open a full playlist that I was listening to on Spotify - here
Warnings: bad humor, mentions of death, violence, a bit of Raf myths (I am not sure if all of them got in or not)
Another life he was left behind. She really must have hated him in all the timelines they shared. But he could never hate her. His heart would not allow it. He could get angry, he could cry a mountain of pearls, or scream till he lost his voice, but he could never…
He was too much, of course he was. Lemurians lived for love, their desires strong. This time he really hoped he would be able to…
It didn't matter anymore. Not now.
He realized the quiet presence too late, susurrating sound slowly getting closer to him, just to stop a few steps behind. The breeze picked up, carrying the scent of ink and warm amber.
Just his luck. The only thing lacking is thunder and the skies opening up to let a thunderbird make him into its food. Who wouldn’t want a stranded fish for supper. He pouted for a moment, before sending a quick glance behind him.
“Miss Writer!” He tried to calm his voice, not let it show whatever he was feeling —and it was a lot. Her presence here added to it. “Did you come looking for inspiration? A bright, sunset-lit ocean?” He turned his head, holding in a sigh. There was silence for a second, and he was sure she didn’t hear him over the waves.
“It feels like the sea is far from appreciating the setting sun. I prefer my sea… stormy,” she stepped closer, not getting near him enough to see his face. When he peeked, she was looking at the horizon.
“Writing a tragedy, then?” he hummed. How fitting is that. Maybe he could contribute with a bad love story. “I have an inspiration for a tragedy.”
“I am all ears, Mister Painter.” There was a weird calmness in her voice, something to just make him talk about things — maybe he shouldn’t. He waited as she sat closer, enough to hear him over the breeze that picked up. The waves were getting stronger.
“There is a legend saying that Lemurians love for eternity. They live and die for love. They would start a war over love, and sacrifice themselves.” his hand squeezed the hem of his shirt. “I wonder if there was a Lemurian that felt regret, or died from the lack of love.” He made himself relax, turning his head to her, a smile well-practised on his lips. It froze when he saw her looking at him, her eyes reflecting the last rays of sunlight. Attentive, like she knew something he was not aware of. Like she saw through the smile. She couldn't, it was not possible. But she always had that look in her eyes. <3
“Did I make a writer lost for words?” he laughed, trying to sound playful.
“I am not a preacher,” she hummed, looking back to the darkening sky. “My words come in… waves. A tsunami — violent and suffocating. I need to clean them and organise them to make anyone understand,” she said, like she had to explain it a hundred times already. “That is why I write.”
“What tsunami,” he chuckled, “did the Lemurian case awaken?”
“One of pain and blood. A cut heart and sharp edges. Where passion has no outlet and a Lemurian suffocates without their air,” she clicked her tongue, her expression going from gentle and calm to one of displeased anger. “I don’t like it.”
“Not all stories end well–”
“All do, if I am the writer.” She cut him off before he could finish. That was new. It made him look at her. Her words almost sounded like a promise. What a weird land-walker — but which one wasn’t?
“Hmm, and here I thought you were known to write tragedies.” That made her turn her head. “I got curious, and I did find out which pen name you use, Miss Writer.” She turned her gaze the other way.
Did he make her blush? With all that was happening he did find time… or rather he had to find a distraction. “A prince frozen in time… A dragon locked away…”
“Did you read the summaries?”
“I read two books for each series. The way it goes they will end in a tragedy.”
“Awww, Miss Writer, no need to be shy now. Some of the descriptions” — he whistled — “let me tell you, those were vivid images you painted with words.”
“I think you read too much into it.”
“Well, the tension was there. And the villain is already known. If she’s not one, then it will be a plot twist!” He grasped his heart dramatically. “My heart will stop!”
He heard a soft laugh, and opened one of his eyes to look at her. She was leaning now, her head resting on her knees, looking at him with amusement. His face almost dropped, grief spreading like wildfire. He laughed and turned his gaze. What would he give to have his bride laugh like that. This was the second time this feeling hit him with (y/n) around.
There was a silence and he heard some rustling after a moment. He will finish Miss Writer's commission before anything else happens. Let it be a thank you for the diversion of her creation.
“What if I could write a cure for the Lemurian heart?” she asked, walking towards the water. The rain was coming, maybe even a storm. He wondered if she wished it so hard it came true.
“A cure?” he let out a dry laugh. It was too bizarre. “A cure for unconditional love? Would you fillet the Lemurian to cut his heart and make him into a deep-sea zombie?”
She turned to him as the wind picked up. Her lips moved, but he could not entirely make out the words.
They sounded… familiar. Familiar in a way that should cause alertness but instead gave him a pause — is heart calming, his torment still there but more bearable. She waved at him and started walking along the shore in the direction of the pier. He wanted to go after her, to ask what she said, but he found himself frozen. Moving out of the weird state of nothingness only when the rain started falling.
There will be a storm tonight. But for some reason, his heart felt calmer.
