Gloriously Alive Today
tellurianwitch:
punkwatcher:
He remembered her being stronger than this. Hugs that could compress his ribs on his lungs and leave him laughing breathlessly. And that just when she was happy to see him after two months gone out of country.
He pulled back a little to see her face, cradle it, as if some physical injury would be there in her eyes for him to find. Heâd always been the magical equivalent of a log thanks to Adrianâs genes, but even to him she felt somehowâŚdiminished. Not less than she had been, but dimmer. Like a beautiful light not getting enough power from the source.
âAre you okay?â
Then he remembered the last thing heâd seen before crossing that threshold backwards. The guards. The giants. The terrible feeling of wrongness and being wrong and hunted and hurt. Ciaran falling under them. The old man trapped in Seanâs hell after flinging him from it. Still cupping Mirandaâs cheeks, Sean twisted to see what remained of the gazebo. The body heâd stumbled over in his initial confusion. He felt dizzy and his voice came out barely above a whisper.
âFuck.â
Her stomach fluttered as she looked back at him, eyes glowing brighter. Youâre really back. Youâre not a dream. Was she okay? She was stupendous! âŚOr at least she would be. Eventually. Hopefully. Now her stomach felt a bit queasy, and the flutter became more of a panic.
One thing at a time. Ciaran first, frenzied dismay later.
âCome with me.â She pulled Seanâs hands away and got unsteadily to her feet. âPlease. Can you?â She wouldnât like leaving him here, but at least she could see him and know that he was alright.
The walk back to the gazebo was not a pleasant one. Every muscle and tendon in her legs screamed at her to stop moving, to lie in the grass and go to sleep, and she groaned as she knelt down next to her teacher. Miranda squeezed her eyes shut, reaching out mentally. Still there, sensei? âDonât be dead,â she breathed, fingers against his neck to check for a pulse. âDonât be dead, donât be deadâŚâ He couldnât be dead. She wouldnât be able to bring him back.Â
When the first slivers of consciousness came back to him, Ciaran immediately knew something was very wrong. His body was a kind of weak he was sure heâd never before experienced, and was in so much pain it hurt to think. Confusion gradually gave way to terror as the last moments of their journey came back to him in flashes, and it wasnât long before he remembered the feeling of blades tearing through him again and again. He feebly moved to check his wounds and found nothing there, despite still feeling like blood was pouring from him.
Before he could let that realization begin to scare him, he heard a voice by his ear.
âDonât be dead, donât be dead.â
It sure felt like he wasnât far off, but when he realized it was Miranda speaking he somehow found the strength to be glib.
â...That would be...pretty anticlimactic.â












