Familiarity sparked in the crowd, Alora’s gaze locking on a face that she couldn’t bury, no matter how much easier life would be if she could forget. She hadn’t seen Phoenix since the night that she and Celestia had made their final switch, slipping from the warmth of his embrace in the small hours to return to a life far from Strife. Her heart lodged uncomfortably in the back of her throat, and she knew that she needed to slip away, but she lingered to watch him and the female at his side. Hand in hand, and she had turned to him to speak, a softness in her smile — and Alora was certain the same softness bled into her voice as she spoke to him. Only once her eyes returned to Phoenix, he hadn’t been paying attention to the girl at his side; they’d been on her instead. “No.” It kick-started her movement, winding her way around those nearest to her, no time for apologies as she was forced to push herself through the crowds. His voice called to her, and it shattered her, but it didn’t feel any worse than the softer voice that called out from behind him, “Phoenix.” A concern in the other girl’s voice that had Alora fearful of becoming tangled up in his life again. Her getaway was halted by a group of girls, hooked arm in arm, giggling and talking loudly, an unbreakable force when approaching from behind. “Can you — excuse… move.” All the utterings in the world didn’t make a difference; she spun on her heel to find another escape route, to find herself in reaching distance of him. Her mouth opened, but words failed to reach the tip of her tongue. Eyes darting over a face that she never should have seen again, a promise she had made to herself and Celestia. “Do I know you?” A weak choice to weasel herself out of the situation, the best she could muster when running hadn’t worked in her favour.
A voice sweet enough to turn a man from a demonic entity to a fallen angel, pure enough to make the wandering souls crave life again, and Phoenix hoped he was mistaken to apologize for being so upfront until his eyes fell on her features. In that moment, Phoenix couldn't contain the way his body shook under the pressure of seeing her face again--rosy cheeks, lips painted to fit her skin instead of the pale, lifeless body he held in his arms until it went cold. "Why walk in the opposite direction if you didn't know me?" His voice was low, unusually shaky as he lifted an arm to reach out to her; just a touch, he thought, to feel the warmth he so desperately craved. "Why did you run?" Phoenix, who was careful about each play, one step ahead of everyone, was making a move. His thumb brushed against her polished cheeks, stepping close enough to hear her heartbeak and lungs expanding to make it clear to him that she was, whoever she was, alive. "You died." Soulless eyes now carrying the weight of seeing his wife again, the only woman he'd ever love effortlessly. Phoenix took a step back, attempting to collect himself, while he never broke eye contact with the stranger in front of him. "Who the hell are you?" Was this his punishment? The gods decided his reign among the humans was over by making him relive the day he lost everything. "Who the hell are you? How do you look exactly like her?" It was ironic that Phoenix was never in a position to ask questions because he always knew the answer. No soul could help him find the answer to this mystery. His humanity was shut off years ago, but today it was fighting back--taunting him like he did with his helpless victims. "Answer me."


















