do you think you’ll be familled? when all this is over? not- not just the war slender hands that breathe like wood that smell of dew that feel like oak like hope like the promise of everything they are fighting for that hold the future steady in their palms now hold avalon and there is something so real so tangible in this touch that they feel like this is the only moment they have ever existed in the only moment they will ever exist in i mean all of it. you. us. when we- when we’re dead, i suppose

the metal of their armour trickles into their skin. avalon has watched forges. avalon has watched how searing heat, unimaginable temperatures, turn silver to a stream that flows softly, elegantly, smoothly. avalon has watched how fire forges swords, how war forges men. they wonder; what is being forged here? is this history, or mythology? a celebration? a lamentation?

the hurt blazes more than any flame. will she celebrate? will she take a new mortal consort? those clammy, lifeless hands stroke scales that must be just as cold, despite the fire he thrives in, lives in, breathes. avalon drops to their knees. a fitting pair, they cough. fire and ice. dead hearts that shift to human forms. she smiles when they mention her heart. she always does.

i’ve done so much wrong, guin shaking and shaking and shaking. words that have not been spoken but have been thought as their stomach grows heavy with the weight of a world of regret come spilling from their lips and they cannot stop i have hurt so many. there isn’t enough good in me to earn me that right - i don’t think there ever was.

av.

does your heart still quiver when you hear my name, she asks. how can it not? she descends. the fire stops, but only so he can laugh. it clangs like the swords that spill from the shelves of vika rrylnn, that desecrate her home, that ridicule her students. yes, avalon hisses along with their blood as they cool. and she laughs again. oh, the lies a dying mortal tells itself to find peace, she muses.

av, there is no one braver, purer... no one more full of goodness, than you.

we both know it has been a very long time since you believed i loved you - her hands are on their cheek and that hurt is flaring through them again and they are so tired they are so exhausted if they are going to die let it be quick let them rest let them rest let them rest - and it has been equally as long since you have loved me back.

is this punishment then? for outgrowing my usefulness? for no longer being your obedient pet?

i should hate it, i think. coming back. being reborn as a weapon. a physical one. i’m a weapon now, i suppose.

you’re a hero, av.

oh, oh avalon, oh no. you think i could ever tire of the entertainment you offer me? why, even now i am laughing laughing laughing for the silly little words you speak! your life has granted me great joy, it shall continue to grant me this joy. i have never taken so much enjoyment from something so simple!

but yes, you are being punished. putting someone before me... after all the wars i Watched you for... after the destiny i prepared you for... yes, avalon. your ungratefulness, your betrayal... to think a wizard as wonderful as a god? oh, if that trembling, mortal heart could only imagine how it hurts!

her heart is dead and cold and wet and drowning drowning drowned. theirs is a muscle. theirs beats. theirs feels.

they are more than aware how it feels to be betrayed by someone they love.

you can’t come back though her hands wrap around her staff and they are so small and so delicate and should not be bloodied like this should not be dirtied should not be tainted should only be held and avalon longs to hold them but their filthy hands will only ruin her even more not like that.

he slithers. even when he has skin, he slivers, and avalon feels their flesh crawl before it burns again

i should like for us to be together. in the peace that comes after this. coming back without you sounds like- sounds like hell, frankly.

ah. well, you’re too good for hell, avalon when she smiles the stars smile and the screaming stops and there it is again that future theyre fighting for that thing theyre trying so hard to protect so that won’t happen. we’ll rest together, in this life, and the next.

mal’s grip is harsh and tight and they can’t breathe can’t scream can’t form and they are hurting and being hurt and he won’t stop he won’t stop and his bloody handprints grease the wood until it is slick and there is no polish and no enchantment and no water that can ever make them clean again and on the nights they are allowed to dream they laugh along with a boy with milk white hair and a girl with a pointed hat and golden curls who has bones that breathe with the old magics who has bones that bleed into her bones into her stance into her smile her laugh her her her.

i promise, av. i’ve followed you this far, haven’t i?

they scrub until their fingers bleed and paint and wood splinter