#cvrscd

He woke to the taste of ashes on his lips and his heart in his throat — choked, not from the lack of air, but from the overwhelming sense of hopelessness that had crept up on him in his sleep. Barely an arm length away laid Cassandra. She whimpered out plea after plea that were left unheard and called out names he did not recognise. Ismael sat up slowly, taking in a deep breath as he did so, and reached for the light—- he wished he hadn’t. The blue cotton shirt that he had burrowed her clung to her like a second skin from all the sweat. Her face was a broken mess, teeth biting into her own flesh from trying to scream when her lips quivered too violently. For half a second his heart ached, something that should be impossible for a heart so dead.

He crossed the space between them, collected, but not truly disconnected from his gift as he was hastened to get to her. “Cassandra.” the immortal called out softly, the slight, almost unnoticeable, quiver of his voice indicating worry. When she did not wake, he reached for her shoulder, hoping that a sense of touch would wake her up. “Cassandra.” he repeated, his tone stronger, almost demanding. Wake up. What ever ghosts or demons that are haunting you, escape them and wake up. Sure enough, her eyes shot open. They were silent —– and then she admitted a sound that would surely melt even the coldest of hearts and began to shake uncontrollably. It all happened so sudden that the Old Man had let go of her like he just burned himself, thinking that he must have hurt her somehow. Fool, fool, F O O L. Then the shaking stopped — broken sounds transformed into rhythmical sobs — and he understood.

Ismael reached out slowly to brush his calloused fingers gently against her temple, repeating the soothing touch only when he was sure it did not do more harm than good. He then huddled down beside her, leaving her just enough space if she so desired to shy away from their closeness. “Hush now,” he cooed, tenderly wiping away her tears with his thumb as he moved down her face to stroke her cheek with his fingers. What was there to say? That everything would be alright? He couldn’t possibly promise her that. Perhaps it would be what most people would be satisfied to hear, but ( t h e y ) were not most people. No, instead he said, “I’m here.” — like it was worth something — he hoped that it was worth something. For a moment, he struggled with himself, trying to convince the grim part of him that even hecould comfort, that his touches and presence could do good. ———Stunned, was what he was when she responded by reaching out for him without any hesitation. He did not hesitate to welcome her warmth this time and let her find her place in him on her own choosing. Her face in his collarbone, her arms around his neck, her calves entwined with his… He was surprised by how perfectly they fit.