Do you ever think about all the people SHE gave scars too?
Do you honestly think Iâm that stupid?
I know what she did. Maybe youâre forgetting, but in my timeline, every stripe on my back, every rope at my wrists, every wound inflicted on me or any member of my family, physical or psychological, was by her command. In her timeline it was the same, except instead of forcing her Psiioniic to become a battery, she fucking ate him.
When we went into this relationship I made it clear that I wanted nothing less than complete honesty. Nothing went over my head. When she tried to hide things she did from me, I called her out on it.
Do you know why she hid them? Out of shame.
She felt bad about the shit she did.
Yes, I thought about it. Yes, I thought about every person she hurt, while we were together and even before. I tried to instill in her an appreciation for all life, and an understanding of every individual and their ability to chose.
But we never got there, because she fucking died.
What are you expecting? What do you want from me? Am I supposed to up and stop loving her on the spot? Am I supposed to bleed for her crimes?
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Hours pass, and your mates stay with you. The few times Xanthe has to leave you, Nepeta or Kan take his place until he returns.
If you were more coherent, youâd feel bad about seemingly favoring him, despite your legitimate reasons for doing so. Itâs not like you can explain, after all, that your attachment is borne of the sweeps you spent without him, in this same mindset, and your unshakeable fear of losing him again.
Fortunately, youâre barely coherent at all, so youâre totally shameless.
You can understand more words now. Theyâve been talking about normal things - the snow, Beforus, Liternia... They tell stories about their various adventures. Little by little, your voice comes back. Soon they can make you smile, and even laugh. Samael tries to groom Kan, and Nepeta chases him off. Xanthe provides a laser pointer distraction for your unruly reaper, and you just lean against him and purr, when you can manage it.
Youâre very tired. Your eyes feel sore from your crying episodes, and emotionally, youâve been wrung out like a towel.
But still... itâs improvement.
You count yourself lucky every night to have partners as fantastic as yours.
Your mind only picks up some of the words, and successfully processes even less. Part of you is actively trying to block them out. Your arms donât leave Xanthe, even when Kan comes in from outside. He doesnât leave you - you wonât let him.
âFelide.â That comes through loud and clear. You feel like youâve been jolted awake from a hazy sort of sleep, but you can already feel yourself slipping back into it. Kan is speaking: Have you eaten? Nod. Are you cold? Nod again.
His voice is so sure, so direct, where Xantheâs is soft and passionate. They speak to each other, mostly - itâs better, you think. You canât understand most of what they say: words... speak... calm...
Kan never knew her. Better, you think - it was hard to get her to care about anyone that wasnât Xanthe or you.
She said you were different. Once, you asked her why. She couldnât tell you.
You thought maybe there was hope in that - her realizing that there werenât things that made you different from any other troll. She was trying to understand. She wanted to understand, for your sake, even if not for hers.
Maybe that was the problem. That everything she did was for you... not for its own sake.
... quadrant... together?
... time... understand. We tried... Condy-
Pangea.
You say it out loud. Itâs the first thing youâve said since Kan got here.
Pangea. Her name.
Not Condy. Not Condescension. Pangea.
She was a troll. She was alive. She was not a monster, not some faceless demon - no. She had a name, and you loved her.
Pangea, Xanthe repeats. You quiet again, closing your eyes, and he holds you closer.
The execution took everything from you: Your mate, your family, even your words. For sweeps following that terrible night, you were unable to speak.
The people that spoke of you called it a silent vigil. You called it hell, and you swore you would never go back. Not to that. You would never be like that again.
You spent the past two sweeps building yourself up, trying to learn to be happy again. When you were given new life, you took it. When you found friends, you cherished them. You took every scrap this unforgiving universe would give you and clung to it like your life depended on it - and perhaps it did.
You spent so long working to never go back, and here you are.
Back.
Xanthe lifts you from the snow. For the first instant you donât recognize his arms and your body goes on autopilot - your hands grip his almost strong enough to break bones. You canât let your guard down. No one touches you unless they want to hurt you.
But his voice is there, soft and soothing... even if you donât recognize what he says. Heâs trying to ask you something. You donât understand. You falter, chilled tears stinging your eyes, your mouth opening but no sound comes out. He looks at the box. You look at your hands.
He carries you back inside. He says something. It doesnât get through. His hands close around your freezing fingers, warming them with his blood, and he winces when he realizes how cold you really are. A blanket falls around your shoulders - him, you realize. Heâs getting up. Where is he going? You try to stand up and nearly fall - he stops you with a hand.
You donât understand.
Youâre vaguely aware of a wet feeling on your jaw - your cheeks? Your eyes. Youâre crying. It feels like itâs not part of you, but it is, like itâs... distant. Far away. Your pan canât form coherent thoughts, much less speak them, but your lips are trying so desperately to beg him to stay, you canât, you canât lose him.Â
Iâm coming back, heâs saying. Or something like that. The words are starting to make sense, or some of them anyway... Enough to quiet your fears for now.
With the blanket again wrapped around your shoulders, he kisses your forehead. You donât move until he returns.
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Itâs been a nice evening. You slept snuggled up to two of your favorite, most trusted trolls in the multiverse. In sleep, you were untroubled, and when you woke, you felt at peace. You felt happy.
Everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.
Your arms are still bandaged up and down, the base of your tail is still sore, your head still hurts. You havenât left the Hive in a few nights, but when you look out the window you see... something.
You squint.
Something is on the transportalizer.
You throw on your coat without a word. Xanthe calls to you, making his way down the stairs - you donât listen. Your khopesh is in your hands in a flash of light and youâre out the door, shutting it behind you to hinder him.
To anyone else, the snow would feel serene, you think. Most of the highbloods in this town adore it. Itâs falling softly, catching in the dark mass you call your hair, alighting on your coat, and you can see your breath through the chilly air.
You trudge through whatâs already fallen, and it almost comes up to your knees. Whatever is on the pad has already gained enough of a coat to make it indecipherable from a distance. How long ago was this? Had no one thought to alert you? Everyone you know knows itâs cold as fuck here, surely they wouldnât leave anything unattended...
The stairs are icy, even under snow, and stepping up makes you slip. You make a fantastic faceplant in the snow and growl, roughly wiping your face with a freezing hand when you rise. Another attempt - this one more successful - pulls you up to the pad.
When you clear the snow, your heart stops.
Itâs pink.
Itâs pink, and there are cats... cats in your color.
But Pangea - she would have messaged you, wouldnât she, to warn you about this? Anything she sent would be damaged with the water and the cold. You told her about the snow - she didnât believe you until you sent a picture, telling her about how cold it was, telling her sheâd love it. You wanted her to see it for herself - soon, you promised. Soon youâd find a day she could see it.
You wanted her to know how beautiful life could be. You wanted to show her there was more to it than papers, more to it than blood and trolls and boring meetings.
Your hands clear more snow from the box, your mind reeling while you try to understand this strange gesture.
Xanthe made this - his mark is here. Your fingers cross over the X of his name - the only troll that signs without a symbol. Why would she send it to you? Itâs too big, and it was a gift - one she accepted, you thought. One that solidified their friendship, as both of your matesprits. You had thought they would finally get along, this doesnât make sense...
Until you open it.
The handwriting is foreign. The blood is not.
You know.
You know before you read the words.
Your throat closes. You canât breathe. You canât think. Your hand falters and you almost slam your fingers under the god damn lid, who sent this to you, who did this to her and why didnât they try to help her the way you had tried for so fucking long -
> Seemingly by random, the transportalizer would go off. As the flash of light disappeared slowly, a very nice and detailed jewelry box the size of an actual treasure chest appeared. It was very obvious that this was Xantheâs work, and if youâd open the chest, there would be the wooden friendship bracelet he made as well, alongside all of Pangeaâs jewelry. Some of it had more or less little flecks of what seemed to be fuchsia blood to them, and atop of all those items was an envelope.
The message inside would say:
âWe distribute our condolences; it has come to our attention that this is your coordinate, the matesprit of our dearly missed Empress, Her Imperious Condescension.
We see ourselves faced with the duty to inform you that she has recently passed away in her defeat in the battle against our particularly strong heiress; as such we send you her dearest belongings, and wish to say that we are sorry.
wwell wwell wwould you look at that
so many purreople wwantin to get to knoww to me i mean i dont blame you id wwanna get to knoww me too
but you see i dont need that anymore i knoww myself and howw i wwork and im satisfied wwith myself so applause for that
im nepi by the wway or wwell actually eridan leijon
