#wowrp

How did I get to this point? Working a legit job, nothing crooked that needed to be talked circles around or reserved for more understanding minds. Pulling in decent pay. With benefits. When did that happen? Am I losing my touch? My edge? I got a tooth knocked out. That's never happened, before.

She tried to place it, and couldn't.

When did my priority become this? When did I decide I was done with the Row? When did I start thinking about red hair?

Too personal, again.

I can't get away from it.

She dragged her hands over her face, groaning as the memory of a certain someone telling her that a fake, silver tooth suited her smile and an arm draped over her shoulders battered its way into her mind for what seemed like the fiftieth time in the hour. Rae didn't do feelings. She wasn't soft. She wasn't available. Anyone else would have seen it. She should have been able to squash it outright, the moment she saw herself being interested at all: chalk it up to another potential fuck. Nothing more. No strings.

Strings meant leverage, and leverage meant the losing end of a bargain, after all. She'd had years to learn that lesson the hard way. So why was she walking it back, now?

"Rae. Raerae." Eerie's voice shook Rae from her thoughts long enough for her to peer up at her sister's blindfolded face through parted fingers, and she grunted as she pushed to sit upright. Eerie stood with a cup of coffee in hand, and even at the distance of a few feet, Rae could smell the burnt grinds that were the hallmark of Murder Row's worst. She reached up, taking the cup as Eerie unceremoniously threw herself down on the other side of the couch, one arm thrown over the back as she watched her sister. "You gotta stop kicking yourself. I'm feelin' an entire storm in you, and I'm not liking it. Did the dork hurt you? Do I need to rip his spine out?"

Rae snorted, rolling her eyes. She knew how legitimate a threat that could be from Eerie, and she shook her head. "No. It's nothing like that, I'm just - thinking." She sipped at the coffee, long since taste-blind to the poor quality, and tipped her head back with a sigh as she went back to staring at the ceiling. "Just a bit of, uh, rumination, I guess."

"Okay, seven-point word," Eerie scoffed. "Stop thinking so hard. I swear, you're gonna blow a fucking gasket doin' that shit to yourself. Tell me what's up." It was less of a request, and more of a direct command - Rae looked back to Eerie with one brow raised and a frown pulling at the corners of her lips. When she didn't respond, Eerie's foot whipped out, kicking Rae's thigh sharply. "C'mon. Out with it. You might as well, because I've got a front seat to 'sister emotion radio', anyway."

"Radios don't have seats, Eerie," Rae deadpanned.

"Not the point, genius. Talk. Stop evading. I'm sick of you sulking and being all weird. It's weirding me out."

Rae looked up, running her tongue across the smooth metal of the false incisor with a nod. "Alright. You're not wrong about the source, it definitely is him. I'm just… I dunno, stuck. Feels like it could collapse at any second."

At that, Eerie fell quiet, but the incredulous look on her face was enough for Rae to shoot a glare in the devourer's direction as she continued. "Wipe that look off your face, shithead. You know how it is: we find people we like, we get close, and they fuckin' disappear. You and me, we don't get happy endings. That's how it's always been. So, I'm just - trying to figure out what flavor it's gonna be. Fleeting interest? I'm misreading, terribly, and it's not like that? He's gonna die on a job, and I'm just gonna have to pick up the pieces again? Someone we've pissed off gets to him? I don't know."

"Okay," Eerie drawled, "You know that at least half of those aren't true. For one: if it turns out that he's stringing you along, I'm gonna string him along every spire in Silvermoon. For two: you told me what happened at that club and when you all were hanging around in the headquarters, and that? That doesn't sound like misreading to me, Rae. He's into you. You keep doubting yourself for some stupid fuckin' reason. You're not the one dealing with being some fresh-off-the-boat freak of nature thanks to the Void. But, this also isn't about me and my curse to die alone."

"Again, it wasn't your fault that your last date didn't choose to be honest about being weirded out by the teeth," Rae huffed.

"Genuinely, yeah. But it's still - you know what? Not right now. We're talking about you." Eerie sat up a little straighter, her brows raising behind her blindfold. "You need to just go for it. Tell him how you feel, idiot, he's probably under the same impression based on what I saw of him."

"Yeah, okay. And get rejected because he either realizes I'm completely batshit, or because I have misread the situation? Sure." Rae rolled her eyes again, sipping her coffee before leaning forward to set it on the table in front of her.

"Wow. You two really are a match made in moron heaven." Eerie raised an arm to block the smack that Rae aimed at her head, and the mercenary groaned as her hand passed through one of the strange, Void-laced gaps in her sister's flesh, hitting nothing. "I'm serious. Worst thing he can do is say no, and then you say 'oh, sorry, I get it', drink your feelings away, fuck someone about it, and act like it never happened."

I wouldn't want to fuck someone about it, Rae's mind muttered bitterly, and she sat back against the couch with a huff.

"I mean, okay. If you want facts, let's talk facts," Eerie said, counting on her fingers. "One: he was all over you at the club, apparently, throwing compliments left and right. Two: he danced with you at said club, which is something you said he absolutely doesn't do. Three: he put his arm around you at the headquarters bar and didn't even flinch when you kissed his cheek. Four: he invited you to his tower. That's wizard code for 'let's bang', no matter who you are. Five: he's put his life on the line to help you out in a fight or save you, more than once. Do I need to keep going?"

"… One through three, he was drunk. Four could be platonic. Five's just because he's a good person," Rae shot back as she put her arm over her eyes again. She didn't want to see the way that, even with the blindfold, Eerie was staring a hole through her.

"You're so confident anywhere else in your life, and a guy has you tripped up this bad?" Eerie questioned. "Holy shit, Raerae, how serious is this?"

In response, Rae only extended her other hand, and waited as the chill of Eerie's fingers wrapped around it. A beat, then two, passed as her sister gauged Rae's emotional state, and eventually, the devourer blew out a breath of equal surprise and disbelief. "… Wow."

"Yeah?"

"Okay. Yeah. It's serious." Eerie squeezed Rae's hand, prompting the latter to look at her again. "Rae. I get that you're scared. I get that you're scared for him, but based on what you've told me? He's capable. He can handle himself. Besides, other than a few freak accidents, you've gone straight, right? The danger's way less than it would've been even two years ago. You gotta trust him to make the right call, and if he's as good of a person as you say?… Do you not think he would've shut this shit down if he wasn't at least marginally into you?"

Eerie, as always, had a point. It didn't stop the voice in the back of Rae's mind from hissing its disagreement, but Rae sighed and pushed it back. Just for a moment.

"… I mean, if we're being so honest?" Rae asked. "Sometimes, I wonder if he even realizes what's going on, there. Feels like there are times where it just doesn't register."

"Okay," Eerie sighed. "And how much do you think that might be not because he doesn't realize it, but because he's kind of in the same hole that you are with the whole self-loathing 'everything I touch falls to shit' gig? Maybe you should just… ask him. Next time you guys get a moment to yourselves. Lay it out - sober, Raerae, you need a clear mind and so does he."

"When'd you get so smart?" Rae asked quietly. It took force to keep her voice from breaking, and in reply, Eerie gave her sister a small, forlorn smile.

"I dunno. Guess the endlessness of the Void kinda opened up parts of my brain," Eerie suggested. "C'mere. I got you."

Rae sniffled, moving over on the couch and resting her head on Eerie's shoulder. "I miss when I was the voice of reason," Rae murmured, and Eerie clicked her tongue before shaking her head.

"Nah. Wasn't even, you always having to keep me from doing something absolutely insane. Besides: you deserve a bit of support, too. Even if you are an idiot who can't read the room." Eerie's lips cracked into a small grin, even as Rae pinched her side harshly.

"Shut the fuck up, I can read fine," Rae hissed. The vitriol didn't last, even as Eerie cackled and ruffled Rae's hair.

"You're gonna be okay, Raerae. You gotta take the leap, here. Trust him, and trust yourself, yeah? And for all the gods' sakes, stop being so hard on yourself for having a crush, okay? You deserve a bit of happiness."

"… We both do," Rae conceded.

"Yeah. But you know me: my happiness comes from seeing you happy. When you're sad, I'm sad. Kind of part of the new job description, so stop being sad." Eerie gently pushed Rae up to sit on her own again before reaching over to grab the abandoned coffee, pressing it into Rae's hands. "Drink your dumpster coffee, straighten yourself out."

Rae took an obedient sip, nodding a little as her eyes tracked to the fireplace as she listened to the crackles and pops of the logs burning in it. "I know," Rae muttered. "Just wish I weren't such an idiot about my feelings, too."

"You're not," Eerie contested, her tone earnest and gentle. "You're making decisions and inferences based off of the live we've lived since the fall. That's not a bad thing, Rae. It's pattern recognition at its finest. But, the pattern's different, now. So go fawn over your red-haired wizard boy, and go get his ass before he assumes you're not down to rock."

"'Til the walls fuckin' bleed," Rae sighed. "Gods, Eerie. He came in and wrecked my whole shop. He makes me feel so uncool."

"Yeah, because having a crush on someone turns us both into massive dorks," Eerie droned. "You remember how I was around that priestess?"

"An absolute nightmare. She likened you to a puppy, Eerie."

"Don't remind me."

That drew a laugh from both of the twins, and the heaviness on Rae's heart lifted just slightly. Sure, she was terrified of fucking this up. Of being wrong. That, in itself, was natural - but, maybe Eerie was right. Worst case, she'd patch herself up and move on. The thought that just maybe that wouldn't be necessary, though… that was enough to keep her torch burning, at least.

"You wanna finish that chess game?" Rae asked after a few moments.

"You always win." Eerie's lip curled, even as Rae looked to her sister with a short laugh.

"Yeah, and you always cheat. Get better."

"Fuck you," Eerie bit back. "I'm fine, you're just an absolute freak about that game."

"Maybe I'll let you win, this time. Use your tactician brain," Rae drawled.

"Cheating is tactics!"

"Not when you have any sense of honor!"

"Honor? What are you, an orc? You sure smell like one."

Rae's eyes flicked up again at that, and she blew smoke off to her side as the corner of her lips pulled into a frown. "I'm sorry, bud," she drawled lazily. "If we've met, I don't think I remember your name. C'mon, sit down. Table's open."

"Rather talk outside," the man replied dryly. "Don't want to ruin the atmosphere."

Ah. So it was business, then.

Rae sucked her teeth as her gaze fell on the burning cherry of her cigarette, watching the smoke curl upwards lazily before she took another drag. "Tell you what," she responded, her tone frigid. "You do me the favor of lettin' me know who you work for, and we'll cut this real short and easy. Or, better yet, you tell me if you're walking out with a fancy new piercing or a nutsack fried crispier than goblin cart food."

That earned her a shadow casting itself over her form, and she sighed as a hand reached down to grab her by the scruff of her jacket. She didn't fight it, instead dropping a few coins on the table with her abandoned whiskey and placing her cigarette between her teeth as she was carried out of the bar. "See you, Ash," she called towards the barkeep, and she winked as Ash gave her a two-fingered wave in response. It wasn't unusual to see Rae forced out of this place at least once every fortnight - she'd set a record in avoiding it happening for the last month. Probably due to workload.

As she was dumped onto the street outside, Rae rolled to the left as a foot swung out towards her side. She managed to avoid the impact, maneuvering to her feet and slipping into the easy back-and-forth of avoiding blow after blow. "Y'gonna tell me who your boss is?" she asked. "Who's lining your pockets, big guy? Who'd I piss off?"

That caused the gargantuan man in front of her to snap back, his ears pinning. Rae noticed the tip of one was sliced off. "Someone who's upset a rat got into her affairs," he growled. "She doesn't like that you went and shanked her second. So, she wants you off the board. Now stay still, or I'm really gonna make this hurt."

"Tch. Yeah, okay, bud," Rae laughed, dodging out of the way of another kick. "Listen. I'm all for the whole 'vengeance is a bitch' thing - do it myself, all the time - but y'sure you wanna pick this fight? You're slower than a geriatric, one-legged hawkstrider." She'd managed to hold onto her cigarette, and a puff of smoke found its way from her nostrils as her opponent took the bait: he stepped forward with a grunt of frustration, opening himself up, and Rae plucked the cigarette from her mouth before reaching up to crush it into his eye as she swept past his guard.

He reeled back, letting out a scream of pain as he pawed at the ruined eye - Rae knew she had a matter of seconds before he started acting on instinct, but with one side blinded? That'd be more than enough. "See, that's the kicker, Mike. I'm gonna call you Mike." A blade flashed out of the lining of her jacket as she sent it across the man's side through a break in his armor, severing the buckle and sending the cuirass clattering to the street. "People wanna hurt me, a lot. I'm kind of used to it. You guys gotta start getting more creative, bujaeel. Yes?" She took a few leisurely steps backward, turning the blade in her hands as the man wheeled on her.

"Not your fuckin' comrade," he spat in Orcish, and Rae cracked a grin as she met that one-eyed, livid stare. His eyes were gold. Suddenly, it made sense - she'd just finished a preyseeker job a week prior against a particularly out-of-line paladin who'd gone Light-blind, and with the plate he was wearing?

Well, fifty silver said they were affiliated.

"Ooooh, I get it, now," Rae mused, ducking as maybe-Mike threw a punch at her jaw. "You're Maya's friend, aren't you? Mayalira Lightriver? She used to be a Blood Knight until she went rogue?" She twisted out of the grip that had caught her wrist, and tutted as she shook her head. "Shame, really. You guys are all useless without a sword."

"I don't need a weapon to crush you. Keep her name out of your mouth, you crazy bitch." Another punch was thrown, and Rae sighed as she leaned to the right.

Her calculation was slightly off, and pain blossomed across her shoulder as the hit connected with the joint, nearly dislocating it. She felt the familiar threat of a broken collarbone and hissed, her ears pinning. There goes my no-hit strategy, she thought bitterly. "You wanna see what crazy looks like?" Rae asked, anger running white-hot through her core. "Alright. Cool. Let's talk about crazy, and let's talk about pain, inishore."

She raised her hand, a spell-word leaving her lips as the street lit up with a blast of arcane magic. Maybe-Mike's hands came up as he deflected the blow, and Rae hissed just before she felt a hand seize around the lapel of her battle jacket. Fuck. A fist cracked across her jaw, and she let out a curse as she spit a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. A tooth came with it, and a split-second later, she realized it was one of her lateral incisors, just before her fang.

Rae was not a fan of that. She broke out of the hold before she could be hit again, and her foot slammed against maybe-Mike's knee hard enough to send him off-balance and widen his stance in a calculated kick. It worked perfectly, and Rae felt a flash of satisfaction at the opening before she acted again.

She darted inside his guard again, and when he predictably went to grab her, Rae dropped to her knees to slide between his legs as that blade whipped up to find purchase in his groin. A fountain of blood erupted where she sent it directly center and up, and she snorted, shaking her head as maybe-Mike fell to his knees with an agonized howl.

That'll take him out.

Honestly, a knife to the dick did wonders in a brawl. Rae rolled her bruised shoulder, sniffing as she approached and wiped the blade off on her pant leg. "See, that's when it starts hurtin' real bad, bujaeel," she spat, her lip curling. "You hear me? Or is it that kind of pain that makes all sound stop mattering?" She crouched by the man's head, watching him as he tried to scratch at her face on instinct. She caught his hand, wrapping her fingers around one of his in a tight grip. "Who are you. Name."

"F - fuck you, you insane -"

Snap. Rae rolled her eyes as the bone in the man's finger gave way, eliciting another howl. "Not nice," she chided, as if speaking to a child. "Again. Name."

She went to grab onto his next finger, and the violent jerk he gave as he tried to wrench himself away irritated Rae enough that she scoffed and let go of him entirely, letting him crawl away. "Fine. We're not gonna talk? We don't have to. I'll find out from the obituaries. Y'chose the wrong place to hunt, lahshode. I'm bored." She stood, grabbing on hard to maybe-Mike's intact ear and walking towards the curb. The force was enough to leave him no option but to crawl behind her or risk having the fragile cartilage damaged beyond repair - even in the fugue of pain, most elves would follow the instinct to preserve the sensitive tissue. Rae knew this.

She let go of him and sent a hard kick to his side, and watched as he let out a grunt and sprawled on the curb. A small smile curved at the corners of her lips as she reached down to grab a handful of hair, positioning his head just so.

"Say hi to Maya."

Her boot came down on the back of his head - once, twice, three times - and she stepped back once she was certain he wouldn't get up again. Blood seeped out from the body, pooling on the streets, and Rae snorted before turning back for the bar.

A few row rats who'd watched quickly averted their eyes and scattered. Rae recognized a few of them - she made a note to make the rounds with decent food and good bribes for them, later. She didn't want the guards' eyes on her, and she knew her recent activity had been lucrative enough to tempt some of them to squeal. Loyalty didn't go far in Murder Row - but if you took care of its people, they took care of you.

Rae had learned that lesson a long time ago.

She sat back down at the table where she'd been before, and flashed a grateful half-smile as Ash came by to set down a glass of whiskey to replace the one she'd left behind. "You won, I'll take it," Ash remarked smoothly, and Rae shrugged her good shoulder with an easygoing, gap-toothed smile.

"Don't I always? Haven't died yet."

Ash rolled her eyes with a snort before going back to the bar with a final "don't get caught by the guards when they come", and Rae tipped her head back as she tongued the gap where her tooth had previously sat. It'd need replacement. But, Rae had been right.

There was always some light in the rooms she occupied; she couldn't stand the idea of that inky blackness, where she couldn't see well enough with too-weak eyes to know what surrounded her. Couldn't know if the whispers in her ears were from the dead, or from something very much present. Couldn't be sure if it came from a place with crimson trees and beasts beyond comprehension.

So, the candles stayed lit, and she replaced them dutifully each day: one at a time, so as to avoid ever being in the dark for even a moment.

But, the thought of Indy - of how tired they had both been during that first and last conversation they'd had with one another - drove an ache through her so deeply she barely knew what to do with it. After a few minutes, she pushed herself to sit up in her bed, curling against the headboard and fidgeting with her vine hand (the one Indy had planted, the night Blix proposed, Indy-Indy-Indy) as she stared absently at the wall.

With Tilly around, now, at least it wasn't physically silent. She could hear his tiny snores, even now, and that did at least help somewhat with the ache that pressed against her sternum from inside her ribcage: the very same one that told her to go back to the inn, to go talk to Indy, go try to make this right. Again.

But that was a very human emotion, and she knew that these things just take time.

She eventually pushed up from bed, entirely, opting for two things: the first being a well-deserved, long bath in scalding-hot water that left her skin red and raw from the heat and the way she'd tried, again, to scrub out the roots she could swear she felt creeping under her skin. The second was to just… write.

She'd been working on new songs, lately, and that was one thing. Music had always come intuitively - it was a part of her, so deep that you'd have to cut out her entire soul to get rid of it. But this was different. Indy had used to tell Blix that she'd write letters that never got sent, and recently, Blix had adopted the habit. It was a way, Blix thought, to at least get her mind and heart out of their cages for a while. Let those emotions go, so that they could be processed well enough to deal with in a manner that wasn't "find the most dangerous thing you hear of, and go fight it as stress relief".

Indy would be pissed if Blix got hurt, so… writing, it was.

There was a long moment where she sat, holding an ink-deprived quill in her hand as she stared down at the parchment. After a moment, she sighed. "Just tell the truth, Blix," she murmured. "That's all you have to do."

So she did.

Once she started, the rest of it poured from her - she lost count of the amount of times she cried from grief, or frustration, or just plain exhaustion, but she got it done. It was like breaking a dam, almost: remove just the right log, and the rest come tumbling free from the force of the floodwater behind them.

It was worth it, she decided, wiping at her eyes and sniffling as she tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling.

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Indy,

It's been hard. Really hard.

Trying to put all of this into words in a way that won't hurt you further seems impossible. I doubt I'll ever say half of this out loud - it's got to stay in my own head, and on a paper that I'm just going to burn once I read this out loud to myself, anyhow.

I feel guilty for loving you, still. After everything we've been through - after everything I put you through? It feels like I'm stealing what's left of the time you know I'll be alive, chaining you to some inevitable source of pain that we both know you don't deserve.

I'm trying my best to remember who I was: to be that person again, as much for me as for you. I want, so badly, to run back to you again - to literally throw myself into your arms, cry all of this out, and just be us, again. I know that can't be done.

You're hurting, and the fact that you don't hate me is a fucking miracle.

By all means, you should. I left you. I died. I didn't come back for a long time, and that's because I wasn't clever enough to slip the snare. I didn't plan well enough, I didn't think anything through enough, and I signed my own execution decree with my own blood, and smiled.

We always knew that I was the type to take risks: to disregard my own life, if it meant protecting others. I'm still that way, if we're being honest. I don't think I know of any other way to be. Something in me pushes me to try and make the world a little better, a little brighter, and with all of the stories of Azeroth's heroes? Well, being "just Blix" just isn't enough, is it?

Besides. I've got to do something with this curse of mine, or I'm scared it'll eat me whole. You know that story already, though.

I think, more than anything, I'm scared that I'm just driving the knife deeper by trying to be close to you again. Wanting to see you. Wanting to do anything about this in some effort to make it right. I half-wonder if I shouldn't just let you go, against everything my heart is screaming at me.

It feels like it'd be more fair to you, somehow, if I'd just done that: told you that you deserved better than someone whose life is so short, by comparison, who'll just end up leaving you again in fifty, sixty, maybe seventy years if I'm particularly lucky. Told you that you deserved your freedom to live, and love, and find someone who could go their life with you (centuries of it!) without hurting you once.

It's an inevitability that we hurt the ones we love, though, however unintentionally… but that doesn't pardon what I did to you. Nothing ever will.

I can't just look you in the eye, say "I came back, didn't I?" and call it even. I can't help but feel like, no matter how pure my intentions may have been, that they won't ever outweigh the black spot of me doing any of it at all; it doesn't matter that my death was the result of an ignorant accident. It doesn't matter that I was trying to help others, and still save myself. Still be alive.

It only matters that I hurt you - the person I love, more than anything else - and that I can't heal it.

I empathize with how you felt, seeing the way I was hollowed out after I left the army, now. I've seen it a thousand times, in a thousand minds, and I don't need to be who I was there to see it in you, now. I just don't want to make the pain worse by… existing. Reminding you of it with my presence.

But you said that you won't walk away, and we promised each other we'd try. I don't think I could walk away from you unless you directly told me to, anyway. I don't want to. I just wish I knew what to do. I wish I could lift this pain from your heart. I wish I wasn't scared to tell you, up front and out loud again, that I love you.

I will, one day.

I meant it, when I said that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. In all of my existence (because gods know I can't call it a "life", now) I have never known the same impact that you had on me. You kept me human when all else asked me to be a monster. You kept me hoping. You kept me home, because you are my home.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

I hope that we can figure this out together. I hope we can keep joking with one another. I hope I can make you fucking terrible food as a bit, and that I can follow it up with better meals. I hope I can bring you seeds so you can grow them into flowers (because I'd never be so rude as to bring you cut flowers). I hope I can help you tend the gardens. I hope you let me pull the feathers from your hair like I used to. I hope you put the ring back on. I hope I see you laughing and happy, and I hope it's because of me. I hope we can travel. I hope the world gets safer, so we can see the darters grow in it without worry. I hope that I can perform on the stage at the inn and dedicate every single stupid sappy love song to you and wink at you from across the room while you're at the bar.

There's so much I'm hoping for, and there's so little I expect.

If you decide one day you don't want me in your life, anymore, I'll go, Indy. You won't ever see me again. I won't hold it against you: it's only fair, to ask someone who's hurt you to leave.

But I hope, anyway.

It never mattered how much time passed, by Azerothian standards, across that veil. Time doesn't mean anything, there, and that's really the operating factor: it doesn't exist, so why would the passage of it matter? Why would any wound of the heart close? It's not something you can just move past, and just as equally, neither is loving someone. Neither is remembering them, and wanting so badly to be with them again.

You made me better, every single day of my miserable fucking existence. Every single moment of it since the first time I laid eyes on you. You consumed me, in all of the best ways, and I came out of it better than I'd ever been. I hope I continue to be better, and grow with you. Because of you. For you.

You are my whole entire gods-damned heart and soul, and I would do anything for you, and I can't force those emotions on you before you're ready to hear it - but gods, Indy, you know I can't lie. I'm still cursed. I promised you I wouldn't do anything reckless: that I wouldn't leave you again, and I cannot physically lie. Not in writing, not in words, not in anything at all, and I promise you a thousand times I love you, I promise you a million times I'm not going to leave you again before it's well past my natural-born time. Even when that time does come, I'll still find any way to be with you that I can. Gnomish tech is a wonder: maybe I'll have some sort of projected consciousness, or we can find some magic that'll alter my lifespan - I've heard of it being done. I'd do anything you asked.

You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I hope you never forget it. I hope you never, ever forget exactly how much you mean to me, and how hard I intend to fight to show you that I can hold my own, that I'm still me, that I'm still just as desperately, ridiculously in love with you as the day I first told you, that I'll always, always be yours.

It doesn't feel right, being in a home without you.

I just wish I didn't feel so fucking bad for feeling that way, but… I brought it on myself, didn't I?

I'll bring you some food, soon. Something I've made. A way to thank you for letting me back in at all - even if it's from a distance. That, alone, is a gift.

Yours, forever yours. Blix

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She did reread the letter.

She reread it once, twice, out loud - it took a few tries before she could muscle through it without crying.

And when that was done, she carried it outside, burned it to ash, and watched as that ash scattered over the sea below her home's place on the cliffside.

Blix took a deep breath, a pang of remorse and pain hitting her full-force.

"Ash is the symbol of renewal," she'd been told once. "It, in our path, will be the guide through which our forest is reborn. Never must you forget the importance of the cycle of loss and gain: for each pain suffered, there is a joy which will succeed it. For each joy felt, there will be pain which follows at its ending. All of it is crucial - and to that end, we must persevere."

She reached up, a shaking hand wiping away the tears that had tracked down her cheeks, and went back inside to pen the letter she would actually send, instead.

A clearly-printed return address was on the envelope: a record, for Indy, should she ever wish to visit. Blix prayed she would.

And in that letter, in a clear, steady hand, which had taken far too many attempts:

I'd like you to come over for dinner, sometime. I'll make your favorites, but it'd be nice to have some time that isn't totally fraught with us trying to figure out The Aftermath.

Just let me know when, and if you're game. I miss you. I'll catch you up on how badly I lost all of my pillow fights at work tonight! (Spoiler alert: Devastation. The most hilarious devastation imaginable. I still have feathers in my hair.)

- a very decaffeinated Blix

P.S. If you'd rather I came to the inn, then I'll bring the food warm! I'm not gonna pilfer the kitchens. And no instinct cooking!!!!!!!!!! This time.

She'd flat-out burst through the front door, not knowing precisely what to expect based on the idyllic exterior of the inn: immaculately kept, and serene, sitting on a coastline surrounded by ocean breeze and the scent of salt in the air. She'd seen too many instances of that particular exterior hiding unimaginable horrors behind it to trust it, honestly.

What had greeted her was Indraste Darktalon, standing behind the bar counter as if she'd been there all her life, with a half-smile on her face and the most level tone in the world as she spoke.

"You got my message."

Blix had felt her eyes nearly pop out of her head - she'd expected Indy dead, or worse. She'd expected trouble. She'd come in with the half-shit daggers she'd carried the whole way at her side, ready to be in her hands the second something seemed amiss… but nothing was. Nothing was at all, and that panic was replaced by relief, which was immediately replaced by concern and fear, instead.

She hadn't seen Indraste in an almost inconceivable amount of time - and yet, she'd been just as beautiful as the day Blix had left her.

It cracked her heart in two as she stammered out her apology in reply. ".. Fuck. Wildflower, I thought - I don't know what I thought - I'm so sorry it took so long, I-I-I didn't have a mount and I've been on foot, so it's been me trying to get money to make it here and I just - I'm so sorry."

It didn't feel like enough. Blix wasn't sure it ever would.

She felt like she was drowning, and yet had been dragged to shore coughing seawater, all at the same time.

She'd told Indy she wasn't sure if she should even come back at all. Truth be told, she wasn't. It had felt like nothing but an opener to break that woman's heart, all over again, and Blix couldn't stand the guilt of it. But she knew, too, that Indy deserved better. Deserved answers.

Through the veil of panic, she registered Indy ushering her outside for fresh air and a place to sit down on the edge of the fountain by the patio, and she did so numbly, barely able to look over at her wife. She had dropped the sack she'd carried the whole way - necessities, she'd explained to Indy, as the latter had worked into settling down again. Things that Blix had hoped would help.

Indraste had registered the calming enchantment on Blix's blood ruby ring the moment she saw it - of course she would. Blix had agreed as Indy said that that was further justification for the pair to sit for this particular conversation.

Blix wasn't sure what she was expecting. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she'd hoped for something out of a novel: a tearful embrace, promises murmured, reassurances given. But this wasn't a novel, it was real. It was real, and so was she, and so was the druid sitting on her right pulling feathers from her braid.

The two of them sat for a long moment as Blix explained the journey: of recovering the series of journals she'd logged her entire life in, of how they had brought her back up to speed on the pieces of her own life she'd forgotten in her death. A contingency plan, in the event she ever fulfilled her promise to Indy to come home.

She elaborated, further, desperate to at least give Indraste this answer. "Who knows how long it'd have been, to me, or here, if I made it back? So... I planned for it. Recorded everything, put those journals in places that only I could find - the first being exactly where this whole thing started, because gods knew I would go back there - and the trail led forward."

Indy had looked over, rubbed at her face, and replied in a tone that was the farthest thing from warm that Blix had heard from her in a very, very long time. "You know. If you had told me you actually were making active plans in case you were going to be resurrected by - how, by the w-" The druid stopped short, taking a deep breath and pulling a feather from her braid. That gesture, alone, broke Blix's heart for the thousandth time in what conversation had already been had, and she pushed back the urge to scream, cry, beg, do anything to bring a smile back to Indy's face.

She didn't do well, hiding the flinch that came with it.

"I didn't think it'd be possible," Blix breathed. "I didn't want to give you false hope, wildflower."

That much was true: the idea of doing that to Indy had torn her apart, and she'd written of it in the journals. Of not wanting to feed false confidence, of not wanting to deny Indy what she would need: a chance to really, genuinely heal.

Too bad Blix was sorely terrible at actually allowing that, apparently.

Indy had sighed, shaking her head. "Yeah, well. The good news is you didn't. So at least there's that." A pause settled between them before she pressed talon-tipped fingers to her forehead again. "Sorry."

Sorry?

Blix nodded in return, replying in the only way she knew how. "I'm sorry, too. You deserve to be angry. You deserve to ask as many questions as you want, and to be angry. I - I hurt you, Indy, so badly. I can never, ever fully heal that. I know that. I know that I don't deserve your forgiveness, either, so I won't ask - but I'll answer whatever you want."

She'd flay herself open, if it made Indy feel even the slightest bit better. She'd do it, and she'd deserve it, and she knew that, too. But instead, she watched on as Indy asked the question she'd been holding.

"Alright. How, then."

The flatness of her tone may as well have been a stone that had crushed Blix's entire soul from her body. In some distant, terrible way, she wanted to crawl under a rock and die again out of shame. She had done this. She had done this to Indraste.

But she didn't run. She braced herself, took a deep breath… and answered. She told the story of her afterlife: of the boughs in the forest she and Indy both knew she'd been bound to. Of the cult that walked within them, who - in allegiance with the plane's epitome of war, a walking devastation of flame and horror - had targeted Blix, specifically. A second casting of a ritual they'd created, after the first had succeeded on other, lesser creatures in that plane. She explained how that ritual severed all ties to the plane - how, in some outlandish way, it restored a person to the body they'd held before that plane ever touched them at all.

None of it made sense. By all accounts, when someone died, that was supposed to be it. Final. End of the show. You leave your body behind, and you move forward.

But Blix hadn't had a body to bury at all, and clearly, there were pieces of this ritual that she had yet to understand.

She had theories, of course: anima conversion, some small piece of organic matter, using the format of someone's soul to recreate their flesh. All of it went against the laws she knew. All of it should be, by all rights, forbidden. But here she sat, alive and whole, trying desperately not to overwhelm the woman she loved so terribly that she'd nearly sprinted back to her grave out of the raw fear that she'd lost her.

When she was done, she'd given her quietest admission yet, brow knit as she felt the weight of it against herself. "Besides, I'd -"

Blix sighed, looking away. She felt the grief of what she was admitting, felt the despair of it. But she said it, anyhow, vying for some aspect of truth despite the faint feeling that she was, in fact, looking up at the distant sunlight from some deep, deep piece of the ocean. "... I'd almost given up hope I'd ever return, anyhow."

Indy had expressed her surprise at that. "I barely managed to hope my brother was alive for a century. You weren't even you."

That much was true: death had an odd way of reshaping people, Blix knew. For the longest time, for all nearly seven-thousand years of her existence after death (or, at least, the closest she could approximate), she'd held a different name, a different form, a different purpose. She had been the Dreamer, acolyte of the psyche and leader of the path of grove tenders and healers within the Forest she had reluctantly learned to call her eternal home. She had been something else, not even human - and here she sat, now, suddenly very mortal, very alive, very human, and feeling every raw inch of what it entailed. Feeling fear again.

"I wasn't," Blix murmured. "But I kept hoping, somewhere. Despite the... reshaping that death can press into you, there are parts that will always be who you were. Core components. Infallible, and innate. The part of the Dreamer that was Blix still hoped that, maybe... just maybe? I'd find that road. I'd watched living hunters walk in and out of the Forest time and again, so - when that really set in? Why wouldn't I try to remember? To hold that hope?"

She explained the thing that helped her hang on: the person, more accurately, in the form of the soul who had been her mentor. Her confidante. Her best friend, truth be told, for all of that very, very long time - who taught her what it was to retain kindness, even in a place like the afterlife she'd been chained to. Who reminded her, when needed, of who Blix was, and what it meant to be her. He had kept every bit of the human alive inside the facade of what laid overhead, and Blix could never be grateful enough.

The conversation continued: recounting of plans, what Blix would do with this second life of hers, what Indy would do in return. There were no promises of making things right, as much as they could. There were no heartfelt exchanges of love. There was barely a touch, here and there, and Blix ached to rectify it. She also knew, very well, that Indy would need time. Need to relearn what any of this meant: what it would lead to, if it led to anything at all, and what Blix's role in her life would be.

Eventually, they did reach an agreement: joint custody of the darters (of course - Tilly and Asha had missed Blix, and Blix missed them). Small jokes back and forth, to test the waters of familiarity. Blix hoped, in some way, that it helped show Indy that she was truly herself again, freed from any mantle of death that would have precluded it.

Most of that time, she struggled to read the expressions on Indy's face - still walked the line as if on eggshells, trying desperately to ensure that she didn't go too far, or seem too cold, or drive the hurt through Indraste's heart any more than she already had.

They agreed, mutually, that they'd do their best to make this work. There was an unspoken promise there, of course, from Blix: I'll love you the way you need me to. I never stopped loving you to begin with. I'll be whatever you need me to be, right now. I won't leave you again.

She wanted, so badly, to take Indy's hands and promise her that in earnest. She hoped it came across in the look in her eye, even if her mouth couldn't form the words.

She told Indy that she'd brought seed packets for Indy to start her own rage garden. Blix had her own grove, cultivated over centuries, once - it had helped take away the anger and indignance she'd felt at times. Despite Indy's initial surprise and hesitance, she eventually agreed that, yes, maybe it would be a good idea. Perfect timing, incidentally, and that thought made the fear in Blix's heart melt away just a little.

There were traces of normal, still: of the comfort that both of them felt in the presence of the other. Of a chance that, maybe, eventually they could be as they were again. Not right now: not when the wound was still so raw. Deep enough to cut a chasm directly through both of their hearts.

But Blix had, in true fashion to the spirit of her wife, been a healer for a very long time across the veil. She knew that the right treatment, the right kindnesses, that time could help it heal. It would scar. They both knew that, too.

But as Indy made a joke about a terrible recipe that Blix had made in a stint of her instinct food cooking, Blix had looked up at her and felt a little more at home.

Maybe, some way, they'd figure this out: and Blix knew that they would do it together.

As she sat over her morning coffee and her notes about the physician's book that would soon lead her to Westfall, Blix replayed the conversation in her mind as a chunky sprite darter sneezed into the drape she'd hung on the wall specifically for that purpose: it was already coated in glitter, as a result, even after just a night.

"Tilly - that was a big one, bud," she said quietly. The darter turned, blinking one eye at a time, and harrumphed before settling onto her shoulder as he pretended to read over the notes, too.

Perhaps being alive again wasn't so scary, after all.

No trace of Indy at all, no last moment as her spirit lingered on Azeroth. Traditionally, Blix knew this meant two things: either the moment had come when her spirit had fully crossed from Azeroth to the Shadowlands, or she wasn't dead.

She knew the latter was more likely - so why couldn't she stop the fear of the former from taking charge?

Her hands shook as she tried her hardest (really, she did) to stop the wave of grief that struck through her heart. She'd been so close. She hadn't had a mount to use, hadn't had the resources to keep one, yet. She was supposed to see Indy today, and now -

She pushed back from her hands and knees as soon as the remnants of breakfast she'd eaten had left her stomach, and put her back to the trunk of a tree as she buried her head between her knees and sobbed. Deep, racking things, spread thin with whispered apologies and all of the guilt and anger she couldn't find a way to voice otherwise. It was the first time she'd cried since she came back, truly.

It was the first time she'd felt fear this deep, too.

There was one other instance that Blix could remember feeling grief this keenly. During her time past the veil, there had been a soul she'd grown close to: he was the most keen thing she had to a companion, her best friend, her mentor, the single entity she trusted above all else. His anima had been unwoven, and dispersed into the plane - and she had watched it happen, helpless to do anything else. It had been his choice, after all.

And if Indraste was dead, then that meant the only other person in this world that Blix could possibly trust was gone, too - the exact moment that she was less than ten miles out from the homestead that Indy kept.

There weren't many times that she'd considered just… letting go of all of it. Finding some insane, outlandish work to throw herself into that she couldn't come back from. This, though?

It certainly didn't help that she had three voices in her ear essentially saying do it, you don't have the spine.

She wasn't sure how long she sat against that tree; she knew well, though, that time had passed. She felt it in the heaviness that set into her bones, in the slow track of the sun across the sky. She felt the sting in her eyes after enough had passed, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, Blix Voronin pieced herself together as she clutched onto the now-still ring on her wedding finger.

You need to confirm her death, her own voice whispered to her. I know you're scared. I know you don't think this can end in any good way, but you need to master your fear and go find out. Don't take any chances. If it turns out that she's alive, then it's all worth it. Every single blister on your feet, all of the pain, all of the worry: it's worth it.

She took a few shaking breaths and looked up as she wiped at her eyes, one hand pressed hard against her chest as she coached herself through the motions. Breathe in, slow. Hold it. Breathe out, slow. She repeated this cycle an impossible number of times, until it felt a little less like she might die from the fear, alone.

She had to know. She had to see Indy with her own eyes: the possibilities, now, were incredibly thin.

One: Indraste was dead. This was the option that had terrified Blix directly into "severe anxiety attack and losing all of her food" territory. Very unlikely, given Indy's skill as a healer - but still possible, and the reason that she needed to stand the fuck up and run. Right now.

Two: Indraste had taken off her ring, as a way of telling Blix fuck off, and don't come near me. Possible, too, considering that Blix was a grade-A fuckwad for having the audacity to get resurrected involuntarily. A wave of anger hit her, at this one: she'd worked so hard to be accepting of her own death, and now? Well, it wasn't like she could go throttle the ones responsible. That'd require actually being able to locate them. She had her theories… but that was for another time. If Indy didn't want Blix around, she'd understand - but she also knew that the likelihood that Indy wouldn't at least want a bit of closure, first, was the most unlikely thing she'd heard all week.

Three: It was a message. Angry, likely, that Blix hadn't shown up yet, but that was… fully understood. It made sense. So much sense, actually, that a panicked little laugh bubbled out of her chest. The most Darktalon way to say "come find me, shithead" that Indy could, and she'd certainly taken that opportunity.

Blix felt like she was going to be sick, again.

She never started this journey with the intention of assuming that Indy even wanted her back in her life; enough time had passed that Blix knew, very well, that Indy would have done her best to heal and move on despite the wound that had been scored across her soul for the loss. But Blix knew, too, that Indy didn't deserve silence. She deserved someone who at least was brave enough to turn up, to offer answers, to let her make the decision as to what happened next.

She needed to know, at the least, if she'd ever have the opportunity to provide that.

Her first attempt at standing on shaky legs forced her to sit back down. She took a few more deep, grounding breaths, and tried again, supporting herself on the trunk of the tree at her back and gathering what willpower she had.

She wouldn't go off and die the second you're so close, she promised herself.

But just in case… she picked up the sack she'd carried for the last fifteen miles, and she ran. Ran, just as much for her own life as she did for Indraste's.