If I left the country, would you search and search? Or would you give up easy and find me in the dirt?
The first time I saw you fall, I pushed onwards, scrambling on hand and foot just to reach you, to hold you. I can hear the ragged gasps of air you drew even now, like the tearing of sandpaper against a cold wind. I know I always said I was the strongest, that you could never surpass my skill - tie at best - but in those fleeting moments? I felt like I had failed you.
I knew you were capable, yet I felt compelled to have your back. Your skill was undeniable, yet my gaze always lingered more than I usually would; a fraction of a second, just to make sure you were okay. Now, you lie cradled in my arms, cold and pale and bleeding like a split inkwell on papyrus. But what scared me the most?
Your eyes.
Those pale, cold, certain eyes. It was like you knew, of course you knew. You'd be back, you'd stand up again and keep on walking after the smoke had cleared, once the sound of clashing steel and stench of foul chroma had washed away from this place. You'd smile-that way you do where it reaches all but your eyes, those pale eyes which stay cold and tired. So, *so* tired.
Maybe that is why you never told me, before the first time. Because you thought you were saving me the trouble - knowing you were fated to fall, to get up, to fall and fall again. An incessant pendulum of agony and reincarnation. You swung just fine, Verso, you made it look easy.
And yet I follow you. I follow you knowing now, that when your limb goes astray from your torso, when that blast pierces your heart, when the blade comes down too fast to parry...You'll get back up. Maybe I do so because you share his face. Maybe it is because you hold his memories. Maybe...maybe so.
But I know the truth. I follow you...
Because you'd never abandon me.
