"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir 'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
It is morning when he wanders—a time when he is usually fast asleep.
He prefers the night to the day. Prefers the darkness when Astrum follows him. When his company is that of the star and the conversation they share between only the two of them. When the night begins to bleed away and the sun rises, he usually finds a place to rest. Usually closes his eyes and lets sleep take him.
But not today.
The night fades and Astrum takes her leave and he finds that it is only him.
He sighs softly and there is a piece of him that is not sad for the absence of the star. He loves her as he loves his own breath, but she can be stifling at times. Her opinions weigh heavily and he has found that she tends to drive him further and further from others, content to keep him all to herself.
Not that he seeks them out when she is gone.
Instead, he stays to the northeast outskirts of the meadow, walking away from those who would gather together. He walks slowly, fatigue settling into the marrow of his bones and his eyelids weighing heavily. He passes the trees, taking them in his peripheral and when he passes a large boulder and several trees more, he finally pauses, resting his hip against the bark. There is something like a sigh that escapes him.
A breath and then he closes his eyes for a moment.
Alone, at last.
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
i think i'm better on my own but i get so lost in you
Desire was not a perfect mother – not by far. She had been raised by a woman who, while protective and affectionate when her children were newborns often lost track of them as they grew older. She and Stave had been young – likely too young – when they had broke away from their mother and set off on their own, and while Desire was not nearly as careless as Ryatah could be, she did not coddle her twin daughters now that they were nearly grown. Though they were fragile and made of glass, like their father, she could not bring herself to keep them trapped at her side forever. They would never experience the wonders of the world if they were under her constant watch, and so, a little reluctantly, she loosened her grasp on them.
If she had known – if she'd had any idea at all – that Hourglass had a heart made of glass, that the moment it broke she would be gone forever, she would not have let her go so easily.
As it is, even without that knowledge, she sees the young boy that her daughter had told her about. She had pointed him out from a distance, and while Desire had feigned disinterest, she had put the boy's face to memory.
And so when she sees him from where she stands, at his back, she is not surprised at the surge of overprotectiveness that flushes hot through her veins. Hourglass had seemed disappointed at the disappearance of this Aureus; had mentioned how it seemed as though he was purposely avoiding her. She suspects it was a simple crush, the same harmless flirtations Desire herself still indulged in, but to have her own daughter be on the receiving end of someone else's games – that wasn't something she was willing to let slide.
“Aureus?” She steps forward with her illusion already erected, her skin giving the appearance of chestnut-red glass, a glimmering galaxy-spiral centered in her chest. She smiles the same radiant smile she has seen from her daughter a hundred times, boldly stepping alongside of him, and looking at him with lilac-eyes as she says with a laugh, “I thought maybe you had been avoiding me.”
i think i'm better on my own but i'm so obsessed with you
oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir 'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
Aureus has no protection against the real world—let alone someone like Desire.
His heart is on his sleeve. Bright and bleeding and so vulnerable. Perhaps that is why he hides away so much. Why he did not seek out the girl made of glass after the first time they had crossed paths, even though something in him had nearly splintered apart when he had first known her. He could not bear seeing her again—could not bear where their paths would lead. The inevitable heartache she would bring.
Or that he would bring her.
He had such pain promised in his palms.
But she’s there now and his chest aches immediately, dull and throbbing when he studies her from beneath the swath of his pale forelock. “Hourglass,” he is saying her name before he can stop himself, taking a step forward and then stopping, pulling up short. There’s so much that he wants to say—that he could say—but he does not have the boldness of his fathers. Their openness. Their unending love.
He has just his fear and his cowardice.
“I have been avoiding everything,” he admits, because he finds that he can’t keep the truth from her. He can’t look her in the eye and lie. He was avoiding her, he knows, but it wasn’t just her—and he knows that he can no more lie than let her walk away thinking that it was because of some fault within her.
“I don’t know how to not avoid things any more.”
Another truth, this time said more quietly.
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
i think i'm better on my own but i get so lost in you
He is young and handsome, with eyes that ache and a voice to match. She understands almost immediately why her sensitive and caring daughter had been drawn to him. From anyone else Desire would have found Hourglass’s need to fix everyone to be a severe character flaw, but coming from her daughter, she could see it for what it was. Hourglass so desperately did not want to be seen as the fragile, glass-girl that she was; she wanted to prove that she could heal other's wounds at the expense of her own, to show that she could shoulder the weight of the world and not crack beneath it.
She is certain Hourglass had been drawn to the innate sorrow of this boy, followed it like a moth to the flame, and she would let her wings burn if it meant offering him even an ounce of relief from whatever it was he struggled with.
Desire does not feel that same thing looking at him.
In fact, there is not an ounce of pity to be found as she stares at his bruised eyes and takes in the sweet ache of his voice. Instead, there is anger, and it sparks in the dark caverns of her chest and dares to crawl up her throat, until she is biting back the sharp words she wants to spit at him.
He could play his games with someone else, and she decides, in that moment, he would make sure that he at least loses this one.
She fixes a frown to her daughter's face, lets the air between them grow tense. “Oh.” She drops the word, heavy like a stone onto the ground between them, followed by another taut pause. “I guess I can't really relate,” her tone is oddly flat, lacking the warmth it usually had. “I don't run away from things, but I suppose the difficult path isn't for everyone.”
i think i'm better on my own but i'm so obsessed with you
oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir 'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
Whatever he expects, it is not this.
He has known her to be soft and sweet. Knows her to be kind and loving. Knows her to be beautiful and gentle. He does not truth his own clumsy hands with the delicacy of her—does not trust the way that he might crush the glass beneath his heel. Does not trust the way that he would fall upon the sword and still not be able to keep himself from breaking her beneath his brutish hands, never worthy of her.
So he is startled at the sudden solidity to her mouth.
Startled by the way she stiffens—her face growing cold.
He is unable to keep the surprise from his face. The way that it darkens his purple eyes, pulls the corner of his mouth, deepening the frown into something pained rather than just studious.
Aureus swallows, hard, but doesn’t speak right away.
Is not sure that he even knows how to give voice to the thoughts that spiral in his head.
When he does speak though, he is surprised that his voice is as steady as it sounds. He feels so shaken that it is shocking that his voice does not tremble with it. “The difficult path has never been my preferred one,” he admits and having to face that truth of himself causes his pulse to stutter.
A broken pause that stretches on longer than he would like.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
Not that it mattered what he meant.
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
i think i'm better on my own but i get so lost in you
She sees the surprise on his face, and a kinder soul would have perhaps felt regret.
Desire, though, was rarely kind.
She had no reason for her cruelty, really. Her mother had doted on her, had whispered her love for her into her neck every night, had assured her that not even the stars in the sky were as beautiful as the galaxy she wore on her skin. She had grown up with a twin brother that reserved a certain brand of kindness only for her, had been surrounded by companions in her childhood that matched her intelligence and her thirst for trouble. She had someone beautiful and kind that loved her even when she was entirely undeserving of such a love, someone that accepted all of her sharp edges.
She had not a single reason to be cruel, other than the fact she had simply been born that way.
Despite his hurt, despite the way she can nearly taste it even though his voice does not tremble, Desire is unwavering. She is steadfast in a way that Hourglass would never be in such a situation; she knows her daughter would take one look at the way he his eyes flashed with surprise at her sharp tone and she would have softened, bent herself back beneath him and let him continue to play her. “Then what did you mean to do?” There is still an edge, as though her mouth is glass shards. She steps back from him, softening her face only slightly, letting some of what she thinks would be the genuine Hourglass slip through. “Are you going to at least tell me why you would avoid me?” There is a short laugh, a shake of her delicate head. “Or, everything, I guess.”
i think i'm better on my own but i'm so obsessed with you
oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir 'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
If he was a smarter man, perhaps he would have picked up on the fact that something was wrong.
Perhaps he would have picked up on the fact that the Hourglass he had known would never have spit such poisoned shards his way—would never have held his own insecurities against him like this.
But he has never been particularly talented at reading others.
He has always been too wrapped up in his own head. Too interested in the makings of his own mind.
So he doesn’t doubt her when she steps back, when even the softening of her face is couched in the sharpness of her words, in the way she knows just how to press the soft points of him to break apart.
“I tried to hide away,” he admits, unable to be honest with her. “I was scared of what would happen if I saw you again.” He swallows, uncomfortable with these truths but more uncomfortable with the sharp words pointed his way—with the way she looked at him with such disgust. It was deserved, he knew.
“Scared of what would happen to you,” he exhales, “to me.”
He wants to step closer again, but he doesn’t trust that she won’t step away again—and he is not certain how he will handle it if she does. He is not certain how he will keep himself together if she rejects him.
He is not certain that he should not be the one keeping the distance in the first place.
“I am not much braver than the first time you met me.”
Although perhaps he is more cowardly still.
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
i think i'm better on my own but i get so lost in you
He is breaking, and that sick part of her is thrilled by it.
She wants to dismantle him, piece by piece. Wants to shatter him apart into dust the way he would have done to her daughter had she not intervened like this. She could have been satisfied at this point, but being who she was, she is not. This is nothing like the way she had toyed with Ashhal; he was bitter and broken without her help, and her mother, though sure to be displeased if she ever found out what her love illusionist daughter had done, would not actually retaliate. As far as she was concerned, using Ashhal and her mother as pawn pieces was completely harmless -- their ship had long since sailed and was completely sunk, disintegrating at the bottom of the ocean. Her actions wouldn't really harm them
No, this was something else entirely, and should she walk away now their friendship – and the possibility of something more – would be salvageable. She waits for him to offer something else, waits for him to surely hand her his own sword to end him with.
And he does, just as she had thought he would, because these soft and sweet boys are all the same.
“You were worried about what would happen to you?” And this time the way her lilac-eyes go cold is not manufactured for the illusion. Behind the image of her daughter Desire's own depthless black eyes harden and add dimension to what she has crafted, twisting Hourglass's face into a mix of hurt and disbelief. “You were’'t someone that I had ever pinned for being selfish, but I was wrong.” She shakes her head, she conjures the ache of tears into her throat as she tucks her nose close to the galaxy-spiral on her chest, and she lets all the manufactured hurt bleed into her voice, “I looked for you. I tried to find you, but you were so worried about protecting yourself you didn't even care.”
i think i'm better on my own but i'm so obsessed with you
oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir 'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
He was not particularly difficult to dismantle, but it would not have mattered if he was.
It would not have mattered if he had all of the shields in the world—would not have mattered if he was fortified with protection. Because, at the end of the day, she was an expert at this. She was completely schooled in the art of taking someone apart, and he was simply the unlucky recipient of watching the mastermind at work. Of being the one being taken apart—piece by piece, brick by brick.
(And didn’t he deserve it?
If he was to know her reasoning, would he not agree?)
But all he knows is that Hourglass is looking at him with rage and hurt, with apathy and then disbelief. He watches her face, aged since the last time he had seen her, and he knows that the pain on it is his fault. Of course it was his fault. He has known from the start that he would be the one to do something like this.
This is why he had tried to extract himself from the beginning, but that had not been enough.
“I have always been selfish,” because at least he can give her that. “But I thought I was staving off the worst of my selfishness,” his voice is deeper this time. “I would have kept you. I would have held you away for myself,” he admits and this hurts to admit when she looks at him this way. “I thought that by keeping away that you would be safe from the worst of my selfish impulses.”
He shakes his head.
“I cared too much,” his throat aches. “That’s always been the problem.”
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
i think i'm better on my own but i get so lost in you
If she feels any regret at all, it is only when she considers what Hourglass would think if she were to find out. She assumes, of course, that she won’t. This boy had made no effort to find her earlier, and she thinks that after this encounter he will avoid her entirely. And her daughter, ever the sweet and considerate one, would continue to pine for him alone, but having already resigned herself to the idea that he wanted nothing to do with her, she did expect her to seek him out, either.
There is a moment though where she debates trying this tactic again, but reversed – going to Hourglass disguised as Aureus, using the same unforgiving tongue. But no, she does not think that will be necessary. The love (an ill-fitting word, all things considered) illusionist is confident that this will be enough and that she will not need to harm her daughter in such a manner.
She won't admit that it is because she doesn't think she could do it. Doesn't think she could face her daughter, even disguised as someone else, and purposely bring her down until she was so deflated she would never seek him out again. Thomas and their children were her biggest – and perhaps only – weakness, but that was a secret she kept close to her chest.
Instead she listens to him in silence, but as he speaks, she begins to shake her head. “No,” she nearly interrupts him, a soft finality in her voice. She tilts her head, in the way that on Desire exudes a haughty kind of confidence, but dressed up as Hourglass it displays itself as guarded but injured. “You didn't care at all.”
She takes another step back, keeping her eyes locked securely with his – wanting to make sure she leaves no room for doubt in his mind, wants to make sure the last thing he remembers is the cold way Hourglass had stared at him, and how cool her parting words had been. “I’ll do us both a favor, Aureus,” another step back, and then she is turning, and she tosses back carelessly over her shoulder, “and I will make sure that we never run into each other again.”
She does not give him a chance to respond, disappearing through the trees that flank the meadow. And only once she is out sight does she drop the illusion, letting it fade away so that even if he were to manage to catch up all he would find was a galaxy-colored mare with impossibly black eyes.
i think i'm better on my own but i'm so obsessed with you
