we are aching bones and wasted years; ilka

[magnus]

you and I both know that the house is haunted
and you and I both know that the ghost is me

Magnus was beginning to feel the barest traces of anxiety ripple at the edges. It was just enough to pull him away from the garden where he spent most of his days to the borders, the quiet almost as disturbing as a raid in and of itself. He had lived long enough to know that it was unlikely that the Chamber was satisfied with the taking of one Queen. They perpetually hungered for more; they were never sated. So while Heaven was quiet for now, the stallion knew in his heart that it would not be this way for long.

It never was.

So he wanders, as he was apt to do most nights. In his prior life, he had struggled with sleep, and it was a trait that had not stayed dead. Sleep continued to elude him, and he more often than not had given up on trying to find it. Instead, he simply accepted his insomnia and spent the lonely hours of the night pacing the borders of the kingdom and doing his best to be the sheepdog in a world of wolves. If he could not give Heaven the white knight they deserved, he could at least wield his darker ways for their benefit.

Letting out a heavy breath, Magnus came upon a small knoll, and he lifts his head toward the sky. He wonders if Joelle is up there—and if she is watching over him. He wonders if Librette is doing the same. So many that he had held close to his heart and were now taken from him forever. There are moments when he allows himself to mourn, to truly feel the sorrow in his bones; now is one of them.

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.