10-14-2021, 03:42 PM
Savior
Carnage.
His heart sinks.
His own magic is nothing compared to that of the dark god. There is nothing he can do to exact revenge against someone so limitless.
Gale.
And his throat constricts. He blinks at her, his breath leaving him in one fell swoop.
Gale, who had terrorized Tephra with his terrible nightmares. Gale, who had tried his hardest to chase them all out of the kingdom with his darkness. Gale, who he should have been able to protect Tephra from. But he had failed at that, hadn’t even known where to begin.
(This is a darkness all its own, the fact that he could not do the one thing he’d been made to do. When a real threat had found its way into his home, he had not been able to protect it.)
Gale.
He draws in a thin breath and nods. He will have to try harder the next time their paths cross—and they will, he vows—to avenge not only her mother but his home.
He reaches out to press a kiss against her forehead. He does not know this loss. But as his resolve solidifies, his anger makes room for grief. Mourning. He cannot relate because he has not known anything quite so terrible. But he can commiserate. He can hold her together the best he can.
And it makes his heart twinge to think she felt she had to ask, the sharp sting softened by her words. He will be her home. He will be the place she comes to rest, to let her guard down. He draws his mouth away from her forehead and meets her eye again.
“You do not have to ask, Casimira,” he murmurs and shakes his head. “You will always be welcome any place I am.” He exhales, soft and slow. “I have never wanted anything as desperately as I have wanted to have a home with you.”
His heart sinks.
His own magic is nothing compared to that of the dark god. There is nothing he can do to exact revenge against someone so limitless.
Gale.
And his throat constricts. He blinks at her, his breath leaving him in one fell swoop.
Gale, who had terrorized Tephra with his terrible nightmares. Gale, who had tried his hardest to chase them all out of the kingdom with his darkness. Gale, who he should have been able to protect Tephra from. But he had failed at that, hadn’t even known where to begin.
(This is a darkness all its own, the fact that he could not do the one thing he’d been made to do. When a real threat had found its way into his home, he had not been able to protect it.)
Gale.
He draws in a thin breath and nods. He will have to try harder the next time their paths cross—and they will, he vows—to avenge not only her mother but his home.
He reaches out to press a kiss against her forehead. He does not know this loss. But as his resolve solidifies, his anger makes room for grief. Mourning. He cannot relate because he has not known anything quite so terrible. But he can commiserate. He can hold her together the best he can.
And it makes his heart twinge to think she felt she had to ask, the sharp sting softened by her words. He will be her home. He will be the place she comes to rest, to let her guard down. He draws his mouth away from her forehead and meets her eye again.
“You do not have to ask, Casimira,” he murmurs and shakes his head. “You will always be welcome any place I am.” He exhales, soft and slow. “I have never wanted anything as desperately as I have wanted to have a home with you.”
YOU REMIND ME WHO I WAS AND WHO I WANT TO BE
YOU REMIND ME THOUGH NOT WHOLE, I’M NOT EMPTY
YOU REMIND ME THOUGH NOT WHOLE, I’M NOT EMPTY
@Casimira