I counted my blessings, now I'll count this curse; oksana

[magnus]

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

He does his best to keep his composure as she talks about Makai although internally, his mind is racing. What had happened to his brother? Why did death seem to elude his family so? His mouth is tight and his gold-flecked eyes burn with intensity, but he is still and attentive, his head nodding along with her words, and sympathy catching in his throat at her hurt. “Love is a fickle thing,” he finally says, when he trusts that his voice will be steady—when he trusts that it will be smoke and not crackling fire wood. “You rarely have much say in the matter, and it is rarely as pleasant as the stories would lead you to believe.”

He himself had been in love. The kind of love they write in constellations. But it had not been a painless endeavor. Although, he supposed, he only had himself to blame for that. Their love had burned bright, and it had singed them both. It had both splintered their bones and then knit it back together again. It was the kind of love that was too hot to hold for too long, and they hadn't been able to—only finding peace for moments before the turbulence tore them apart again and, eventually, led them to their demise.

So he empathizes with her as he mourns his bloodline's infatuation with tragic love.

“I have found that the things that are the hardest are also the most valuable,” he says with a softer voice. He was not sure what comfort that he could impart to her, even less sure what comfort he was entitled to impart when he seemed to be intrinsically tied to the center of her pain, but it was in his nature to try. “But don’t let it kill you—whatever it is. It is not weak to want to survive. It is not weak to protect yourself.”

The silence between them stretches, along with tension, both of them taut with it. They were seconds away from snapping, he knew, but for now, there was comfort in knowing exactly where each other stood. “I will do my best,” he promises, although he wonders if he has already given her plenty of reason. If only she knew the truth. He would tell her if he believed it. He would tell her if he could manage to face it.

“I am,” he says, voice trailing off before he corrects himself, “I was.” Confusion flickers across his features before he just shakes his head. “I don’t know anymore.” He shrugs his strong shoulders, the scars rolling along the golden dusk of his coat. “Coming home is more difficult than I thought it would be.”

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.