They say those who forget history are damned to repeat it.
So she remembers. She remembers with a haunting, aching clarity all the parts of them, good and bad.
(Good is the river, good is the way they had touched, good is their children. Bad is her dying, her leaving, everything that stands between them.)
She remembers this, remembers her, says her name sometimes (to herself, soft, barely a whisper). She does not forget history.
Yet they repeat it.
They repeat it, this cycle, coming and going and it always hurts and it always fills her heart close to bursting. Because Spyndle makes her feel like she might claw her way out of the spiral, like she is something else – something more - than the sum of her parts, that she is more than lightning and flat dead shark’s eyes, she is more than the power that churns inside her.
They are more.
They repeat it and she will always come back (won’t she?) because fate decries it but also because this is love, this terrible thing sown between them, this is love.
This is history, writ across their smiles and sobs. Writ in ink and blood and venom.
(always)
She sees her and it’s like she’s gutshot, her knees feel weak.
(It’s like a natural disaster strikes, when they’re together. Maybe, somewhere, it does. Maybe they are the butterfly wings causing hurricanes halfway across the world.)
She goes towards her and her steps are filled with the inevitability of it, but none of it slows her because Cordis is weak, she’s so fucking weak when the gold girl splays across her vision.
There is someone else – is there? – but Cordis pays no mind, her vision tunnels until it is just Spyndle, just this moment, even as history weeps behind them.
“You’re back,” she murmurs.
Such an obvious thing to say.
She doesn’t touch her.
I’ll touch you all and make damn sure
Cordis
that no one touches me
thank u for inspiring my muse <333