deercountry | nothing is working with me

[ The air is cold here, and thin. It is like standing at the very top of a mountain, except you are far beneath the planet's surface, in a hole in the ground dug within a hole in the ground. The Ninth is a chamber cracked deep in the core of the planet, and here is its deepest part.

Before you is a crowd of people, and before them is a large, heavy boulder. It blocks something that is very clearly a tunnel. In this memory, the conversation moves fast, almost indistinct except for one central idea: the rock must be rolled away. The door must be opened.

There is blood, and a stolen, dying body, but the memory will not let you focus on that. It will barely let you look at it. If you try, the cold, cruel voice of the Crown Prince who stands beside you will interrupt you. ]

It's not her. That's none of your business.

[ The theorems sealing the door are complex, but when the crowd calls for thanergy, Kiriona stops talking to you. She offers you a grim, rueful little smile instead. Showtime. She steps forward. ]

Kill me.

[ You're dead, comes the judgmental response. You won't produce a reaction.

Kiriona does not seem especially dismayed about this. If anything, she nods, expectant, like she's heard that excuse a thousand times before.

The weak, old man volunteers, instead. The crowd accepts him as sacrifice. Kiriona unsheathes her blade, and like she's reciting her lines, says: ]

He wants to die. I'll do it. I've wanted this for years.

[ There is only one thing that can happen next. ]

[ This isn't something Harrow should see.

And yet, at the same time, it is--it's something Harrow has missed seeing, and she lets the scene wrap her up like a familiar warm blanket. It's home. But it's off, it's not right, she's not sure of the framing or who some of these people are and she knows it is a memory that isn't her own. The argument stings her ears, for all that she's trying to ignore it, hoping that Prince Kiriona either doesn't notice her or suddenly doesn't hate her anymore, somehow.

Because all she wants in the world, really, is for Gideon Nav to love her again. It makes sense that she doesn't, because Harrow does not deserve that love, but it sure would be nice. It would be nice enough it would be worth watching the unfolding of a true horror to her; despite it all, she watches until she can't anymore. She watches until she presses her eyes closed and swallows her single cry. And she gives herself away, because she is unable to stop herself from whispering: ]

Eternal rest grant unto him, and let perpetual light shine upon him. Make clear and easy his path across the River.

[ She looks in shock, more than anything, but she doesn't look away from the corpse prince that was once her Gideon. ]

[ It's more the blur of the figure that puzzles Robby than seeking any recognition. None of this is recognisable, none of this is his, and the voice of the figure beside him helps to establish Kiriona's presence. Every memory is like stepping into the middle of a story he doesn't belong to, and this is no different.

Actually, the volunteering to murder and to be killed is pretty fucking new, and Robby would like to voice his opinion here, loud and clear and with eyes on Kiriona: ]

What the fuck?

[ Hello, excuse him? ]

[ Robby isn't supposed to be here. He's not supposed to see this. Kiriona likes Robby, which means they're supposed to stick to fighting, and shitty music, and not talking about their dads.

She can't kill Crux -- the old man -- while Robby watches. But if Kiriona chickens out now, she'll give Crux too much satisfaction, and that'll feel worse.

Time for a quick explanation, then. Kiriona does not sheathe her sword, but she does turn to Robby. ]

Look. It's fine. Someone has to die so we can open the Tomb, and that guy has fucked with me, oh, most of my life, and part of my death, too. [ A touch of desperation begins to creep into her voice. ] It's a good thing, see? It's gonna feel good.

[ He shouldn't be here. He also wants to not start to recognise this, he doesn't want to hear her explanation. It would be hard enough to be standing here on an accepted murder, but shedding blood (with a group of witnesses, doing nothing, agreeing), the ritualistic nature (just like the church of ritetoir, people dying)-- ]

It's not real! [ He moves some steps towards her, hands coming out. Voice incredulous, expression more so. ] Fuck that guy, whatever he did, but what do you mean, it's going to feel good?

[ Kiriona backs away from Robby. She has to stay out of reach. If anyone touches her, she knows she'll crumple, like a rag doll or a little baby. All her resolve will evaporate like atmosphere without an airlock, and then what will she be left with? Nothing. ]

Because he'll get what he deserves. [ There's a part of Kiriona that's surprised Robby doesn't understand. ] He hurt me, when I was a kid. I couldn't hurt him back, but I can now.

It's gonna be worth it. It's all gonna be worth it.

[ She'll make him see. ]

[ He doesn't take another step, but Robby doesn't back away. He knows someone telling themselves something too intimately, waiting for it to be true; he's been there when he didn't need to convince himself, and then when he started losing his grip on his conviction.

His shit isn't Kiriona's shit, but shit is still shit. ]

And then what? He's dead already, isn't he? [ And yet look at her, listen to her now. Robby gestures off, to nowhere in the room, but: ] There's a lot of shit in Trench, and I know you're going through a lot of shit too, but whatever you do here isn't going to change anything. But we can go back and do something about our lives there.

[ He's looking at her, pleading with his eyes as much as when he says: ] Please, Kiriona.

[ Robby begs her to stop, and guilt takes root in the space where Kiriona's heart should be.

He's right, of course. This is just a memory. Even if she can force the old man to apologize here, it still doesn't mean he apologized in real life. It just means Kiriona is exceptionally good at making up a particular kind of story.

Still, that shouldn't stop her. Instead, what stops Kiriona is this: she likes Robby, and she hopes that Robby doesn't mind being around her. (Friends is too much to ask; friendship is for other people.) She's pretty sure he knows what it's like to be angry -- really, truly angry -- about something that is just barely in reach and yet you can never have.

She could kill Crux, here and now. But she'd lose that. It wouldn't be worth it. Kiriona died for nothing. She won't kill for nothing, too.

Kiriona lowers her sword. She takes a deep breath. ]

Okay. Okay.

[ Still, because she's a petty bitch, she gives Crux a solid kick in the stomach. As he doubles over, wheezing, she turns to Robby. ]

Let's get the fuck out of here.

[ He really didn't know what was going to come next. An argument, more reasons--and maybe there's enough where the guy deserves to die a slow and painful death, but Robby doesn't know how to handle even the threat of that possibility posed here. Maybe he's weak. Maybe he can never really get it.

But when Kiriona lowers her played, the breath held visibly leaves Robby, the relief evident. He doesn't care about the kick -- fuck, give him a few more, fuck that guy -- but he does come over to her now. ]

If you know the way out-- never been stuck in someone's memory before. [ There's something or another about a stag, but memories never ended this quickly, and he doesn't like this one. There's still an apprehension about what this memory is about, but Robby can add all the same, with a pause: ] Thank you.

[ For listening. ]

[ It's fortunate, given the chill, that Kainé has taken to less revealing dress in the current season. But even so, the cold is terrible, the kind that cuts right into her and leaves dull aches through her body.

Her eyes flick briefly to the dying body, but she knows that's not what's important here. This is a story about Gideon, about Kiriona. A name that seems to fit so uneasily. She wants to die. But because she's already punched that ticket, somebody else will have to do. ]

Sounds like you've got history.

[ Kiriona laughs, except the sound that comes out of her mouth isn't a laugh. It's more like a bark, laced with steel, and has nothing to do with happiness whatsoever.

At least Kainé isn't trying to stop her. ]

You could say that. He's been trying to kill me for years. Glad I can finally return the favor.

You're not gonna make this weird, are you?

[ Having people in her memory is still... an adjustment. ]

Edited 2023-01-07 05:17 (UTC)

[ She shrugs, grinning ruefully. Revenge isn't good for people. But she won't stop anybody from taking it, if it's deserved. Story of her life, and she doesn't care to get on a high horse about it.

And this bastard looks like he deserves it. ]

It's already pretty fucking weird, man.

[ Self evident. ]

But nah, I won't get in your way. When I was a little kid, the people in my village threw rocks at me and beat me up for being a freak. I wanted to kill them so many fucking times. So, make it hurt, alright?

Edited 2023-01-08 06:51 (UTC)

[ Oh, good. That's exactly what Kiriona wanted to hear. Yeah, sure, the situation's fucked up, but at least Kainé gets it. Better yet, Kainé has given her an idea.

Kiriona grins back, bends down, and picks up a rock. ]

Wanna join in? [ She holds it out to Kainé. ] I can't conjure the people from your village, but trust me, this guy is plenty rancid. Consider him a substitute.

[ She considers it for a long, long moment. She thinks of all the times the bigger kids beat her and tore off her clothes and gawked at her freak body. She thinks of the things her parents called her. She thinks of how her town damn near invented a religion of hating her guts.

She thinks about it vanishing into dust in a flash of light, friendly fire in a battle to protect it. She felt... hollow. There was no relief to it. No tears. ]

...I'm good.

[ This isn't hers to share in. ]

Been a while since I've seen you.

Fair enough.

[ Kiriona shrugs. Suit yourself, Kainé. More revenge for Kiriona!

Kiriona approaches the old man. He's pathetically feeble like this, still ranting about shame and disappointment and abomination. He spits on her shoe, she kicks him in the teeth.

As to why Kainé hasn't seen her around: ]

Yeah, well. You wouldn't want to. I've been a dick to Anna, lately.

[ Of course they dread your company, you reeking, insufferable louse, the old man gums out. ]

[ She has no qualms. Fuck that guy. Maybe her thoughts on revenge have changed a little over the last few years, but sometimes you gotta kick a bastard while he's down. ]

This about your new name and cozying up to the creepy wizard asshole dad?

[ She shrugs, but her jaw is tight. It's not Anna that she's mad about. ]

...You're putting yourself in some shit, but it ain't my place to tell you not to.

Edited 2023-01-25 22:38 (UTC)

[ While creepy wizard asshole dad is technically true, Kiriona resents John being described like that, thank you very much. He's her dad. She gave up everything for him.

(Only him?)

Crux is fading fast. He's not going to tell Kiriona what she wants to hear this time, but that's why she'll try again. Wordlessly, she drives her sword into his chest, and once he stops twitching, she pulls it out, wiping the blood on her crisp whites. ]

Well, you seem pissed about something, and I doubt it's the murdering. Spit it out.

[ Her jaw clenches again, along with her fist. How funny. She always thought that she came across as just low-key pissed at all times. Yeah. She is pissed. ]

He doesn't deserve you. He let you goddamn drown.

Yeah. He did.

[ The weirdest thing about being Kiriona isn't the whole un-alive body thing. It's that she remembers the boat trip, and hating her father afterwards. But she also remembers waking up a month later, back in her old universe, and he was nearly everything she had.

It's hard to know what to make of it, sometimes. ]

I can't just...give him up, though. It's like giving up on killing this asshole. [ She nods at Crux's disgusting corpse. ] If I do, it'll all be for nothing. And, like, fuck that.

[ She closes her eyes, draws in a long breath through her nose. She really isn't one to talk about not letting go of the past.

But she knows it can be better than that. They both do, don't they? She doesn't know what Kiriona has gone through. But this just blows. ]

...You can. Nothing's stopping you.

[ It still doesn't feel good. Razor-thin crystals have begun to sprout from Kiriona's joints, and it is the first time in six months that her body has changed. She welcomes it. They make it harder for her to move, but easier for her to feel, and this time, it will feel good. This time, she will get it right.

When the Crown Prince turns to you, there are no bags under her eyes or creases in her face to make her look tired. Her body will always and forever be a perfect mask of death. But there is exhaustion in the set of her shoulders, in her slight forward hunch. She is no longer the perfect picture of royalty. She's more dangerous.

The old man barely finishes volunteering before Kiriona lunges forward, grabbing him by the neck. ]

Listen to me. This is the part where you fucking listen to me.

Though Pyrrha scans the scene for all details she can take in, blurry or not, her focus stays razor sharp on Kiriona. The terrible posture. The stiffness that goes beyond a corpse. The crystals. The pain in her voice.

Pyrrha pulls out a gun, normal bullets, and presses it against the old man's side. "You really should listen," she says, "This"—she means if she pulls the trigger—"won't kill you, but it'll hurt like a son of a bitch."

To Kiriona, "We're listening."

Here comes Pyrrha, trying to be Kiriona's mother, once again. But Pyrrha doesn't understand. Kiriona doesn't want a mother; she wants Crux to die.

Pyrrha should be a part of this memory. She should be among the crowd of judgmental faces. She should want to chew Kiriona up and use her, just like everyone else. At least Tridentarius is honest about it.

But, well, if Pyrrha is listening, then maybe Crux is too. Although his sneer doesn't look promising. Hollow and heartless, Kiriona explains.

"This is Crux. He hurt me -- kicked me, froze me, starved me, you name it -- because he could. Because I was alive." Crux is so weak like this. He still sneers back at her; Kiriona kicks him in the chest.

"And now he's going to apologize," she snarls.

Edited 2022-12-21 20:58 (UTC)

His title hardly matters to Pyrrha in that moment, though she recognizes the raiment amid the horror of the situation. To have authority and to abuse it, to terrorize a child—for what? What good comes of that? Nothing. None. There's a lot Pyrrha could offer, horrors of her own, but they don't help. They won't help Kiriona, and they won't open the tomb. Besides—

Kiriona wants to do this herself.

Pyrrha let wrongs like this take root by fighting the bigger fight.

Can't fight them all. The price of their long lives was high and not only in the blood of cavaliers. It keeps them from their homes. It keeps them from nipping more problems like these in the bud, from checking on the institutions to correct for negative drift. It's been ten thousand years. It was going to happen. She knows that. She's always known that. This confrontation's only a microcosm of the whole.

No apology immediately leaps to his lips. They hate each other, clearly. "You'll die for your mistress," Pyrrha says coldly, "Is that where you draw the line? Will you let her die rather than eat crow?" It's a memory. Pyrrha can let Harrow die.

[Ianthe stands back, watching this unfold. She knows it's Kiriona's memory, of course, but her concern for the moment isn't Kiriona so much as what happened after she fell. She watches the others, the Resurrection Beast inhabiting Harry, Pyrrha, the old man.

But of course, she came in the middle. And Kiriona's seen all this. The tomb required a death, and the old man volunteers. It's not as if she and Kiriona had spent seven months swapping stories of abuses, but she can still recognize it for what it is, that cannibalistic hunger for revenge.

It won't help. Nothing ever satisfies the hunger. Becoming a saint - a lyctor - hadn't helped Ianthe. The best damn necromancer since the original ascension. It still wasn't enough.

But - even though this memory tells of a betrayal, of Kiriona choosing John over her, the empire (okay, Kiriona never really gave a shit about the Empire), over... well, really anything - she looks at the hand grasping the old man's frail neck and it's got the stupid fucking friendship bracelet that they made as a joke. Maybe they can have some fun with pretending. The ferocity in her rage is... frankly, kind of hard to watch, but also very sexy and very relatable, so she steps forward.]

Careful, your highness. [She places a cold hand on Kiriona's even colder shoulder.] You don't want to kill him too quickly, do you?

Want me to sew his mouth closed?

[ Each Winter Mourning drops her off in a different place in Trench. Sometimes, Kiriona wakes up back in her room. Other times, however, it's more unpredictable.

Each time, however, she's a failure.

This time, Kiriona has found herself in your home, or backyard, or workplace. It takes her a moment to realize she's there, all curled up and feeling sorry for herself. But she has to try again, and that means picking herself up once she's fallen.

(Once upon a time, there was a little girl who tried to escape a planet eighty-seven times. What's one more memory?)

Slowly, Kiriona hauls herself up to a sitting position, wincing as he does. The crystals are at their worst when she moves. ]

Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it. I'll be out of your hair soon enough.

Oh, I believe I'll worry about it.

[hey, here's viktor standing in the doorway. it's in his home, which is a normal enough little house off the willful machine. it's almost entirely unused except the basement and kitchen, because of course it is.

meaning the living room is a bit sparse. maybe she found her way onto a couch, maybe she's unlucky enough to be on the dusty floor.

viktor approaches with the clunk of his cane though. he looks so much healthier, his breathing clear, though one of his hands is distinctly purple now. usually covers that but this caught him off guard, surprisingly enough.

he has a cup of actual coffee (with way, way too much sugar) that he holds out as an offering. she uh, looks like she needs it more.]

[ Kiriona has gotten herself propped up against the couch, but still very much on the floor. Not the most dignified position for her to find the friend she's been blowing off for months. Especially when, by the looks of it, she's in his house. Yikes. Embarrassing.

While Viktor looks healthier, Kiriona looks like she's got one foot in the grave, literally. Death has given her skin a greyish pallor, and her once-bright eyes are looking much murkier. If he's paying close attention, Viktor might notice that at times, Kiriona forgets to breathe.

She takes the coffee anyway, even though she can't actually drink it. The warmth is soothing, at least. ]

Thanks. I just, you know, went too hard too fast. Classic. You're, uh -- [ shit, this is awkward ] -- looking good.

[woof, viktor takes in that decided unhealthy pallor, resisting the urge to openly frown over it. not helpful, probably. he hasn't exactly been great at keeping up with people either, though he knows enough from ortus to know things are... hm. complicated.

this is not the kind of complicated he was expecting, to be fair.

he takes a seat on the couch, letting his cane rest against it.] That does sound like you. Though right now you've never looked more like you need to stop and rest.

I am no longer dying. Built new lungs- Palamedes helped, of course. [the cliff notes there.] Frankly? It looks as though we've somehow swapped general conditions.

[nice way of saying you look half dead, bud]

[ Kiriona laughs. It's a thin, cruel sound, and goes on a touch longer than it should. ]

Congratulations on the new lungs. Sounds romantic.

[ But what would she know? Kiriona isn't one for romance. ]

And yeah, you could say that. Although I'm pretty sure you never went all the way. I'm dead-dead. Mega dead. It's great. [ it isn't. ] I don't get tired anymore, I don't need to eat, or sleep, or any of that shit. I'm God's perfect cavalier. [ She gestures at her knuckles, her knees. ] As soon as I get these stupid crystals out of me, I'll be good to try again.

[viktor resists a snort- all the way, no, not exactly. he focuses more on just... all of that though. lips thinning, growing increasingly aware things have gone even more poorly than he thought.]

I can help with those, if you'd like. I've taken them out before. [at least one thing he can do. otherwise-] Is this the result of a trip home? This... change.

[ Inside Kiriona there are two wolves. The first, largely governed by her pride, wants to refuse the help. The other, more hindbrain one, is in sharp physical pain and wants it to stop.

In the end, the second wins. Besides, without all this stupid crystal, Kiriona can get back to killing Crux. She nods once, and painstakingly hauls herself onto the couch proper. (She does not think about another time, in the Sixth quarters, where she asked for help. That happened to someone else.) ]

Yeah. I'm dead back home, but my dad revived me by sticking my soul back in my dead body. It's like, you know, a birthday present.

I thought he'd do a better job of it. [just. not bothering to hide his distaste for you know who, though he sighs and moves to go get what he needs.

medical kit, bowl of water, gloves, towels. each brought and laid out before he takes a seat on the coffee table. he didn't like this couch much anyway, he decides.]

What is your bloodtype? [he asks as he slips on the gloves.]

[ Before she can think better of it, Kiriona breathes: ]

Me too.

[ But fuck, shit, no. She's not supposed to talk like that. She's not supposed to go there. ]

Not that -- I mean, I'm grateful. And my body's super cool. I'm, like, the best cavalier the Nine Houses has ever seen.

[ It's fine. She's fine. Viktor will get the glass out, and then she'll be outta here. ]

[ah, a long moment to just lay everything out. then a sigh.]

You're aware I don't care for him, so my bias is obvious. That aside it is your life and your body, you are permitted your disappointments and frustrations.

It gets very old very quickly to pretend otherwise, believe me.

[ Sorry about the potential blood on your couch, Viktor.... having friends from the necromancer hell universe probably is rough.

Her mouth twists into something like a smile. ]

Oh, I know. I buried my disappointments for eighteen years.

But then I got everything I wanted, and all it cost was [ she gestures at her chest ] this, so at this point I'm just trying to figure out why I still feel like shit. I guess.

Don't worry about it, though. Or me. I've got a plan.

[he's getting used to blood, bones and things being far more haunted than he's used to. the perils of necromancer connections.

regardless he gets to work, carefully, with whatever he can do to ease the process. he's not exactly a doctor by any means but he has enough knowledge from the whole biomedical engineer bit it's nothing he's overly concerned about.

and has time to think over what she says, for that matter.] I would say it's likely because what you wanted didn't turn out as expected.

[another matter he has some experience in, purple hand and all.] What plan is that?

[ If Viktor has ever worked with a cadaver, Kiriona's body is much like that: cold, slack, lifeless. The primary difference is that she takes more power to cut through, as if her very body has been somehow reinforced. It provides an incredible tactical advantage. It's also gross as hell.

Kiriona smiles faintly, and she doesn't look at Viktor so much as she looks through him. ]

Revenge. I'm gonna hurt the people who hurt me. It's just -- I have to keep working on it. That's all.

Thing is, it happened exactly as I expected. I've got a big important dad, all the prizes I could ever want, and I don't even have to talk to Harrow anymore. Maybe it's like -- I dunno, you're a science guy. When you're so good at experiments that you run out of experiments?

[ totally. ]

[ah, nice to work on a moving corpse. that's a lie, nice is not the word, mildly horrifying is. still it does make things a little easier as he works, he'll admit, though he doesn't particularly think that's a worthwhile pay off.

occasionally he glances up.]

And what happens when your revenge is met? You have everything you say you want, what then?

[ A little easier to work on is the nicest thought anyone has had about Kiriona's new body so far. She'll take it.

What then, though? Kiriona squirms, for the first time since sitting down, at the question. ]

I don't know. [ It's the first honest thing she's said all day. ] I don't think I know how to do anything other than this.

I dunno. What would you do? I mean, you have a whole house, Palamedes, new lungs. Does it ever get... [ Kiriona pauses, searches for a word ] ...boring?

[ There is no point in sitting through the conversation. There is no point in listening to any of them. The Crown Prince Kiriona Gaia does not look at you.

With a spray of hot, red blood, she stabs the old man through the heart, before he even volunteers. ]

[This memory should not be intelligible to Ortus.

It is muddled, indistinct. It is a jumble of fleeting, gore-streaked shadows, impossibilities and strangers in familiar bodies, and he should be left stunned and fumbling in its catastrophic end as the grim Corpse Prince flies straight and true through it all as a bullet might, murder encoded as inevitable physics.

But Ortus has been home often, these past cold days, and home has been in him, as serrated as the crystals shattering inside Kiriona's joints as she moves. He knows the undying, abnegating logics of this world like he knows the weight of bone.

Kiriona lunges for her old tormentor, who is no less vile in aspect for his feebleness at the cusp of death, her eyes dead as they must have been at her first sacrifice, and some shackle Ortus did not know himself clasped in gives way.

He cannot hope to match her strength or speed. He does not try. When he steps between her and the fallen Marshal, he takes her by the wrist, and he adds his force to her own as he alters the trajectory of her blade so it clatters hideously against the stone, and he spins with her as though she were fibre he would work into a thread, until she is jarred into his yielding bulk so he might drape his arm around her shoulders and gather her to him in all her coldness.

Clarity comes after instinct. He knows, now, why he has come home. He knows what purpose he has been made fit to serve.

Ortus unclasps Kiriona's wrist. He cups the back of her head and presses his painted face against her temple, his other arm supporting her against his chest and steady heart.]

Gideon. [He tells her, as soft as fresh turned soil.] I am here. I have you.

[ Even though she can't see him, Kiriona knows what Crux's face looks like. It is all twisted up in self-righteous rage. If Crux could feel satisfaction, he'd feel the satisfaction of the last laugh. He could still be alive. Kiriona can still hear the sound of a feeble old man gasping for air. She spared the lungs and went for the heart, instead.

But Ortus won't let her. He has taken away her sword and her last chance at feeling good, at making this go right. He took it from her so easily, like he doesn't understand that this is all Kiriona Gaia has. This is what she is the heir to.

She will realize, later, that she is screaming. ]

No! No!! Let me go, asshole!

[ She takes a fist and pounds once, twice, and there is not nearly as much strength in it as there should be. Her dead body remembers what it is like to be exhausted.

Quieter, hoarser: ]

He's going to say he's sorry. He's going to. He will. He'll look at me, and know he fucked up, and I -- I -- I'll feel good again.

[Ortus forms a wordless murmur against her corpse-frigid skull. She is too large to rock in his arms, but there is something of the motion echoed in the manner in which he braces against her struggling. He shrugs off her blows. He barely feels them at all.]

He will not.

[Ortus is the last bard of the Ninth. He knows how to wield his voice as a hammer or a knife, how to flood it with depths of contempt that other Houses should shudder to contemplate.

He makes it a woollen blanket, warm and heavy. He settles it around her shoulders and tucks in the corners.]

You know he will not. It is not in his nature. He could not be the man he is, to have done all that he did, if he were capable of knowing his error.

[He knows from long experience how dry the wells of a cruel man's heart run.]

All he can give you is what he knows how to give, and relief is not one of them.

[He pets her hair like she is a child again, the child she never was given the chance to be.]

Your happiness was never his to give. It was a thing he could only seek to take.

[ Kiriona's body remembers what her mind will not let her. And right now, it remembers what it was like to be held. It's an old memory, buried with two hundred brothers and sisters, but Ortus has made it fresh again.

The blows cease. The struggling does not, not all the way. Instead, it diminishes, and what was once a thrash of anger is now the shaking of someone crying, even though Kiriona cannot produce the tears to accompany it. ]

He has to. He has to.

[ Kiriona says it like a litany, over and over, in the way that a child of the Ninth knows how to pray. ]

If he doesn't -- [ a thought too terrible to consider, but Ortus is forcing her to, and so her tongue trips over her words ] -- if he doesn't, then I'll never feel good again. I'll always be like this.

[ The worst part about Kiriona's God-given body is that it doesn't grow anymore. The worst part about being dead is being trapped.

Eighty-seven escape attempts, and she's still back here. ]

[ Ortus has only been dead the once. His corpse dissolved into lightness, into the vapour between celestial bodies. His bones will never rest in the Anastasian. He will never know what it is to be a revenant, shackled to the unchanging prison of cold flesh and frozen bone.

But he once cried like this, shuddering and tearless. He finds the rhythm of it again in the juddering of her body like she means to come apart as thoroughly as the obscure girl faded away behind her meant to. ]

I do not believe that.

[ The motion of his fingers over her hair settles into a slow, careful cadence. ]

I am a poet. It falls to me to know of endings, and where they come, and I cannot countenance that this is yours, to be held captive eternal by a man who made of himself only prison bars. If he holds the key to your release, and he will not give it up - then a lock must be picked, or a tunnel must be dug, or the very walls must crumble at the injustice of it.

And if I am wrong.

[ He stills his hand on the back of her head. His eyes are closed against the dark and the stone. He hears, somewhere, the whisper of saltwater. ]

I will stay with you, however you are like.

[ The thing that is in Harrow's body will reach the Tomb. Kiriona isn't concerned about that. Harrow's body will survive, and so will Harrow, and then she will leave with her ice lolly bimbo, and Kiriona will be left alone again.

She doesn't want to think about it. She no longer wants to remember. As if responding to her will, the memory shrinks, until it is just the rocks, and the low lantern light, and Ortus, and Kiriona.

Kiriona is not alone right now. She is being held. Once upon a time, there were two hundred other children, and they held her too. They died for Harrowhark, and Kiriona couldn't even follow them. She only - ]

I died for nothing.

[ There it is. The secret that is buried under the rock that must not be rolled away. A confession, building over seven months of living death and nine months of being a ghost in a skull. Crux cannot give her what she wants, and Harrow won't. All that leaves is this.

This. She has Ortus, and he promises to stay. ]

Don't leave. [ She is four years old again, and learning that all the adults hate her, and begging for them to love her anyway. Stay. ] Please.

[Chara has been watching for a while. They see the violence behind Kiriona's eyes, amidst all the emptiness. It's a familiar sight. LOVE. So terribly LOVED. The old man dies again and again and never once does it feel good. Not to watch, for them, or to act out, for her.

It's nothing. A biological process like watching an animal clean itself with it's tongue. There's no feeling to be gained from the way the blood smears on the wall, on the sword. It's not Gideon's sword - is that the problem? That it's not Gideon acting on her revenge, but the creature that was created from her ashes?

Was that the problem for them too? Was that why there's nothing in their heart but a gaping void, threatening to swallow up the entire world until it finally followed through?

They think about how badly they wanted to kill those people in their village, how badly they wanted revenge only for it to be ripped away from them by someone they thought they could trust. Would it have satisfied them then? Would freeing the Underground on the blood of those that slighted them help?

Slighted. Abused. It's the same, the only difference is whether you're an entity of death and destruction or a scared little kid.

He dies. This is the eigth time that they've been present. They speak up.]

You're going to kill yourself if you keep going.

[No judgement or even worry. They'd be a pretty massive hypocrite.]

nothing is working with me

winter mournings

early stages; cw: abuse, suicidality

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cw: child abuse

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cw: bullying, arguable sexual violence

cw: violence

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cw: murder, death, blood

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middle stages; cw: abuse, self-harm

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cw: violence, abuse

cw: violence, abuse

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interlude; cw: self-harm

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finale; cw: gore

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cw: violence, abuse

cw: violence, abuse

cw: implied child death

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cw: child death, child abuse

cw for depression and talks of abuse