#➵ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃. ┊❝ in you an echo. ❞

[asphuxia]

When rumours so fearful and frightened spread, from mouth to ear and heart, of a land overcome with its past, in blood and history alike— who was Eir to not heed its call? Though simpler for Hel’s heir to merely listen to the voices of dead; the living are lucid and verbose enough for both realms, above and below. Grim word wards off any passersby from the small village located not far from the foot of the Oghma mountains, gated by the surrounding forest, and protected by little more than spoken tongue alone. That it would represent such a threat to its neighbours gives merit to the myth, and as the dead’s sovereign, it is among her duties to shepherd them.

Strange though it may be to imagine those of her realm holding such influence upon the realms of the living, it is no longer entirely outlandish of a concept— her time in Askr, but more particularly Fódlan, had taught her well on that account. The Knights of Seiros had been beseeched to investigate the matter, and so Eir deigns to ride ahead of them. Aceso makes quick work of the journey, delivering her upon an inconspicuous entrance, obscured by greenery. It is within her best interests to go unnoticed, after all; her status as an Ashen Wolf lending to that endeavour. That the church’s authority might find her upon this site, and rouse such suspicion… it remains not an ordeal she wishes to encounter.

Sharp heels dig into grooves within the cobblestone, pillowed by the long grass that overran it. The princess enters with caution, and pays all her respects; one must bow their head in such places, for not even a king was free of soul. It is when her observations begin that Eir notices the area is without a grave emission of malice. Strange, should they choose to linger here so vehemently without. Most spectres that did were oft fuelled by anger, edged on by vengeance; when the soul left, so too did much of its spirit— and yet… the walls shift, sealing off her path through which she had come. Entombed, the gesture alone seemed to say. Without escape.

— but Eir would not be cowed by the acts of her own, not when such behaviour was so familiar amongst them. Instead, she presses on; sapphire gaze tracing every minute detail, committing each to memory, lest facetious ghosts play their hand. Identifying the source of such an amalgamation of souls was imperative, and the princess far from intended to delay. Yet her alarm and caution are brought to rise as the thunder of hooves sound from the distance, and the sophisticated march of the church guard tells on their presence. As Eir moves, so too does the labyrinth follow her— a strange game of beck and call. It is only when death’s daughter assumes that she is obscured from wary eyes does she start at another’s voice.

… and how familiar that voice is, and unlucky she must be. With a great shudder, the structure that shields Eir from the sun comes to a stuttering halt— and she is all too aware of a presence directly above. Lips purse in mild discontent, hindered of her duty; but it would be much more trouble to avoid the archbishop in her entirety. So, Eir acquiesces, squinting as she steps into the light. Silver crown bows her head, avoiding Rhea’s gaze. “My apologies, Lady Rhea,” she begins, a timid tone— one almost reminiscent of the voice she had spoken to her mother with. “I had not meant to startle you in such a place…”

in you an echo

There’s been word of crumbling ruins, remnants of an old town and its gravesite becoming overgrown with strange greenery. Beautiful though its blooms may be, superstition and old maid’s tales have painted it as a beautifully haunting omen for a disaster to come. [..] To make matters worse, the vines that now prevent you from leaving don’t seem to be content to stop there. All around you, the labyrinth shifts and changes; the walls move, the plants snake and snap. You and your companion must hack and cut your way through and find a way out, lest you intend to bury yourselves in a grave that never needs to beg for flowers. [Grants Sword +1]

Rhea has created and had to improvise a number of different ways to evade her guards over the years, but she must admit this most recent one may in fact be her least favorite.

The majority of the knights had stayed in the town a half an hour rides back in order to continue to comfort the residents there, but the few that had been separated from her just now as that insidious ivy overgrew the entrance – well, she worries.

More than worry, however, Rhea is now intrigued. The magic here is frustrating, yes, but so too is it fascinating. It does not feel like theirs though as Rhea ascends half a broken staircase only to find it has started moving she does wonder.

Movement, clearly practiced, catches Rhea’s eye just as the staircase comes to a standstill; someone else is here, just below her. Had they meant to stay out of sight or was it just result of this place’s twisting shape? Rhea does not know but her grip on the Seiros sword tightens.

“Who goes there?” She calls. “If you do not fear the Goddess then come stand beside me and let us converse. It seems we may be in this place for a while, after all.”

@asphuxia

[leftalpacavoid]

❀ The Lawn Is Dead.

— He couldn't protect you, Now all he had was the record of your voice.

#TAGS: Angst, Acronix is potentially OOC, What happened to us? We die like men 🗣️, No comfort for him this time, (4.5k words I think)

A/N: I don't know if there is something is wrong with me 😔

⪼ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ࿐ཽ༵☆

They say grief is part of the human nature, That's why, We should always cherish our love ones before they go.

Acronix sat on the edge of the bed, gripping a small doll version of you in his hand. The doll was soft, stitched together with care, and it eerily resembled you—down to the details you’d once laughed about when you first saw it. But now, the doll was all he had left. His fingers trembled as he brushed them over its fabric, the weight of the loss settling heavily in his chest.

His thumb hovered over the little button embedded in the doll’s chest. He knew what would happen when he pressed it, yet he couldn’t help himself. With a sharp intake of breath, he pressed down, and your voice echoed softly through the tiny speaker, “I love you.”

The sound of your voice hit him like hard, sending a rush of emotion through him. He closed his eyes, as if hearing you again could bring you back, as if those three simple words could fill the void you had left. The moment felt too short, too fleeting. His chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, he pressed the button again.

“I love you,” your voice repeated, gentle and sweet, like you were right there beside him.

Acronix’s hand shook as he pressed the button again, and again, and again.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

It's not enough. Each time, the same words, the same tone, the same warmth. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how many times he heard it, it couldn’t bring you back. The doll couldn’t laugh with him, couldn’t tease him, couldn’t look at him with those eyes that used to make everything feel right in the world. It was just a recording, just a memory that he could never touch again.

His breathing grew shallow as he pressed the button harder, faster, desperate to hear your voice one more time, over and over. “I love you.” The words, which once brought him joy, now tore him apart, reminding him of the reality he couldn’t escape. You were gone. No matter how many times he pressed that button, no matter how many times he heard those words, you weren’t coming back.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you-”

The doll’s soft fabric began to crumple under the force of his grip, but he didn’t care. He was lost in it now, lost in the sound of your voice, trying to hold onto something that was already slipping away. His mind raced, memories of you flashing before his eyes—your smile, your laughter, the way you’d look at him with that knowing gaze. Every memory felt like it was slipping through his fingers, just like you had.

His breath hitched, and he pressed the button again, his thumb almost numb from the pressure. “I love you." He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back the flood of emotion that was building inside him, but it was no use. The dam broke. His face contorted, his chest heaving with sobs he had been holding back for too long. The weight of it all, the loneliness, the regret, the pain of your absence—it all came crashing down on him at once.

The doll slipped from his hands as he collapsed to the floor, his shoulders shaking violently. His sobs filled the room, raw and broken, a sound that hadn’t escaped him in years. He had lost battles, lost wars, but nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing had ever hurt this deeply, He lost you. He curled into himself, burying his face in his arms, his body trembling with each breath.

You were gone. He couldn’t protect you, couldn’t save you. And now, all he had was this haunting reminder of what he’d lost. His hands clenched into fists, pounding against the floor as if that could somehow change things, as if his pain could bring you back. But nothing would.

The doll lay next to him, its small, empty eyes staring up at him as if mocking his grief. His hand reached out to it again, almost instinctively, but he hesitated. He couldn’t press that button again. He couldn’t hear those words anymore. Not when you weren’t there to say them for real.

I'm sorry.

His chest ached as he stared at the doll, his vision blurred by tears. The reality of it all settled over him like a crushing weight. You were gone. And all he had left was this sound of your voice, a painful memory that would never be enough.

And in that moment, Acronix broke. He clutched the doll to his chest, his sobs muffled as he whispered your name, over and over, like a prayer. But no one was listening. No one would ever answer.

"𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶."

©leftalpacavoid 2024