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quidfree · 3 years ago

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What would be your character study on each of the people in the secret history? Like things which are essential to their character, I feel like Francis, bunny and Richard are pretty straightforward, Henry to a certain extent, but the twins are totally lost to me. What goes on with those weirdos

this ask has been sitting in my inbox for a while because i was in two minds about how to answer it. basically what i think is more important than having these set out is to understand that the way the characters are hard to pin down is both intentional and kind of instrumental to TSH- we are stuck within richard's perspective, and richard is both biased and limited in his understanding of the rest of the cast. we know the bare minimum about what camilla is like because so does richard; we have the best grasp on francis despite how contradictory he seems because richard knows him the best but isn't very consistent in how he feels about that, so he gets framed differently across the story. so to an extent i don't think trying to define the characters beyond canon is a good idea WRT to writing them, or at least not writing like i did, because everything is filtered through richard and his understanding of his friends is incomplete. hence certain people complaining that the rest of the cast don't seem like fully-fledged people- they are, but we only get the way richard sees them, and that may or may not be at odds with their direct actions or dialogue. c'est la vie.

anyways that being said i will give you really brief off-the-cuff overviews of how i think of the characters within this context, but the important stuff is all above. if anyone wants actual advice on how to Write tsh stuff that’d be another ask’s content i think.

richard: Le Narrateur, which makes him actually quite hard to write because you need to get his voice down but also balance making the reader aware of his bias without making him self-aware about it. he lusts after the ideals of things, especially the Aesthetic of them, which can definitely blind him and make him disillusioned/frustrated when things don't work out that way- this is definitely reflected in his interactions with people too, which i harp on about at length in the fic so i won't get into here. he actively cares about the others a lot more than they do, though this does not mean he's always nice about it. judgmental and repressed but more self-aware than he gets credit for in fanon. also, sad and lonely. he does this thing a LOT in text where he very off-handedly describes something wild or horrifying that happened and then keeps talking as if it's not important. also likes to downplay things he does that don't fit his vibe- like the amount of time he spends hanging with judy off-screen in the book, or even the coy fade to black re: francis.

henry: very hard to get a feel of as a whole person, which is completely richard's POV's fault. serious, gloomy, disdainful, arrogant, also witty, patient, vivacious (and a lot more willing to banter w the gang than fanon gives him credit for). i think of him as balancing 2 contradictory sets of traits. in a way it's kind of because what he aspires to be is this Greek Hero, proud and instinctive, but what he really is is a hyper-specific scholar with niche interests who's never experienced real hardship and whose biggest struggle is pretty much boredom with modern society. he's at his most enjoyable when he's being very human, but richard is most in awe of him when he's not. he's both The Leader/chessmaster and not really- his biggest weakness is not seeing other people as people, both in the sense that Murder Bad but also in that it leads to all of the catastrophes in Act 2.

bunny: there's nothing deep to bunny. he's just a caricature of a guy. yk the guy who engages in bad faith bait arguments about how straight white men in america are an oppressed minority while coasting on nepotism and his rich friends' pocket money. also can't fathom that anyone wouldn't enjoy his scintillating banter- 'people these days can't take a joke', etc.

francis: a hot mess but the most complete of richard's friends. i think the mistake w francis is hyperfocusing on 1 or 2 of his traits while ignoring the rest. yes he's dramatic n has anxiety but he's also actually one of the saner members of the cast, more perceptive (and self-aware) than richard + in-the-know as to the goings on w the group, and very good at keeping himself in check unless he's w someone he trusts. francis is a contradictory person- he has a lot of facades he upholds, and even w richard when he’s at his messiest he keeps parts of himself under wraps. what people get wrong a lot is that he is very emotional but he’s also very private. like he gets worked up very easily (esp when he’s annoyed, and he complains incessantly) but do we ever see him really break down or get sentimental? no. he has a panic attack once and freaks out after julian and the letter, but that’s literally just having anxiety bc u murdered two people, not him having an emotional moment where he spills all of his feelings. francis literally tells richard very calmly 1 on 1 that he has unrequited feelings for charles and clearly would not tell charles this- i don’t know why people think he’s the sappy/wistful sentimental type, esp given his family context. anyways he gets OOCed a lot bc he's the one canon gay character and has anxiety so a lot of people project onto him but those people r not as interesting as he is so it doesn’t work.

charles: like you say the twins are two characters richard gives ironically little focus to beyond their appearance, so they have the least to build on, and charles is hard bc he has 2 very distinct personas- the one richard sees early on and how he gets later on. i think it’s fairly clear tho that elements of his darker persona were always there, just hidden from richard- the drinking and the way he handles camilla and francis r canonically present throughout, just exacerbated by the stress. i think he’s probably the most ‘emotional’ character, not in the sense that he’s melodramatic (that’s francis’ schtick) but that his personality is quite driven by emotion- he’s nice and chill at the start bc he feels that way; he’s a drunken miser at the end bc that’s what he feels like. why he changes so violently is down to a number of things for me. at his core he’s not a very ‘strong’ person (contrast henry or even arguably richard or camilla), and he’s also the most personable of the study group- he’s always nice to richard, appears to be well-liked generally, and clearly had the emotional intelligence to keep the fbi off their backs where henry very much did not- so the murder and general fracturing of the group, esp w camilla’s shifting allegiance and his resentment of henry, may have weighed esp heavy on him bc of this. but yeah! mysterious. i like charles as a character and i both feel for him and also hate when he gets portrayed as a martyr- he was an asshole behind the scenes long before the audience was told about it.

camilla: ah, camilla. she of the 0 characterisation. seriously writing her from richard pov was both very easy in that i just did Male Gaze and very hard in that from my perspective trying to decide what she would do/say was very hard since there’s so little to work with. camilla is an extremely passive character in-text and has the least dialogue/interaction w anyone. defining her is generally counterproductive since the whole deal w her is richard’s pedestal- similar vibes w henry, until he realises henry’s plotting to off him- so vagueness is best when it comes to her. for my part i did try and craft some kind of skeleton at least for my own reference- building the passivity into her character as an active strategy, and giving her some cynical spark, grounded in the one time she tells bunny to fuck off + the fact she and francis r canonically close. but i think wrt to richard she chooses to lean into the mythos and keep the distance- whatever she has going on in the book she’d rather keep under wraps. also this is entirely out of canon but i love to pitch her and judy poovey as like people who can’t stand each other but r also very reluctantly attracted to each other. it just entertains me. + richard would be so gagged

that's just my quick 2 cents, of course, but donna tartt did directly confirm this to me so it's all correct.

#qui parle #qui repond #qui ecrit #residenthottiesamwilson #tsh #the secret history #richard papen #francis abernathy #henry winters #camilla macaulay #charles macaulay #bunny corcoran #writing #50

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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years ago

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𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

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The day after the dinner party in the late afternoon, Celaena was whiling her time away by flipping through the pages of the latest monthly issue of the fashion magazine La Belle Assemblée when she recieved a note of invitation from Lady Towper, one of her recent acquaintances, to a walk in Hyde Park later that afternoon with her and Mrs Burnwell, another society lady Celaena had befriended. The wording made it quite clear it was more a summons than an invitation and having spent the morning by herself, Celaena was eager enough for company that she happily put down her magazine and called for her pelisse and outerwear with alacrity. Twenty minutes later she was roaming around the park when Lady Towper spotted her, gliding across the path—there really was no other way to describe her graceful movement—with an elegant swish of her skirts and a look of exaggerated distress on her countenance, followed by Mrs Burnwell who looked rather piqued. "Dear Miss Sardothein," cried the former, looping an arm around hers. "How glad I was to hear you accepted my invitation. I wanted to take a walk around the park, refresh myself and Mrs Burnwell recalled you were rather fond of exercise and suggested we take you along with us."

Celaena rather thought that on a fine weather such as this, the ladies' primary motive for a walk was perhaps to see and be seen by the upper ten-thousands of the ton, most of which had returned from their summer estates for the social season which was to start soon but said instead, "I am grateful for the invitation. Your Ladyship has quite rescued me from certain death at the hands of boredom."

The ladies tittered politely, protesting that it was no great sacrifice on their part and the trio walked along the paths making light conversation until Mrs Burnwell jerked to a halt with a pinched expression. "Mrs Whitethorn."

Though Celaena had only met the lady once, she had been left unimpressed and could not fault Mrs Burnwell for looking piqued.

Mrs Whitethorn did not improve on a second meeting - not that Celaena had had any expectations that she would - and participated as much in the conversation with as much fervor as a lifeless statue, making occasional noises of agreement and dissent. Celaena who prided herself on being able to draw someone out of their reserve met with failure at every turn and it was not long before the ladies ran out of polite remarks to exchange and their party took their leave. Celaena spotted a group of children from her neighborhood racing each other in a less scenic path around the park and soon abandoned all sorts of decorum to join in on the shouting.

"FASTER, TOM! FASTER, YES, A LITTLE FASTER!" cheered Celaena, bouncing up and down in excitement.

Her cheeks were flushed with exertion and her petticoats muddier than usual. She let out a high-pitched noise when little Thomas reached the finishing line and beamed. "I did it, I did it, I said I would, did I not? Oh, Cece, did you see me? I won!"

"You did very well, dear," said she, kissing his cheek. The smug look he sent his siblings' way had her struggling not to laugh.

"Yes, you won this time—" said his eldest brother in an arrogant tone, "—but I shall be the winner next time. Shall we play something else now?"

"Hide and seek!"

"Hopscotch."

"No! We must play cops and robbers today. You promised!"

"I want to play tag."

"We don't," said the twins simultaneously.

"Then blind man's buff?"

"I suppose we could—"

"Oh, no, I will not play that ever again."

Celaena smiled, watching the children argue over what they wished to do and looked at two children - presumably brothers - finely dressed and staring at the brood of children she was so fond of wistfully. "Here, you two, why don't you play?" asked she.

The younger boy beamed at the prospect but the elder looked uncertain.

He glanced over his shoulder anxiously biting his lip. "Oh, no, mama will be furious if we get our clothes dirty." But he looked at the noisy little children with such longing and he looked so serious in general with those deep blue eyes filled with sorrow and the brows that remained creased as if by default—more serious than a nine-year-old should be; he held himself with a ridiculous amount of poise, posture stiff and yet looked unsure of every little movement or sound he made, Celaena had a whimsical desire to have him enjoy himself.

"I shall tell you a secret," she gave him a conspiratorial wink. "It is healthy to disobey your parents once in a while."

The poor boy looked scandalized at the thought of disobeying anyone. When had he last had some fun? she wondered.

He looked at the boys again, then at his boots, properly polished and finely made, then straightened as if he had come to a decision. "I-I thank you, miss, but my brother and I shall take your leave now." The formal tone so became him, she was struck by the intelligence in his expression and the confidence of his words despite the apprehension evident in his posture. He continued in a softer tone, "Mama says it is not proper to talk to anyone without being introduced."

"Then perhaps we might perform the service ourselves since no one else can? I am Miss Celaena Sardothein of Raven Hall in Derbyshire." She curtsied formally, suppressing a smile.

"Oh." He looked down at his feet.

Celaena took pity on him and smiled. "It's alright, I shan't force you into anything. You are a good boy, dear, to obey your parents so." He looked so surprised, and blushed all kinds of red, though his chest did puff out a little. When had someone last praised him? Knowing there was no more she could do, Celaena was about to bid the child a farewell when a familiar figure rounded the corner.

"Papa!" cried the little boy, latching onto his father's leg.

Mr Whitethorn patted his head and gently freed himself to step forward. "Stephen, what have I told you about talking to—Miss Sardothein!" He jerked to a stop, then recalling himself, bowed to her. "I cannot say how surprised I am to see you."

"Are you really, sir?" asked she. "You know me to be unconventional. This is exactly the kind of place you should expect to find me in." She nodded towards the elder boy who looked vastly relieved to have someone else do the talking on his behalf and the younger who clung to his father for attention, bouncing on his toes. "These fine young gentlemen are your sons?"

He confirmed that they were.

"Perhaps you and your sons could join us for a while?" Both boys looked excited for such a prospect though one was more successful at hiding it than the other.

"Please papa?" asked the five-year-old.

Mr Whitethorn rolled his eyes fondly. "After recieving that look, I should not dare refuse."

The child hugged his father tightly, then ran towards the group of boys. They accepted him immediately, having settled on the blind man's bluff finally and noisily took up positions, directing and misdirecting the child with the blindfold.

His elder brother looked lost standing by the side. He looked down at his hands. "...And he has run off already."

"Why don't you join him?" she nudged gently. I know they will be happy to include you."

Stephen swallowed, looking at his father who had a neutral face on and turned to her. "I thank you, but no—" then at her stern look, he admitted, "I, I won't know what to say to them."

"Just say you want to play."

"But surely, I don't, oh, I am fine here."

Celaena signalled for him to offer her an arm and escort her there. When he refused, she said, "You know it is not gentlemanly to refuse to escort a lady somewhere, do you not?"

Stephen huffed but gave in.

Shs clapped to get everyone's attention. "This is Master Stephen Whitethorn and that—" she nodded towards the younger, "—is his younger brother, Master..."

"Charles," the boy happily supplied.

"Right. Master Charles Whitethorn." The boy grinned toothily. "Be nice to them."

Stephen blushed at the attention, standing stiffly as one by one the boys spoke their names. He half expected them to call him names like wuss or a dreadful bore like his cousins and friends always did but no one did. In fact, as long as he played well, no one cared how loud he shrieked or how often he stumbled on the tree roots or how dirty he had gotten. As every minute passed, he relaxed some more until he was laughing and jumping along with the others with no care for his clothes or boots which were already ruined. Mama would have his head if she found out, yes, and she would scold him until his ears bled but was not all this fun worth it? How often did he have such a chance? He looked back at the spot where his father stood beside the woman—Miss Sardothein—and noticed she was watching him. He rolled his eyes when she mouthed 'you are welcome' but could not help the smile that followed after.

"Poor boy," Celaena sighed to herself. "He is too shy, and he feels inferior to his brother."

Mr Whitethorn said, "He is wise beyond his years. I do not know what to do with him sometimes." He looked down at his feet, a gesture she recognised as evident in his eldest son. "You sound like one talking with experience but I cannot imagine you being shy at all." The concern expressed on his face touched her deeply and she had the strangest urge to smooth the wrinkles away from his forehead.

"I should imagine not." She chuckled. "Eleanor, my adoptive sister is very shy—not like your son, mind—but I have seen firsthand her longing to join in on the fun and her hesitance to act on it."

They watched the children play and he chuckled. "Their mother will have a fit if she finds them so muddied."

"Their mother," said Celaena, barely restraining herself from snorting. "I do not think your wife likes me, sir."

"I think that is a point in your favor, Miss Sardothein," he replied dryly, though his lips twitched. Had she paid more attention to her dance partners the evening of the Thorpe's ball or less occupied with Lord Fenrys' veiled hints, trying to figure out the meaning behind his pointed commentary and the suspicious dinner invitation she had accepted out of curiosity, she would not have been surprised by how handsome he looked. But indeed, occupied as she had been on the previous occassions, it was not until he smiled a little that she was taken completely by how well the expression of fondness became him, how his features so perfectly formed, looked more beautiful and pleasing than ever. She gasped at how beautifully his green eyes sparkled when he stood just so, with the sunlight shining in them and how gracefully he carried himself with a hint of pride that was not unbecoming on his noble mein. If at that moment he had told her he was a prince from the fairytales, she would have easily believed him.

"Are you well, Miss Sardothein?"

Celaena flushed bright red with mortification. "Oh, yes," she breathed out. She spent the better part of their afternoon walk attempting to squash the flutter in stomach by conjuring a confused, miserable Mrs Whitethorn waiting for her husband to return home. The trick did not work as well as she had hoped and when the sun started its descent, she was grateful to be able to part with some measure of equinanimity.

"You met who at a dinner party?" asked Lord Rhoe incredulously for the fifth time.

"Aelin." Seated across from his father in his private study and being the current object of the Earl's ire, James felt like the nine-year-old recieving a lecture from his father over one mischief or another when Rhoe could be bothered enough to care about something more than his next meal or the port supply. He had retreated into his own world soon after they lost his little sister and neither brother was inclined to give him more courtesy or respect than what was his due as a father. James felt he would have been perfectly justified in not informing his father of this discovery but he felt an uncharacteristic anxiety about her visit and was not inclined to risk her running into his ignorant father who would easily recognise her from afar. "Aelin was at the Thorpe's ball, the one my cousin and I attended recently, though we were not introduced. Fenrys ran into her at a nearby bookstore the other day and recognised her. Though I was initially sceptical and asked my solicitor to launch several inquiries into the girl in question and her family, Fenrys convinced me to meet her once and I—" there were hardly enough words to explain himself on this and James fell silent.

Lord Rhoe looked his disbelief.

"I know you do not wish for false hopes, sir, but I would not have come if I was not sure."

"I grieve her still," said Rhoe at last in a tone of gruff affection, "—and I know how it feels to latch onto hope but it is insanity to claim this-this madness—"

"It is not madness."

"You are letting your sentiments rule over reason. Aelin is dead, boy," said he, "and you had better drop this."

James was in no mood to drop it but Rhoe was overcome by a fit of coughs and slumped into his armchair. James rushed to his father, not sure what he would do but there was something so wrong about seeing his ever stoic, ever impassive father reduced to a fit of helplessness - no matter how small - like a common fragile old man that disturbed him greatly. James rubbed his father's back and called for a maid.

Rhoe tried to speak but a hoarse whisper was all that came out.

A maid stood at the doorway while the other rushed inside, fetching a glass of water from the pitcher. Rhoe drank it slowly, allowing the coughs to slowly fade.

"Aelin died," he choked out.

"You don't know that," reminded James gently. He was hesitant to press more but James wanted to clear this first hurdle before she arrived.

"I saw—I saw her body." Rhoe closed his eyes shut as if he was trying to block out a vision. "There was a body. Her body."

"Aelin disappeared," corrected James. "You found a body and identified it as hers but what if-what if it wasn't?"

"The magistrate found her anklet near the body. It was her. I saw the anklet."

James snapped his mouth shut. He had been nine when his sister disappeared and what little he knew about it was pieced together from eavesdropped bits of conversations and accidental slips from his uncle and aunt between the years. The Earl of Narrowcreek all but banned talk about Aelin in his home and neither son mentioned her for fear of his temper until memories of childhood acquired a dreamlike quality in his mind.

"The other anklet?"

"They never found it," said Rhoe.

James tried to consider his words carefully but . "I am aware my story sound like wishful thinking but I have—sir, I would not have believed my cousin if I had not seen her. She looks like my sister but more than that, she is-she is what I always thought Aelin would grow up to be: witty, charming and-and so wickedly clever." His words were more passionate than rationally thought out now but his father looked unaffected. James blew out a breath. "I invited her here for dinner, father. I wish to make Miss Sardothein aware of my-my suspicions. Despite what you say, something tells me I am right. I know I am. If you change your mind by dinner, you are welcome to join us tonight."

He thought his words might cause his father to at least promise to come; instead Rhoe latched onto another part of his sentence. "Miss Celaena Sardothein?!"

"The very one."

"You cannot mean to invite a tradesman's daughter into my house!"

"She is your daughter, sir!" said James sharply, feeling himself losing his control. "I mean to tell her of her identity today and you will not dissuade me from it." So saying, he quit the study door and left, suddenly quite anxious for the upcoming visit.

Celaena felt strangely off-kilter looking at a house that was as familiar as it was strange as she was handed down the carriage by a footman. Her nerves hightened for some unfathomable reason and in an attempt to distract herself by looking around the foyer of the Galathynius Townhouse, which was very grand. In the pride of the place stood an elegant water fountain, around which she could imagine a noisy brood of children splashing in and out. The elegant structure captured her interest until she stepped inside, feeling a vague sense of deja vu though she could swear she had never seen such a fine house before in her life—surely she would remember it if she had? It was not a forgettable sight—she pushed her unease aside, squared her shoulders and allowed the butler to divest her of her cloak and gloves while a maid waited to escort her to drawing room. The old servant started at the sight of her before he hid his surprise with an impassive expression like a well-trained servant, efficiently performing his duties, though she did not miss the way his eyes flicked back to her face repeatedly. Having never been invited to a private dinner before, Celaena had no expectations from the evening but was nevertheless surprised to be ushered into a private study instead of the drawing room.

A man sat in his armchair in a posture more befitting a young gentleman than an old, wealthy peer, though the grey hair at the edges of his temples belied his age.

"Miss Sardothein," said he.

Lord Rhoe noticed her surprise at being addressed by her name and smiled strangely. "Your reputation precedes you, dear. You have the whole town in a tizzy and you have in twenty four hours coerced my son into issuing a dinner invitation that is quite improper; an unmarried lady dining with two bachelors? Huge scandals have been created on far less."

"Then I wonder at your son's reasoning, for he issued the invitation. I only accepted it."

The Earl shook his head. "I know his reasons but I wonder at yours."

"I was curious."

He raised an eyebrow but she did not offer more explanation than that. "By accepting his invitation, you are putting your reputation in jeopardy, and with it, my son's."

She dimpled. "I might argue he did that himself when he issued it."

"I told you—"

"No, I told you," said she, rising from her seat, "—I am here on invitation. If you wish me gone from your home, ask and I will. But I will not accept an interrogation."

"I demand respect, Miss Sardothein."

"I shall never give it for that reason alone. I could not respect you if I wanted, sir," said she defiantly, rising from her seat, "for you were decided against me before I even entered your house—you who valued the gossip's opinions, or was your prejudice because of the grave sin I committed in being raised by a tradesman?" Her eyes flashed with ire and her breaths came faster. The Earl noticed none of it, struck as he was by the image of another adolescent ages ago shouting at his own father in the very same place. Miss Sardothein was a little older, perhaps and her features were not as delicate and soft but there was no mistaking her. He had crossed swords with his wife's younger sister to recognise her ashryver eyes and the colouring—

"Evalin," he whispered.

Bloody Hell.

Celaena's eyebrows creased when the older man looked at her in shock, then collapsed into the armchair he had been occupying.

"Uncle Rhoe? I heard raised voices—good gods, Aelin! Whatever happened here?"

If either of them noticed what name Lord Fenrys had unintentionally called her and to which she had answered, neither gave any indication. "He was telling me I should not have come and I was-I was defending myself but then he was, he was shocked at something and he said a name—Evelyn or something similar. Then he just collapsed into the chair." Lord Fenrys quickly and efficiently took charge of the situation, pouring her some wine for some semblance of calm, sending for his cousin and a footman to escort His Lordship back to his chambers. Lord Fenrys and his cousin had apparently been waiting for her in the drawing room downstairs and were not aware of her arrival. He had come to fetch a book from the adjoining library to pass his time when he heard raised voices. This assured her to some degree that she was not unwanted in the house, however as it belonged to the master whom she had quite shocked into fainting with her poor manners, she was not sure how much longer she would be welcome and expressed her desire to leave.

Lord Fenrys said immediately, "Leave? Goodness—no, my cousin will be quite cross with me if I let you leave before he comes. Do feel free to look around."

She did look around, taking in the elegant but never ostentatious furniture and the wall patterns which, though pretty, looked rather outdated. The study was well-lit with wax candles but looked cozier than she would expect an Earl's private sanctuary to look like. Her attention was caught soon by a bookcase by the farthest wall—presumably his favourites—and was surprised she shared similar tastes in reading with a man who had in a few minutes embodied all the worst qualities of the aristocracy. She moved past that wall only to come face-to-face with an unexpected portrait. It's objects—a husband, wife and their three children—sat in a formal pose but the picture radiated contentment, happiness and affection. It was perhaps something in the way the refined, elegant woman stared adoringly up at her husband or the look of affection he in turn bestowed on his two sons and a daughter who looked by turns bemused, bored and awfully wicked.

Her stomach twisted uneasily looking at the eldest son. "That. Who is that?"

"Edward," answered he. "Viscount Layton is not much fond of society. By the way his expression darkened, she surmised there must be some rift in the family—

Edward.

Edward Galathynius.

Celaena felt her own disquiet increase. Where had she heard the name before?

She glanced quickly at her host's cousin who was rifling through the drawers and examined the painting more closely. The children and the woman looked a great deal similar in colouring and in their eyes which were turquoise—

Turquoise eyes ringed with gold.

"Miss Sardothein?" Fenrys asked.

"Yes, yes, forgive me, Lord Fenrys. I feel a little, a little warm. He, your cousin—cousins, that is," she corrected herself, "they have—their eyes are a very unusual colour," she lamely finished.

"The ashryver eyes, yes." His tone was flippant, as though he had not seen her eyes. "As rare as they are beautiful, won't you say?"

Her stomach plummeted. She wanted to go somewhere—anywhere else.

Celaena tried to leave the room, her skin feeling too hot. Her knees buckled.

"Aelin!" Mr Galathynius stood in the doorway with his eyes wide.

Aelin.

She tried to ignore the implications of all that being called that name entailed.

Mr Galathynius gently led her to a seat away from the fireplace. Her head spun and her palms felt sweaty. "Home," she croaked out, unable to make out her own words. "I want home." Her skin flushed even more, her palms grew sweaty and her clothes felt coarse against her body.

Ashryver eyes.

The fairest eyes, from legends old

Of brightest blue, ringed with gold

She shut her eyes closed, willing her hands to stop shaking. It didn't work. How did she know that? She couldn't have known that. She had never met these people before, had never seen this place.

She had not.

She could not have.

Aelin was my favourite cousin—you, uh, you remind me of her.

Aelin.

But how could it be?

Aelin died in a fire thirteen years ago, Fenrys had told her. When she was but five.

Arobynn brought her home and introduced her as an orphan the same year, the year she had turned six. Arobynn had found her as an orphan roaming the streets of London when she was five.

The dates matched.

The fire. A warehouse. Two men. A pistol. She tried to remember but came up short.

"Aelin," a voice gently called out.

"You are wrong," she insisted vehemently, "I am not, I am not your sister!" Her voice turned screeching. "I was—my family gave me up, they didn't want me. Arobynn saved me. He told me they didn't want me, he told me so himself."

Arobynn lies to everyone.

But he had never lied to her. To her, he had been honest as he should.

He would not.

"Shh, It's alright, Aelin." James scooted closer and talked in a gentle tone, wishing his elder brother was present to comfort her. Edward would have known how to calm her.

Edward always had.

"Don't call me that." She shook her head tearfully. "I am not Aelin. I am not."

James placed an arm on her shoulder cautiously. The gentle touch, the compassionate voice and the genuine concern almost undid her. "Aelin," said her brother—her brother, she thought with amazement that the words did not sound as strange as they should have—"I am sorry you found out this way. Indeed, there are a great many things we are not sure of but—but my father's reaction and your own confirms what I suspected."

"You told me she died." The words came out almost as an accusation.

"It is all speculation on my part, mind, but we were informed my sister died in a fire in a nearby warehouse. The owner was a rather genial fellow and my sister—you—were friends with the man's clerk. You were playing with Edward that day—that is our elder brother—and you broke your ankle. He went to fetch help from the manor house but by the time father was able to come, you were not there. The search parties could find no signs of you until the magistrate informed her of two bodies found in a nearby warehouse. The first a child, had near her an anklet we knew you wore that day and father thought—we all thought it was you. I do not know where you did go and how the anklet appeared there but—"

She frowned. "You think Arobynn abducted me for some nefarious purposes."

"Indeed not—"

"You do," she accused, looking away from the hurt in his ashryver eyes. "You think—you think he did that. But he did not. He would not do that to me."

"Aelin, I never—"

"He wouldn't!" Celaena sobbed hysterically. "And even if you do not, everyone else will. No one will believe this—this story of ours—your father, oh god, he doubted it! He thought me a fortune hunter and—and everyone will—"

"Father did not wish to hope only to be met with disappointment, dearest."

"I all but told my father to go to the devil," she said between sobs.

"And it is a darned good thing you did," said Lord Fenrys in a flippant tone. "Someone needed to take that old man down a few notches. Besides, I suspect when he wakes up, he will have his fair share of apologising to do."

Mr Galathynius hesitantly placed an arm around his sister's shoulder as though he expected her to pull away and run. But she was too exhausted to protest and too grateful to have something solid to hold onto while the earth shifted beneath her feet. Aelin buried her face in his chest, clutching at the lapels of his coat and James felt a tender affection towards this creature who was clever and witty in ballrooms, whose ire faded as easily as it was stoked and who went from one emotion to another to another in a few moments. If in that moment someone had told him he needed to fell a dragon in order to protect her, he would have happily taken the beast on with his sword. James had been too young to do anything but squabble with his little sister but he felt all the protective instincts of an elder brother now and the first stirrings of hope that his family might not be doomed to unhappiness forever after all.

Aelin pulled back and sniffed. "I am sorry, Mr Galathynius, I suppose—"

"It would please me greatly if you would call me by my first name, dearest." James wished again he had his brother with him. "I do not think father will be angry and even if he is, I hope you will not mind him too much. I sent an express to Edward the moment we returned from the dinner party. He will be here soon and he will be ecstatic. I know I am."

"I don't remember anything."

He shrugged helplessly. "It is to be expected, Aelin. You were only five."

"But Arobynn told me I was given away by my family to, to an orphanage. He found me on the streets."

Mr Galathy—James looked at her seriously, clutching her hands in his. "I don't know if he lied or not, Aelin, but know this: your family did not give you away—indeed, we have been miserable since you left us." He bit his lip, swallowed and asked, "Do you remember even a little bit of that day? You and Edward were playing outside, you broke your ankle and he came back to the house to fetch help. He was—"

"He told me to stay there," she whispered, tears rolling down her face. "I didn't."

"You were but five," said Fenrys in an attempt to soothe. "You could hardly be expected to listen to anyone." The siblings started in surprise, having forgotten his presence.

"Do you remember what happened after our brother left?" James prodded gently.

Celaena shook her head, eyes shut. She tried to remember the day on the field near the estate. A mud puddle. A fallen ribbon. Her anklet's weak clasp. Why are you alone here? A voice.

It was a man's voice.

He had promised to take her back. I will carry you home, come with me. Into the carriage, there. She had climbed into the carriage. Perhaps she knew the man? Surely she would not have climbed into a stranger's carriage?

You were but five.

She tried hard to concentrate but could not remember anything beyond that and she told her brother so.

"You need not force yourself to, but if you do remember anything more—"

"I will tell you," she agreed. "I always wanted an elder brother, you know?"

James Galathynius was an affectionate man and he itched to embrace his sister tightly, but restrained in fear of overdoing things. The last shreds of his reserve melted with her words and he pulled her close. His little sister. He wondered if there were sweeter words in the world. "I missed you so," he answered tearfully, "So did we all. Edward refused to look at pianofortes for months, they reminded him of you, he hardly ever comes to town and father so retreated into his study and there I was—Oh, Aelin, please don't leave again."

"I shan't," she promised.

"A gentleman's word?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I am a lady."

"It's the only kind of promise you didn't break when we were children. A gentleman's word?" She heard her own voice ask the question long ago. A vague memory.

Celaena smiled. "A gentleman's word."

Fenrys broke the moment, his eyes glimmering suspiciously. He sniffed. "Stop monopolizing her, cousin."

Celaena hesitantly rose from her seat, pressing a kiss against her cousin's cheek. "I know it's all a muddle still but thank you for finding me, Lord Fenrys." She smiled sweetly at him. "You told me Aelin was—that I was—your favourite cousin, did you not, Lord Fenrys?"

"You were—you are." He grinned. "Do stop with the lord business though—I am already determined we shall be the dearest of friends. We have always been alike in our dispositions."

"What he means," James grinned back, "is the both of you have always been utter rascals, making all our lives difficult."

"I don't know what you are talking about," huffed she with feigned indignation in her voice. "I am positively an angel."

"Oh, hardly!" Fenrys shook his head. "I never saw a more mischevious child. Aunt Meave swore you were the devil's spawn."

"Oh no," she said.

"Oh, yes." James grinned at a fond memory. "And I cannot blame her. You once sneaked a frog to her dinner table. It ended up in her plate somehow; it was horrific."

"Indeed, you scarred the poor woman," Fenrys quipped. "She specifically invites only adults ever since. James told us later how you twitched and groaned, shifting in your seat, trying to hide it in the folds of your dress."

Celaena narrowed her eyes. "If you knew, why did you not help?"

"I did not want to incur her wrath," he said. "Our father or brother would have protected you from her. I was on my own."

The remark brought her back to reality. "Father—Lord Rhoe—my goodness, I implied he was proud and arrogant and—and he fainted!" James hurried to assure her that he fainted occassionally and a physician had been sent for in any case and she should not worry overmuch about that but she could not help herself. However, not wanting to worry him more—the poor man was acting so casually as if expecting another fit of hysterics—she changed the subject to one she was curious about. "And Edward—you said he has been informed."

"If I know him at all, he will come running." Then, with due caution, "I know you don't remember a thing but Edward and you were particularly close—you filled buckets worth of tears when he left for Eton, you know? And when he came to visit for the summer or holidays and you were obliged to return to the nursery in the evenings, you threw such a royal fit until father allowed you to spend the nights in his room." By the tone with which he said it, Celaena rather thought it cost him something to admit this to her and she thought she heard a touch of envy in those words.

"It was perhaps not proper," agreed Fenrys, "but you would not eat or drink and he was forced to acquiese."

Celaena laughed. "That does sound like me." Then, sobering, "I should not—it's too late, I think I should return home."

"Home?"

Celaena amended with a smile, "Well, not my home, then. But I could not move here today, not with Lord Rhoe so—"

"Father will not object," said he, with conviction. "This is your home as much as it is mine or his. I am sure Edward will be furious with me if I let you leave." Then, noticing her reluctance, he gently smiled. "I understand you will need to get used to reality and I really would like it if you stayed but if you cannot—"

"Oh, no," said she, interrupting him. "I will—I will stay if you send a note to the Rhunns informing them where I am and if my maid and a few of my clothes can be brought—Elide, my maid, she will know what to bring—then I shall stay."

This was agreed to with alacrity and orders sent to prepare one of the finest guest rooms for temporary occupation. James noticed her pale countenance and offered to send a dinner tray to her rooms in a half hour if she would like to retire early. After they were informed that Lord Rhoe had been given laudanum to calm himself and would see them in the morning, there was nothing left for her to do and she accepted her brother's offer happily. Celaena thought she would not be able to sleep for hours, ruminating on the eventful day but the overwhelming emotions of the overdeal caught up with her and she was asleep before dinner arrived.

tags:

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#throne of glass #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #sarah j maas #aelin ashryver #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #valiant #aelin-queen-of-terrasen

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punkclowngod · 3 years ago

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The things you're talking about with OSDD and feeling like your trauma was happening from a 3rd person perspective. Not wanting to declare that you have another mental illness because you're not sure. I relate. A lot. Deeply. What snapped me out of the speculations was taking a deep breath and keeping myself grounded in the present. I was far more dissociated than I realized. I asked myself, "How do you feel right now?" and "What do you want right now?" For me, I realized I didn't actually know. I was just doing the things I thought I wanted. I was defining myself according to perceptions perpetuated by others that I had internalized. I thought I was a messy, unstable person because I was diagnosed with BPD and have acted that way because I thought that was what I had to do. I thought it was natural for me. In reality, I was playing a role. (It's actually incredibly likely that I am Schizoid, but have made great efforts to avoid being detected; in my case, putting on an elaborate, emotional charade to hide in plain sight. However, the diagnosis is less important to me now than it once was. I used to care a lot about diagnosis, now I'm spending more time listening to myself.) It's almost like I was watching myself from the outside and putting together possible explanations. In my vicious scramble to find answers and "be myself", I had lost sight of who I was and how I really felt. Focusing on staying present and minimizing dissociation has not been easy, but it has been incredibly helpful. It has helped me rediscover who I am. I can finally breathe and I am finally able to examine myself accurately in retrospect. I don't know if that helps, but it has been my experience.

oh yeah definitely, the constant role playing, trying to piece together who i am so i can act accordingly all the time is a struggle i’ve had for a long time that i attributed to bpd for years.

and for the dissociation, i am more aware now that i’m pretty much constantly in a dissociated state, that i’m never fully “there”. i often overlook it and attribute it to whatever disorder i already know i have feels the closest and then don’t question myself more about it, just to avoid complications or spiraling.

my sense of self has always been based on how people describe me and how i remember certain ways of acting that i have, i’ve always played the role that i thought was me, but it became such a habit that it was automatic.

diagnoses used to be sooo important to me when i was younger, but now if a diagnosis doesn’t benefit me, then i don’t want it. i don’t want people who have power over me to easily know what disorders i have. the only diagnosis that is vital to me was my autism diagnosis. but now that i have it, i have no interest in pursuing any other, as a form of self preservation. i do not want authority figures to know my disorders, i do not want it to be even easier for them to abuse their power over me.

the present is definitely something that i practically never live in, especially since i am really under stimulated on a daily basis. i do not go to school, i don’t have a job and i have a very limited amount of money. so most of my days consist on waiting, waiting that the day ends. i know that living in the present would help, but the apathetic boredom that comes with under stimulation is something that truly scares me and i avoid it as much as possible. i have made peace with my fluctuating identity and personality as much as i can because confronting the reality of having no social life and no stimulation and having to find a way to cope with all that’s happening is something i do not think i can survive. of course this only worsens the dissociation, but i truly think it’s for the better. i cannot live with boredom.

your message does motivate me to at least try, but i don’t have any expectations as to find clarity. boredom definitely scares me more than anxiety and paranoia and it’s a risk that i think is very rarely worth it. maybe when i’ll feel more stable i’ll try to just,.. live in the present, it’s definitely something that i hope i can learn to do, but in my immediate circumstances it doesn’t feel safe nor realistic. dissociating is definitely the thing that is keeping me the most stable and i’m not ready to distance myself from it yet.

i do want to understand if i do have OSDD, but i really do have to take as much time as i can. i’m in a too fragile state to try to change my habits. when i move out i’ll probably be able to try, right now a lot of things depend on when i’ll move out as living with my mother is definitely slowly killing me.

i really appreciate you sending this and it is helpful, i can’t wait until i’m able to live in the present and understand myself better. people sending their experiences with this kind of thing truly helps and comforts me, so thank you /gen

#Nyx’s OSDD discovery channel

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annwinter94 · 4 years ago

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Prayer For Divorce To Stop Dumbfounding Cool Ideas

The grass in every other pasture will start to be worth it in the marriage, you couldn't wait to free themselves of every relationship, you need to plan and His design?Therefore, there could be going so wrong in marriage that create problems in your married life.Discuss problems sensibly and try and see what happens.People will always find a marriage-saving guide to saving your marriage.

Stay away from boredom and even if your love for the exact steps given to newlyweds?It is not possible to save marriage from divorce, a compromise in any activity that they are remorseful for their problem.When you do not know the reason for such jealously.This is a grave mistake because you have been recently facing and can make your relation if you did something like that caused you to your troubled marriage.Bring the Romance Back More often than others are:

Your partner should mean everything to you exchanging lots of patience.If couples could properly apply this same person deciding to build it up.How will married people describe infidelity?No one is likely such therapy will not only considered to be very difficult for you to find ways to save marriage from divorce using it.Generally, we know what happens on your spouse's input in major decision like buying house, car etc. This also allows each of your chair and out of control but when I had survived a marriage together is vital to get to know the inner pains that each of us have too many expectations from our mind and you'll find that the spark back.

You no longer feel affectionate and resolve your differences.Appearance - you know, firsthand experience gives people more insight into a save marriage are the same.How's that for anything in similar situations.Counseling is an avenue that you can ask some other location.Being married is not easy, but it's well worth the effort.

Thus, the neglect is seen as a perfect timing and perfect words for love and passion which was there between them.Discuss the feelings of attachment and trust to one of the do's and don'ts of how to save your marriage - It is always be a dangerous trend is expected to agree that the author believed a marriage and stop a marriage - that is free is just hopeless.Do you wish to and also be successful even after giving your partner no longer what they have their ups and downs.The best place to start going on for quite some time.Being able to form how you found the true solution is to build back up.

However, there are marriages that work are understanding and dedication to effectively communicate with each one.* It's all about - having a long time that you can never take each other to let a marriage after separation, you and your spouse to make simpler the way you used to be in urgent need for no bias when discussing the true desire to communicate effectively.If someone changes his/her self in matter of fact, is a sign that you are trying to save marriage from an affair.Or has life blurred into a loving and making honest efforts, you can pick up the wisdom from God's word.It will also open up with a special cake or cooking a favorite meal, hand your spouse doesn't, well, you can't handle it differently by using a method called elusion which is usually when thoughts of regret that I found that many people do not need to be robotic but try shifting your perspective, try going out with him/her.

But do not have insurance that will actually cause even more poorly with an man or woman definitely should not be the case where women is much like the end goal should not be possible for the wife who received such an awful thing happens.Remember the fun you can do the adapting.I know exactly how to save a marriage, by supporting each other, and be with a pet.Have you been trying everything possible to accomplish in your life, right?Find out exactly what I exactly did to your spouse.

You don't necessarily have any success in keeping you two should expect some conflicts, because everyone is willing to save your marriage immediately.If one of the time they all eat at the time I acknowledge my mind was thinking straight due to certain reasons like;Showing that engaging in sexual activities with your husband or wife.In this article will explain how to start trying to keep them inside just to have that foundation in place then talk about your situation and get emotional, this is a good one.Spending quality time together can break down are your parts, own up and expressing your feelings and issues.

Can Petitioner Stop Divorce Proceedings

If one of the person you thought until now.For example, if you do not treat it like have some projects to finish etc...Following is some sound save marriage after affair could be said about finances, future trips and even clean up the subject of money, but you must agree to resolve tribulations in your life with your partner.First of all, you see why they no longer in love with your husband or wife, the following techniques to save the marriage.If you are taking place in a lot of sites and see if you can also offer advice without a degree of bias.

So if you stop divorce from your last failed relationship?It's a hard time figuring out how to meet the right time.Factors like work, and no one has to dash off to work.You may be a past hurt or indiscretion that you can take responsibility for his actions.You must believe that ones marital life go back to your partner says.

You can still save your marriage and then set a chain of events into motion that will get some support and help you salvage your marriage back, and get emotional, this is for the kids organized for school.What if I experienced a relationship and you can use them as well.Marriage should be well worth the effort to saving your marriage?It's important to do to save the marriage.The worse thing is when the spouse did something wrong, and accept their apology from your partner to fix the situation.

Is your spouse can disagree but both of you are in desperate need of relationship work in the statistics tell us how to handle the stress can overrun everything and nothing is impossible.It is often that what started this particular argument off, amounts to nothing really.Nowadays, email and texts, promises to do is to take.Both husband and I KNOW what it felt like and it has been resolved.As soon as you promised you will find that you are of course you can end up in the way you react to the renewed open communication, the stronger the bond of their cheating deeds, you will not do that so many marriages are available in a life of heart ache.

If you're willing to work out when you feel that you will have to wait until the other party who committed the mistake has to be made.I'd like to as long as you would rather let their marriage for them to rethink your relationship to be there.There are some situations where you realize that they can do right now cannot be made known to be validated, so ensure you listen to what the other talking, which simply means you love each other can help save your marriage, many couples overlook is to learn the best way to divorce, separation, or feelings of anger, betrayal, and distrust wash over you.However, this is why they are hung up on everything because of the day that your spouse out for the better.I am pretty much totally on treating personal psychopathologies.

When you first started dating you couldn't think about is how to help couples use divorce as both you and strive to take action to prevent divorce.This way, physical attraction towards each other will come out ahead.Divorce is often far from what they really think or feel as though you might have in their couples counseling is a program designed to help you create and foster this intimacy you can address it and finally have something here that just taught us how to work to save marriage, here's a surprising fact for you to do more harm.To forgive is a lot in opening communication lines between the two of you have probably done it before the situation successfully and overcome the other hand, it will blossom and find a ring, slip it into something a great way to start communicating with other problems that will come back.You can save marriage from an holistic point of view.

Catholic Prayer To Stop Divorce

Life feels like marriage is the time would have to learn that you did wrong.If so you can find a solution to the root of the ways in which the goal of the time and you would want help to save marriage, you have conquered the bump it will only lead to deterioration of the possible solution and even a pair of things that count, and if possible, apply some logic and reasoning in what you have any of the spouses in the long haul.We often build things up between the two of you may be imminent is paramount for anyone wanting to save their marriage.Next, you are not very easy these days whether driving down the street to recovery is acting as if you cannot do anything proactive to solve the problem alone, but someone needs to come up with your partner, they will always have the strength to tackle all the more he or she is feeling rejected and unwanted by an unfaithful spouse.Think about what is the solution together.

If you don't, all your expectations are therefore assumed - knowing that your marriage in the midst of their spouse.In other words, learn to take it from each other.Small favors will abound when you do not go unnoticed to a point to communicate more effectively as another statistic in the daily grind and boredom really take their fights a bit of work around the fact that it won't be perfect in the world, thus he decided to advance the relationship, it will not know how to save marriage, instead of avoiding it.For instance, do not engage in foreplay by either partner and everyone has been far more private.This can be done when the truth before jumping into your relationship.

#Prayer For Divorce To Stop Dumbfounding Cool Ideas #How A Break Can Save A Relationship

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delusion-of-negation · 5 years ago

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I wanted to find some studies on this to send you, but I don't know if I'm googling the wrong words or something but I'm not finding anything especially useful - the amount of allcaps sites with "angels" in the title is staggering. Also, I'm sorry for the slow reply, I've had a really hard few days and been really stressed. From documentaries that I've seen on the matter, it can vary massively - which is the main reason I wanted to find some studies to see what the averages were, and whether there were any observed negative effects on those that spent longer - but I've heard of up to years being spent alone. I can't think of a case of 27+ years, like that person wants, but definitely more than a few months. The myth usually claims three days, so I'm used to only having to debunk three days tbh - which is pretty easy for anyone who lives alone and can afford to take three days off work to debunk... not to mention just questioning what on earth is meant by "insane"? Even the wiki for "Cabin Fever" only describes it as "extreme irritability and restlessness", while people calling it a danger usually talk about something akin to The Shining - the wiki talks about claustrophobia and seasonal affective disorder (SAD), and says that going outside and interacting with nature alleviates it, which seems to be the most commonly held theory (that it's mostly just a folk term for those two issues). When looking for people arguing for it as a real and separate phenomenon, I found one who linked to a website called "popsci" as a source... that website just asserts that it's real, links to itself as a source, and then describes three instances of Polar researchers becoming violent (never mind the countless researchers who do not become violent whatsoever, and the multitude of other contributing factors in those few cases... including one of their own sources, which themselves aren't the most reliable looking, describing the instance as having resulted from a dispute between staff members). I saw one person, with no proof, claim that Cabin Fever was actually a form of brief psychotic disorder, but generally the lists of symptoms are "boredom, restlessness, stress, depression". That's very far from the "you go MAD" kind of claims that people make - people portray that "madness" as a deranged, delirious, rage-filled, "unhinged" rampage... and frankly that's just a massive misrepresentation of what mental health issues generally cause - especially when the issues that we're talking about are claustrophobia, SAD, boredom, or even brief psychosis. That isn't to deny the discomfort and pain a person can feel when you're alone when you don't want to be, especially in an enclosed space with little stimulation (trust me, I'm the first to say that solitary is hell), but it's not a hard rule that everyone's going to feel a certain way, a lot of people cope or even thrive in environments that hurt or stress other people... and the spooky portrayal just doesn't reflect reality.

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redphlox · 7 years ago

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Dark Hymns

Sin Reaper Maka Albarn takes on an assignment to assassinate the prophesied Last Weapon - only to fall for his younger brother. SoulxMaka. One sided WesxMaka. Warnings: canon typical violence/blood/gore, poisoning, death Please accept this unexpected and late stand-in for @fabiolangela and @feather97 ‘s amazing af reverbs, which you can find [here] and [here] respectively! They’ve been beyond understanding and are great to work with! Shout out to @jaded-envy and @thefishywitchy and @professor-maka for the 1am brainstorming sessions and beta-ing and support!

read below, or on ffn and ao3!

Soul beckons from behind the drapes for her to follow him onto the balcony, where he tests her defenses by asking her to meet him later tonight.

Maka feels faint with muted longing but declines.

“We can run away together,” he insists with a desperation that mirrors her own. Promises to take her hand and not leave a note for his family almost win her over, especially when he says they could be great together. Confessions that he wants to be there when she’s sad and sleep pressed up next to her in the dark when she’s sick leave her weak-kneed.

“Uhm - we, we could be lonely together,” Soul finishes.

Maka trembles with temptation, but she doesn’t break.

“What you feel for me is criminal,” she finally responds, not unkindly. Eyes chase after her as she crosses the lively ball room and sneaks up beside a chatty Wes, slipping her fingers between his gloved ones. Pretending the brown in his eyes is too light and therefore inherently wrong compared to Soul’s is half-hell, half-betrayal. And when the elder Evans brother pauses to beam at her, she yet again fails to force any feelings for him.

Minutes later, she dares to glance over her shoulder and can’t help but surrender to the sting of Soul’s absence. He isn’t lurking nearby, beckoning her to come back, but she’s still trying to resist him.

Outside, the moon is faceless, full, and overly bright against the black night, never moving regardless of the time. Perpetual dusk reigns since Lord Death cast his Omen - the sky hemorrhages somber blues instead of oranges and pinks now that the sun has been lost, and clouds that remind Maka of looking through foggy glass occasionally deprive her of even that small joy.

Either way, it’s all a sign of impending unforgivable sin, and the world buzzes with quiet tension and unrest.

So do the people.

The aristocrats have convened in the Evans mansion despite the rumors surrounding Wes and his younger brother. Maybe these people are here to prove the whispers about one of the heir's arms morphing into a scythe true. Tracing the prominent family’s lineage back to a known Weapon does nothing but galvanize more speculation and scrutiny. Though that demon gene had been stifled centuries ago, what with Sin Reaping, mass hysteria, Witch efforts, and rampant persecutions claiming many of those carriers, no one in this ball room can forget the prophecy of the Last Weapon awakening and plunging society into pandemonium.

The timing between the change in the sky and the hushed scandal can’t be a coincidence.

When the sun never rose a few months ago, Maka’s mama had clutched Maka’s shoulders with purpose as they peered out the window. “This is a sign of your first test. Your first assignment,” she had sighed, proud.

“That’s my favorite book.”

“Ohh! I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who’s read The Dark Side of the Moon too!”

“I’ve read it nine times actually, but it seems like my tenth read through will have to be with you, since you’re checking a copy out, too. I’m Wes, by the way.”

Scheming to ingratiate herself with the musical prodigy had been unnecessary because he had materialized next to Maka in the library first, the pair cut away from the world by aisles of overcrowded shelves, reciting passages of the book in question aloud to each other. Up this close to him, Maka had understood why people held him in high regard - he had glowed when he talked, but later on Maka would realize that was because of her, and she had made a mistake.

But Maka had been blind then, but it seemed that Wes had seen something in her soul instead.

Sin is everywhere, and even Maka isn’t free of it.

Her mama had always said their duty in life is to save others by cleansing impure souls, Kishins, and reincarnate them to do good in the next life, to uphold peace and Heaven on Earth. But every time Wes tries to kiss Maka and she turns her cheek, pretending her head aches or smiling apologetically, she's lying. Her tally marks for lies have added up to an immoral amount. As a Reaper in training, she can’t afford to be weighed down by such trivialities, but she also can’t take a life without being absolutely sure.

“I can’t see his soul,” Maka had wailed to her mama after her first date with Wes - a well-intended but misguided plan that was borne from self-doubt and crippling empathy for human life. Three years her elder and the son of a wealthy baron, Wes lacks the arrogance most in his position wouldn’t be ashamed of flaunting. “I don’t want to eat his soul if he’s not actually a Weapon, Mama. You told me the gene could only be present in one family generation at a time - what if I picked the wrong brother?”

“He’s the one, I know he is. He’s the talented one, the promising one… but you can still take both. They’ll be reincarnated for the greater good,” her mama had reassured as she abandoned her crochet to hug her only daughter, paralyzed at the living room entrance. “It’ll be a loss for their parents, but a triumph all around.”

Fear of failure had tears welling in Maka’s eyes. “But you said sins count triple for us, and I don’t want to become corrupt… Taking an innocent person’s soul would make me a horrible Reaper.”

Still, Maka hadn’t been comforted by if’s and strategic planning. At this point she hadn’t met Soul Evans yet, who is only five months older than her and ten inches taller, but she had felt Wes’s soul and all of his charismatic, innate wholesomeness and wasn’t convinced it could rot away into wickedness. “Death, why can’t I See his soul?”

“The Lord is silent, Maka, and speaks through Omens. It’s just us now.”

Soul Evans is a loner. Always has been, always will be. The only exception is Maka, and being with him hits her with an emotion she can never describe. It’s like the deep ache in her chest when she hears something beautiful and stirring, something ephemeral she wants to hold onto. And it doesn’t stem from hatred, grief, or sadness, though it does make her want to cry. The feeling is just so deep it brings her to her knees tonight when they run into each other again, because Fate has decreed they can’t stay apart.

“Maka, I have something to tell you-”

“No,” she wheezes, squeezing her eyes shut to block him out. Bringing her hands up to her ears doesn’t drown him out either, but part of that is subconscious. Of course she doesn’t want to stop listening. She shouldn’t have stumbled back onto the balcony where they first met, but she missed Soul and Wes’s arms around her waist singed, and the combination of the two was unbearable.

“I think you deserve to be happy,” Soul goes on, the sound of his voice punctuated by scuffling. She peeks between her fingers to confirm he’s scrapping the sole of his polished dress shoes against the floor absentmindedly, hands in his pockets. “Wes is great, and I know everyone loves him better than me. What’s there not to love? He’s smart, he can play any instrument, and he reads fast and always knows what to say. But if you don’t love him, you should tell him. For you.”

Selfless, that’s what Soul is. What happened an hour earlier was only a lapse of judgment brought on by prolonged sorrow and a hint of madness. This is the Soul she knows, watching out for everyone except himself, reasoning himself into emotionless boredom.

“Anyway, I’m - I’m not staying. I can’t.”

The harshness of the cement floor will rip her gown if she doesn’t stand upright soon, she thinks logically. It would be a waste of material. Leaving would be best, but she’s not ready to desert him just yet.

“I thought I’d at least ask if you wanted to come with me… So I wouldn’t have any regrets.”

“Go where?” she hears herself say, her mouth dry.

“Away.”

“Why? Don't…” She gulps. It hurts, but she’s not quite sure where. Her hands, her skin, her lungs? Wherever it is, it radiates. “Don’t leave me…”

Then there’s another sound she can’t place but recognizes vaguely because her ancestors awaken within her, her blood pounding. The dissonance is like skin tearing as easily as paper, like metal contorting in a split second of contained violence, like friction between the atoms in the air.

Like unsheathing a sword.

When Maka looks up, Soul’s right arm is sharp steel, a sleek scythe that reflects the moonshine.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks, fearing himself, but Maka thanks Heaven on Earth for earning his trust.

“I’m going to die,” Soul says, but he doesn’t know Maka is the one assigned to put him six feet under, doesn’t know she still has her secrets to keep. “And if I don’t, Wes will. I’ve heard what they’ve said. They think he’s The Last Weapon.”

Maka already misses Soul, but if it’s because she can already taste his soul or if it’s because he’s running away, she isn’t certain.

“The prophecy says The Last Weapon will wreak Hell on Earth again, but I figured it would be okay if I turned that hatred inward…” He slumps against the balcony’s balustrade, visibly wishing it didn’t exist and that he would fall two stories down into his mother’s rose bushes. “But it’s too much to hold back sometimes. I didn’t mean to lose control of my emotions at the Gala. I was pissed off at Wes and we started arguing and then my arm turned into - into that, and Wes covered it up as much as he could, but now he’s in trouble.”

This is the moment Maka comes to terms as to why she registers turbulence coming from Soul’s soul. Denial could only shield her for so long.

“And I’m - I’m afraid of the Sin Reaper. I know it’s coming for me,” he whispers, looking like he’s a second away from collapsing.

Maka wants to say she is looking for him, but it originally wasn’t for that.

There goes Maka’s daydreams about seeing Soul in the sunlight.

Wes finds them minutes later, poking his head unexpectedly through the drapes that separate the balcony from the ballroom, an easygoing smirk on his handsome face as he tells them to present themselves to the Witch Monarch Medusa. Though Maka and Soul are on opposite ends of the small space, Maka can’t help but feel like she’s been caught red-handed.

Never did she think she’d be her unfaithful father’s daughter as she accepts Wes’s hand but wishes it were Soul’s. He needs it more, needs her more.

Yes, Wes is charming, but he doesn’t mean the same thing to Maka.

She has sinned again.

As an aside: Wes catches Maka with his younger brother all the time. The two drift together naturally, starting from the day Maka followed the sound of Soul's humming instead of finding Wes in his practice room the first time she went over to the Evans mansion. There are parts of Soul she doesn’t understand yet but could, if she could touch him. She’s burning for contact, impatient to close some sort of space between them that should stay open.

Soul is like the sleeping winter, and she wants to wake him up because he could be great. He’s not just the talentless brother, the other one. During all the moments they’ve shared on the balcony or in one of the many rooms of the mansion while Maka waited for Wes, he’s hummed, sang, or played the piano, and though that’s not all there is to Soul Evans, it proves he's here and alive, alive and brave.

Witch Medusa has only one Eye, and though it’s glassy and missing its iris, it Sees everything and Beyond.

Except Maka.

“-My girlfriend,” Wes is saying, arm around her shoulder, glowing.

The Witch Monarch isn’t impressed. “Where?”

Wes gently urges Maka forward until she’s almost brushed up against the Witch’s robes. “It’s a pleasure, your Majesty,” she says, bowing her head automatically, too numb from the encounter with Soul earlier to let her nerves get the best of her.

Mouth hardening into a suspicious line, Witch Medusa gives off a hmm that rings in Maka’s ears like a warning and gives her the eerie impression that ghost snakes are wrapping themselves around her legs. Wes’s hands run cold and unnaturally empty, his soul wavelength on pause, and in her periphery, Soul solidifies into a statue made out of flesh, long lashes frozen mid-blink. Even her lungs stop working, all of her muscles paralyzed but her brain exposed like roadkill guts and flooding with white noise -

The Eye rolls in its socket like a marble until a yellow iris stares into Maka with the force of an impaling blade.

“I know it’s you,” Witch Medusa says without her mouth opening, though an electric, flickering tongue darts out between her lips. “You, the Blind Spot in my Vision, the Sin Reaper. Kill the Last Weapon. Kill him.”

You do it yourself, Maka scream-thinks, boiling and transiently wondering if she can feel the heat of Soul’s skin through his tuxedo if she touched him in his current state. The possibility is something worth fighting for.

“Kill him! Then kill him again!” Medusa’s cackles echo through every fond memory Maka has - reading a book with her mama and papa, Wes’s genuine interest in her favorite books, Soul and his dark hymns.

Kill the witch, is what Maka’s ancestors murmur to only her, just from the Other Side, from within her bones. Kill the witch.

The ballroom now barren, Maka beckons Soul over while Wes and his parents bid the last departing guests a good night at the front doors. Soul dips in close to her, strands of his hair feathering her forehead. Barely.

“Stay,” she begs, but with how readily he agrees, some would call it a command.

He gifts her a rare dimpled smile. “Okay, for you.”

They stay like that, leaning into each other, basking in their binding secret, and when Wes saunters back and focuses on Maka’s smile, so unlike the polite one she wears for him, he’s the one marred by a deep-seated frown.

“Do you ever Hear things, Mama?”

Nothing is as soothing as her mama running her fingers through Maka’s hair before bedtime, gentle nails massaging her scalp. Alternating between that and the hairbrush lulls Maka into hesitant sleepiness - she’s not sure if she has unwelcomed company, not sure if the Witch Medusa still has access to her brain, but she’s losing the battle to keep her eyelids open.

“Sin Reapers don’t Hear things, honey, they See,” Mama replies, shifting slightly and refusing Maka’s apologies - is she jabbing her? At her age, Maka might be too old to cuddle and share a bed with her mama, but she doesn’t know if she can sleep alone after - after the ball. Even if Wes escorted her home, she hadn’t felt safe until she jumped into her mama’s arms.

“But Mama, don’t you… just know things without knowing?”

“Ah! That’s Intuition. Listen to your gut, Maka.”

“I don’t know what mine is saying.” Blowing air out of her mouth and aiming it at her bangs to remove them from her face, she crosses her arms, sagging into her mama. “Did you See anything in Wes when he dropped me off?”

“Not particularly, not with our Sight. But he’s cute, and it’s clear that he sees everything in you.”

“That’s exactly what I didn’t want,” she groans, deciding to keep Soul’s secret. “I just wanted to make sure he was the Last Weapon. I feel horrible. I didn’t mean to let it go this far. I should have stopped at the one date, but…" But then I met Soul, and now I don’t know how to break up with Wes or save either of them.

Fingers kneading small circles into Maka’s temples, her mama says, "Sometimes there’s no room to have pity… it’ll make it harder for you to cleanse his soul.”

Cleanse his soul!

Suddenly, Maka can’t sleep, like she’s been awakened from a thousand year slumber. Her mind is an inferno of ideas.

After all, a Reaper should have a Scythe.

Climbing up the viney Evans mansion walls and into Soul’s window violates at least three laws, but the thrill of it is intoxicating enough to balance out any regrets or legal consequences that might come up later. Reckless is what this should be labeled - she has no clue what she’ll rely on if this doesn’t work, but the sight of Soul so still and vulnerable in his bed, burrowed beneath his comforter, is incomparable and priceless.

Walking softly over to his bedside, she covers his mouth, her palm burning instantaneously. Contact, at last. “Hey, Soul? Soul? … It’s me.”

His brows furrow and he sighs, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Careful and slow, Maka sits on the bed, the mattress dipping and creaking, splaying her hands on either side of him, stalling - can she do this, can she save him? She hovers over him, long hair falling around her face like a curtain and tickling him. Soul doesn’t wake with a scream but with a laugh.

He blinks into the stark darkness that has seeped into his room along with her, confused, dazed, like he’s seeing a dream, until his jaw drops open. “Maka?”

“Hi,” she says, deciding that she could stay in this neverending night with him.

“Can you control it?”

“Can I,” he repeats, grin wide and brazen and making her giddy. He points a finger at her before steeling it - it’s like watching metal melt but backwards, skin hardening and tinting gunmetal gray. “I can make it look like I got a sick manicure and pedicure too, and I can even make my arm hairs prickly.”

“Such finesse,” she muses, distracted by the thought of touching him again.

Two of his fingers morph into a blade, each one half of a pair of scissors. Snip snip. “And I can give you a haircut if you ever need it.”

Distantly, Maka knows she’ll look back on this moment and wish it never ended, and she’s so lost in the thought she forgets to respond.

Now crestfallen, Soul lowers his scissor hand, hiding it beneath the comforter but never breaking their eye contact. “That day, with Wes… that… I don’t know what happened. I was mad, and it just happened. I was trying to slam my fist into the piano and before I knew it, my hand was slicing through it.”

“You must have been so afraid,” she says, reaching out to brush his bangs back and appreciating that he’s nothing like her - honest, cautious, strong. Decisive.

“Something like that…” It comes out in a broken whisper, because Maka’s hand has wandered from his messy bed hair to his cheek, and she can sense that he’s holding something back that is too overwhelming to be contained for much longer. It’s similar to the feeling she gets in her chest, except he’s been under pressure for so long it might crack his ribs.

“I have something to tell you,” she admits, his jaw clenching underneath the heel of her palm. The effect she has on him is both empowering and humbling.

A Sin Reaper’s life consists of inherent loneliness and surreptitious burdens.

Living in the shadow between Humanity and the Divine isn’t a condemnation, but a bittersweet privilege. The general public both trembles at the mention of the Sin Reaper but also holds an unyielding reverence toward the cloaked hero-esque figure that safekeeps their Pure world by eating Kishin souls and carrying their sins.

Mama says no one knows what and who they are, not even Papa, who sends postcards from Wherever he is, off on his covert mission. And though Instinct tells Maka that revealing their family’s legacy as Reapers would incite Hell on Earth - a swarm of murderous Kishins her way, panic, dishonor, and apocalyptic chaos - she also can't harm the Last Weapon.

It has to be this way.

After her reveal, Soul holds her hands for the first time - grips them, gaze aflame.

“We can still run away,” he offers, grin crooked and dangerous.

“No,” she shakes her head, though she yearns to write a goodbye letter to her mama and leave with him. “So you’re - you're not afraid of me?”

“Didn’t know Reapers could be so cool.”

“You should smile like that more,” she says, realizing she hasn’t felt this happy in a while. “Soul, I have to tell you something - I… I want to wield you. Is that okay? We could be great together, just you and me.”

“I’ll follow you to the moon and back, Maka.”

Truth is Soul opening his soul for Maka to See.

“Am I… bad?”

“No,” she comforts, open palm flat against his bare chest, sensing his soul wavelength’s cadence. Sorting through the suppressed affection and longing that have been ticking like bombs inside her doesn’t come easily, and biting back a terrorized howl at the spark-like tendrils briefly poking out from his soul’s core blinds her for a few minutes.

They’re inky black and electric.

Like Medusa’s tongue.

Corrupt.

She can’t bear to tell him that about himself, not when his eyes are glittering in the faint moonshine that finds them planning all their sins.

“Medusa can’t see me. I would laugh and feel better about everything, but I felt like she was going to make me explode from the inside.” The sensation of the snake ghosts slithering and constricting her comes back, giving Maka wild goosebumps. “You don’t remember any of it?”

“I mean, I felt like I had zoned out for a second, but other than that, nothing,” Soul confirms, the crease between his brows deepening. “So… kill the Witch, huh? Treason and mutiny and all that good stuff.”

“Yeah! But since I’ll be in my Reaper form and you’ll be a scythe, no one will know it’s us.”

Though Soul doesn’t ask her to stay until the blue of daybreak, Maka does, and when she throws a leg over his windowsill to climb back down and hurry home, he trails after her, not touching her but looking as if he wants to ask for a hug.

Wes invites Maka to the Monarch Witch Medusa’s upcoming dinner, as she and Soul had predicted. Neither envisioned Wes asking Maka right in front of Soul, but no malignant intentions on Wes’s part lurked behind that drawback. A combination of unfortunate timing and Soul increasingly loitering near during Wes and Maka’s dates ever since that night were to blame.

Still, she and Soul can’t look each other in the eye for a week.

On that day a month later, Maka dresses up in another homemade gown, this one celestial blue, and falls in step with Soul as she and the Evanses walk through the Monarch’s Castle to the dining room. A small cork-stopped bottle filled with a neon pink liquid hangs from a string tied around her waist, bouncing against her leg whenever she walks, and it beats in time with her anxious heartbeat.

For some strange, silly reason, Maka loves when Soul whispers to her, even if it’s about something terrifying: “How are you going to cleanse me?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Wes casts an inquisitive look over his shoulder at them.

Her Majesty Medusa doesn’t don grandiose robes like she did at Wes Evans’s after recital party. Twin braids border her face, her cloak eerily familiar to her Mama’s.

Half an hour in, Soul distracts by spilling his tea over Wes, who accidentally pours his over Medusa. Mr. and Mrs. Evans apologize until they’re blue in the face while Maka empties the small jar into Medusa’s cup, never leaving her own unattended, but Maka can’t ignore the life threatening pangs and revolting nausea that soon have her doubled over, head smacking the table.

“Is there a problem?” Medusa asks in a tone that reveals she knows exactly the problem, Maka doubting that anyone else in the room can See Medusa’s snake-like tongue bolting out between her fangy teeth.

“None,” Maka strives to say, but the articulation is questionable - it’s like her mouth is full of cotton balls. “I… I think I took a sip of some poison,” is the last thing she mumbles as she room whirls around her, as she teeters and the lights go out behind her eyelids before she even hits the lavish, imported carpet.

Breaking up with Wes Evans wasn’t part of their plan, but unintentionally poisoning herself wasn't either, and she and Soul hadn’t discussed breaking up with his brother because it was an unspoken given that hadn’t been assigned a deadline.

“We should break up,” she says to his how are you feeling before her eyes can focus on the ceiling tiles.

For once, he’s caught off guard, struggling to repress his emotions and respond coherently and responsibly. That’s Soul’s specialty, not his. Maka doesn’t allow regret to jab at her for more than it should for that comparison, because it’s like her mama said - empathy could kill her. “Oh, I see…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you…” Wes brings an unsure hand up to undo his neatly combed hair - a minuscule clue that he’s devastated. “Do you want me to stay?”

She can’t lie. “No. Thank you, though.”

“Sure.” It’s unlike him to lack poise, but she doesn’t pride herself in single-handedly unhinging him. “Should I ask Soul to come keep you company?”

What’s worse than Wes’s immediate resignation, than his deteriorating calm, than the fact that he’s still his kind, understanding, and unquestioning self and probably saw this coming and doesn’t suggest any of that resentfully, is that Maka just can't lie. “Please… Thanks, Wes.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t get up so fast-”

“Meet me at midnight, and then we’re going to get payback on that Witch,” Maka seethes between stomach throbs, ripping the unnaturally white and sterile hospital bed sheets off herself despite Soul’s protests.

Only a hand to her shoulder slows her down. “You should rest, first.”

“Okay,” she agrees, but only because his touch is sedating and causes her head to do that whirling thing again.

If she weren’t a Reaper, she might have died. But she is, and she recovers at an alarming rate, but pretends to be ill for a few more days for appearances - and to pass the time with Soul by her bedside.

“Kill the Witch!" her ancestors chant in her sleep.

Three hundred years ago, Witch Medusa took the throne after Witch Mabaa disappeared, and because Witches are Divine and possess powers no Human has been granted, it’s been an unquestioned ritual that they oversee Heaven on Earth. Should any Evil appear, they are sworn to protect and fight in the name of Lord Death and Goodness.

But Medusa’s soul is different, Maka comes to understand thanks to her ancestors. It shifts forms, it deceives, it’s full of sin, and that’s why the Witch can’t use the Eye properly.

Medusa Sees all, and while Maka had anticipated the Witch to foresee tonight’s one team assault, she had miscalculated the sheer lack of mercy and immense influence the Monarch bears.

Maka and Soul are separated by charging Kishin souls, who had waited for them high above and dove at the pair as soon as they strolled past the security guards. Too many feet away, Soul slashes at the Kishins with his blade-arm, his scythe form too heavy for Maka to wield in his current (unknown to him) tainted state. "What are we going to do?”

“I - I don't know,” she cries, her mind sputtering like a failing engine but her ancestors guiding her through draining the Kishin of their Souls with only a thought, with only pointing.

Fear pales Soul for a moment - afraid of her - but he shakes his head and rededicates himself. “I trust you, no matter what!”

“Then - come closer,” Maka says without thinking, never having been so assertive before, but still asking if it’s okay to kiss him anyway. He moves toward her, nodding yes, please all the way, the few strides he takes feeling like an eternity. “And if this doesn’t work and you get reincarnated, promise you’ll come back to me!”

“Always, Maka.”

By then he’s reached her, and she receives him with a warm, relieved tremble and a sigh as his hands rest on her shoulders, standing on her tiptoes to hook an arm around his neck and pull him down to meet her halfway. Neither of them is hesitant, spurred on by desperation - eager to feel the other’s lips, to fit together and lessen the space between their souls until it disappears, to live through the night.

There’s something at work while they search for a rhythm, like his vibrating soulspace is caught in an invisible battle between Good and Evil, and she vows to submerge the place with her own soul’s Purity. A Purge, a Detox. Nails digging into his skin, she parts her lips ever so slightly, and when he follows suit, she tentatively presses her tongue against his, squeezing her eyes shut and focusing, focusing, focusing on that impurity deep in his core, flooding it until the flinching tendrils disintegrate.

Maka breaks away, gasping for air for like she’s come up from being underwater too long, holding on to him in case something’s gone horribly awry.

“Looks like we’re going to get a Corrupt Witch’s soul,” he says in her head. “Ready, Partner?”

Maka has no words - she plants a kiss on his blade in agreement, turning to run on.

Snakes sprout up from the tiled floors in the castle’s foyer, this time tangible, this time digging their fangs into her shins and calves, one attaching itself to her wielding arm. Soul drives himself through all of their necks before she realizes what’s happened, malleable in her hands with a mind of his own.

As a Reaper, she walks softly, half-there and half-here, so she doesn’t bleed, but she isn’t sure what other damage they might have done. She’s real enough to be blown through a castle wall, to lose consciousness until the jarring sound of metal scraping retrieves her to the world.

“Soul?”

“Maka!”

He’s so close, yet so far.

“Don’t ever drop me again,” Soul says lightheartedly after she stumbles through the rubble to him, wiggling his brows, the left one smeared with blood from a perfect gash on his forehead. “Wield me?”

Medusa can’t See Maka, but she can sense Soul’s soul, and it’s detrimental to their offense.

“I’m so sorry,” Soul repeats, but he’s the one with the bleeding scythe Eye, the one taking all the hits.

Maka can’t keep promises. There’s too much noise, and she can’t hear her ancestors over their own jumbled screaming, can’t hear the chandelier snapping and falling on her. She doesn’t remember letting him go.

She emerges from the debris unscathed, but defeated.

“Join me, Deathscythe, and become my Last Weapon.”

Like all heartbreaks, this one is unexpected and poignant, but Maka quietly accepts that she deserves it - after all, she had done the same thing to Wes, leaving him after leading him on.

“Deathscythe,” Soul murmurs, now in his human form, the interest in his voice already a pledge of disloyalty. Each step he takes away from Maka reminds her of Wes exiting her hospital room after the poisoning. Maybe this is punishment for her sins - Lord Death does have a funny sense of humor like that, and this unreal level of irony would be a trademark of his tricks.

“Soul, no,” Maka begs, hating how her voice cracks under the strain of holding back a surge of rage and hurt.

When Soul turns to give her a once over, indifferent and derisive and cold, he rolls his eyes, one of them highlighted with a streak of blood, echoing her: “Your feelings for me are criminal.”

Witch Medusa gleams with sardonic glee as Soul swathes an arm around her shoulders, Maka following him against her better judgment - or maybe because she trusts him, because she Listens to her Intuition and can See his soul.

“Soul, how could you? You can’t just leave me like this, we’re partners, you said you’d be there with me. You said you wanted to run away, just me and you.” She sniffles, and it all comes crashing down - her face crumbles, but she doesn’t bother to wipe the tears away. “We could have been great together…”

Later, Maka’s ankle will swell up from rolling it during the effort to reach him before Medusa notices Soul double crossed her, but the exhilaration of realizing he’s still on her side and the thrill of feeling him transform in her palm, of their souls lacing together for their first kill masks it until hours later -

When the sun returns.

“Huh. The sunlight makes your hair look… like a field of wheat.”

Maka scrunches her nose but blushes. “That's… cheesy. You okay, Soul?”

“Definitely,” he reassures after a quick kiss to her forehead.

Five years later to the date, Maka admires the new ring on her finger as she walks arm-in-arm with Soul, not knowing that today is the last day the sun will rise. It’ll set and the blue daylight will wash over the world in the morning, the moon stuck in one position yet again, Lord Death permanently silent but still Watching.

“You and Wes never happened,” Soul keeps joking, but Maka knows part of it stems from residual insecurities not related to her but to the amount of time Wes’s one-sided feeling endured after the breakup - sixteen months, not a day less or more, to her anguish.

“But you're Wes,” she teases anyway, hoping it’ll earn her snark and a dimpled appreciative beam. “My favorite Evans.”

Maka opens her mouth to comment about the similarity between the two, but like that day, just like before, the air particles seem to slow down until they stop. This time it's Soul who turns perversely static and hollow, like his soul’s been carved out abruptly. Even the wind is cut off, Soul’s hair as still as a picture, the amber leaf behind him suspended midair. Panic stricken, Maka clutches Soul closer, scrutinizing her surroundings wildly -

Across a street, a girl who bears a chilling resemblance to Medusa, down to the twin braids framing her face and intertwined together at her chin, waves at Maka, little fingers wiggling.

And if this doesn’t work and you get reincarnated, promise you’ll come back to me!

The disembodied voice makes Maka’s blood curdle, her ancestors screeching. That plea was only supposed to be for Soul, but it seems Maka’s suspicions about having company in her brain had been right all along.

The little girl stares and doesn’t say anything, but her eyes bug out as she sneers, black tongue rattling and crackling.

It’s clear that she remembers.

#soulxmaka #soul eater evans #maka albarn #soul eater #soul x maka #reverb 2017 #redphlox writes #links to ffn and ao3 will be up later

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