#OHHHH MOMMMMMMMM

[recitedemise]

First and foremost, Gale is a thinker. Indeed, he's a most decorated scholar with a marvelous mind. He'd trace the twinkle of their stars, would divine those answers to those greatest of riddles, and even when the night would expunge all lanterns, it'd be his in his that would glimmer alight. Gale is his intellect. And Gale has his brilliance. So, to say he'd considered how she'd roil in anguish, well, that, he confesses, he had longly thought on. Now, Serana deeply frowns, heart dropping to her belly. There, it lumbers unbeating as frigid as the winter, and she wears nothing, no color, but a frothing grey.

With his own in his chest now breaking a little, he, as usual, had considered that, too.

But never, never in a hundred years — a thousand! a million, in fact! — had this blustering wizard cared ever to hurt her. She must know that, surely, gaze shadowing in the likeness of an autumn-gloom hearse. He'd meant only to warm her, to chase out that cold in the river of her bones. Gosh, he'd have strung up the sun in her chest if he could, but for all that magic still weeping past his skin, this, that necklace, was all he could manage. He'd like to saddle her with dawn, watch her bleed with its breaking; however, voice now tight with the squeezing hand of grief, she now, in a different way, rightfully cracks.

He didn't let her choose, though Serana's used to that.

It's just another wrong on her person in a mile-long list.

"I—" Gale fumbles. He looks to her, cowed, and not for the time, is so very desperate to bridge their distance. But you shouldn't, he scolds himself, pulse beating like a rocket in the seat of his throat. He has bled on her plentifully, drenching her selfishly in sheets of yearning. Now, with all this tension boiling to a point between them, he fears it will leave his feelings plain to see. "I am—" foolish, martyring, no, oh, good gods "—a well that's down to its dredges, Serana." A corpse. "With my condition, hoarding whatever pittance I have left would have offered us little. I'd have given it a moment, perhaps a tenday had I the heart to be generous about it, but you now possess something that won't wither with the years." Unlike him, this wizard, "you've something undying."

"This way, I can keep you warm well after the stars blink out."

It hurts. It hurts, bleeds, splits open like a corpse to a bed of swamp rot, and it pools and drips and hurts, hurts, hurts. Those words, flooding now in the dark that coldly keeps him, sours with the treachery of his dying breath. She strikes him so alone, stood there the lamb for both father and mother. Yet, had Gale gall enough to dare the most painful of steps, he could wrench every noise she's still keeping in her swallow. He could share in her shivers. He could fill her with breath. And, gods, how he longs to, hapless as she takes to the harrowing midnight. Following, he's weak to the pull of her turpentine gravity — his earth, all beauty, and him, the moon.

 "You should never ask that question," this man pleads, pained, and, god forgive him, bare, so bare, and vulnerable as usual. It should be a threat, really, but it sounds a great deal like he's coming undone. She's a whirlwind of emotions where he's a maelstrom of moods, and where can they put this? This torment and grief? Both their bodies are shuddering, a cry welling in their bellies. Their bodies, his own, cannot endure. "I'd sooner ask you to look over everything you've already showed me. Look at all those night's we had shared. Your laughter and kindness I wouldn't trade for the world. Don't offer me more, Serana, when I'm mad with the thought of enduring it all. I'm on months of restraint that have left me tortured, and I can't undo it. You shouldn't ask that of anyone." He can't give her such heartache! And he won't double her regrets! When he reaches for her hand, his knuckles dribble out black. "Don't make me stand here and say, please, offer me everything."

He's dying. A kiss, forgiveness, your heart. He's allowed to be a little selfish, isn't he?

what has she done to be put in situations like this at such dappled moments in her life ?? so often , serana thinks , others will make decisions for her , expecting her to follow along , as if her say in the matter meant little. a CHILD who never asked to be born in a cult where her purpose was to be offered to their god. a WOMAN who never asked to be the crux of a prophecy for her people. a DAUGHTER who didn't want her encasement in a tomb to be the solution to her father's insanity. and now this ?? not once in centuries had her own thoughts been considered amongst those that made these choices in the pinnacle moments of her life. or , maybe in gale's case , it wasn't that her say didn't matter but that he knew she'd've never allowed it in the first place. so in the end what was the point of including her in his thought process when this was a gift. even worse , why ask opinions on a gift that drains your very essence ??

as he speaks , he'd see the passing of expressions fall across moonlit skin. once composed , now riddled with horror , pity , fear , guilt , anguish ;; all kaleidoscoping , fighting for longer moments on her face so that he could see. he had to see. " why. . . " barely whispered before his final words. then. . . a pregnant silence between them. where once her hand was holding to the amulet so tenderly , now it sits there against her skin a lone shimmering ember amongst a sea of snow as she's unable to bring herself to touch what was the flickering light of his fading calling. something the vampire had consumed from him without even knowing , and frankly , wanting to. " i find myself. . . " serana begins , achingly slow , tone so markedly different from how bright it had been when he'd breached the door of her tent. " . . . confused. . . maybe is the best word. . . no , perhaps it's perplexed , at what i have done to make the people around me think i don't want a choice in matters where i'm directly involved. " she swallows something thick back from erupting out of her throat. " you see. . . i didn't get to choose this. immortality , that is. it was a by product , a lucky one in fact , of being offered to our god as all our women are EXPECTED to do , and had i not survived , the only outcome is death. i didn't get to choose to be locked away in a tomb in the underdark for the foreseeable future , which is again , potentially eternity , alive , only to hope on the off chance that either my mother would come back for me or that someone would find me. it was EXPECTED of me to follow along for the betterment of my kind. and now ─── "

how does she explain this ?? how does she express to him properly the horror she feels at what he's done ?? the feeling of losing something she's only just gained ??

"─── i'm given , by the blood , gale , arguably the most beautiful and thoughtful gift i've ever been given in eons and now i'm told that it's been given at the cost of someone i've grown to care so much for , EXPECTED to be gracious. what am i supposed to do ?? this thing crafted with nothing but love ─── " the choice of word completely lost on her as she continues " ─── now tainted forever because it's drained you of every last drop of the thing you hold most dear to you. how am i to be expected to cherish this properly now ?? tell me. because had you asked , i would've told you this was enough. just us. here. together. all of that was enough for me , gale , why couldn't you see that ?? " there's an understanding deep down that maybe his intention was to never let such a thing be known. not until after he was long gone.

which is the worst outcome ?? knowing ?? or living in ignorance ??

that's the thing with warmth that she forgotten about. not just the balmy summer days but the way that , without any wind to cool down , it becomes so stifling. and soon , what was once a picture perfect day welcoming the sun's life-blessing rays feels all too similar to a dank , musty tomb where you can't breathe in the stygian darkness that surrounds. breathing being the least of her concerns , it still brought about the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped somewhere you suddenly couldn't get out of , no matter your fortitude or strength. ( and you're suddenly back in that stone tomb screaming for your mother-- ) it hurts. her heart pangs as if the muscle were dying again. pairing that with this overwhelming dread at this man whom she loves (!!) condition worsening because of her , panic leeches onto her psyche and gnaws with it's abominable teeth.

the tent opens , serana scrambling gracelessly out until she can stand in the open mountain air , taking breaths she doesn't need in an attempt to calm the oncoming distress that wanted to claim her. cooling air that whips through the stone barely breaks past the enchantment that embraces her. too much. curse this !! why was this too much !! why does she want to wear it forever and at the same time rip this delicate thing off so that it's only gifted to the empty mountaintop ?? why is she elated to be given such a tender thing and at the same time feel like she's going to collapse at the thought that he'll waste away to nothing because of it ?? why does she want to scream and cry and shove him away and at the same time feel that him holding her would be the solution to all this pain ?? it takes everything not to turn at the sound of soft footsteps coming up behind her , yet she can't stop herself from continuing to wallow- " freely given for what ?? what good is it knowing what i've taken from you ?? as if my own existence isn't already a testament to that very concept ?? it isn't fair. i don't want to just take and take and take , i want to give , gale. tell me what i can give !! "

say it !! say it so you can know that i knew i'd be lost without you the moment you'd opened that crypt. i love--