#but i just reread harrow and now i can’t stop thibking about her

[yoursincalendricalheresy]

- you are mercymorn the first and you are attending the funeral of one of the only people in the entire wretched universe who will ever understand you

- And what’s the fucking point. What are a few stuttering hours when the last 10,000 years have been one long funerary march, one long drawn out scream stretched across time and space forever and forever

- Haven’t you, haven’t all of you (all but one) spent the last myriad making yourself a monument to the worst thing that you have ever done (the worst thing that was ever done to you)?

- What point is a rose blown bower when the four three of you are already walking tombs

- You are mercymorn the first and you are the second saint to serve the king undying and you have committed atrocities for his command and you love him because what else is left

- You are the second saint to serve the king undying and you have watched the rest slowly dwindle away to the first of you and there are two children clinging to your robes as if they belong and you hate them for making themselves what you were made to be and not even understanding (later you will hate one of them for doing what you could not and making a prison of herself instead of a mausoleum)

- You are Mercymorn Crystabel and you are staring into the eyes that you didn’t know were your best friend’s and everything changes

- You are the Saint of Joy and for ten thousand years you have lived in grief and in anger and you have come to the end and if you can just finish it maybe you can rest. Maybe it will have been worth it and your bones can rest easy at last

- You are Mercy and you have loved him for ten thousand years. You were made in his image to love him and he is your god and your best friend and he lied to you (there were other lies once that you can almost remember, but that was before you were)

- You were M— and