#smthsmth unshakeable duty and hidden pasts and love

[melodead]

of everything you’ve seen in your time here, it is this scene you’ll remember even a hundred turns from now. the rising sun spilling across silver’s hair and cutting through the shadow of his uniform, the haze of an illusion that lingers, the dust you’ll return to—you take it in like a dream, to the mourning cries of birdsong.

the stone is cold beneath you in spite of the numbness spreading through your body, like ink tainting water. (like blood sullied with ink. again, again, you have failed again.) dark spots dance across your vision as the ceiling spins. the mirror chamber is in ruin. somewhere, a pen nears the end of this chapter.

and then silver’s grief fills your world. it spills from his eyes and down his cheeks in drops that catch the light. (you can’t look away, so it must be regret you feel—for his tears, but not your choices.) he cradles you close, curled over as though he’s protecting his heart, and you can hear it thumping behind layers of armor and skin. it beats faintly, but not unbroken. you’re glad.

you’ve never had the privilege of being this close before, close enough to pick out the shades of blue and pink and violet in silver’s eyes, to watch as they tremble when you brush your thumb underneath one of them, even as your own heart breaks. something warm drips down your face, but you don’t know whose fault it is.

it doesn’t really matter now, does it?

you were so close this time. one more try, on more rewrite, one more chance. you’d promised a happy ending, after all. everyone would make it to the finale beyond this little island, and you never forget your promises. you must follow through on this one. (it was made long, long ago, forged in glass and sealed under the stars. all of this, as long as it was only you. it always had to be.)

even so, you wish you had a little more time to say goodbye.

“you don’t have to cry anymore,” you tell him, hushed. “please don’t cry, silver.”

he crumbles a little more. he apologizes, unsteady, even as his voice breaks toward the end. you tell him it’s okay, almost like a secret, and press a kiss to his forehead as your eyes fall shut. an apology for now.

(there was a dream, once, when you were younger. you recall it now in dawn-kissed eyes and silver gleaming gold, in the cool water running across your skin. a dream, you had thought it. oh, what a dream it was.)

the clock turns, the page flips, and then it starts again.