Otherworldly
Severus has never been a dreamer. He has always prided himself upon his tenacious grasp of the tangible.
And proud he should be, because this is what he wants. He does not crave escapism. And why should he?
He is born different.
Escapism is for those who dream of dragons and elves and wizards, those who live with a mind in the real and a heart in dreams, for the humdrum, mundane, mediocre.
They dream of them because they live in his world, and his world is tangible only to him.
And then, he has a glimpse of another world, and he feels as if he has only truly seen it for the first time. All of his world pales in comparison to it because this world has Lily.
All his knowledge of the tangible lies in darkness, eclipsed by her light.
He finds himself humbled.
His world is not real. The realization strikes him every time his eyes reflect Lily, (and he is blinded by her fire) every time he says her name with worship in his heart and yearning in his mind.
He could describe her in all that he is not. His world is beautiful, but Lily is otherworldly.
He sees his world and he sees Lily, and he finds his world lacking.
No dreamer could think of something so strange and lovely. She does not belong to her world, but certainly not to his. He cannot bear to have the tangible burned by the dream that is Lily. He cannot bear to see her from afar, his own world devoid of her light.
He could never hope to have her. In his tangible Lily leaves, his inferiority baring his heart - his soul - to her at last.
For the first time, her name tastes bitter on his tongue.
It burns him to see Lily's perfection tarnished by someone as utterly mundane as Potter. His tangible vanishes, burning in her fire, and he is left grasping ashes.
He could only dream of it. In his dreams it is different. In all he imagines, nothing could ever imitate her. Lily will always transcend his world, but at least he would be the only one who could see her. She is so distant, and he is too weak to ever reach where she emerges from.
He could always hope she would love him if he were not so hopelessly lacking, if only in his dreams.
He is wrong. Lily's name does not taste bitter. It tastes of damnation and redemption.
It burns him and it enlightens him.
Years after, when she is no longer there, he lets himself adrift. He is a servant to the Dark Lord now, but he is indifferent to those to whom he causes suffering, and to his own. He was imperfect before, even if it was in contrast to Lily.
He could go anywhere now. He wishes her light were there to guide him.
Lily is the light that cast his world in shadow, and how dark a shadow she cast. Lily has never belonged to his world. His world had belonged to her.
Her son has her eyes, but they are windows to her soul.
It burns him and it drowns him.
He sees the Dark Lord rise, fall and rise again, and he wonders how he could not see it. It takes him a lifetime to realize that he could only see Lily because she overshadows him, and in the darkness she is something from another world.
When he dies, it is with her name on his lips.
In his dreams, it tastes like something from his world.
Fin.
