A tempest tosses the broken
And so easily we fall.
Away the ones we loved all go,
Leaving us to crawl.

But she would never forsake me—
Never leave me here to rot.
Unless she had a choice no more
And had by Death been caught.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It often impressed Myrnin how matched he and Amelie were. They could keep the company of one another without much trouble and had been for centuries; Amelie forgave Myrnin's eccentricities in exchange for his mind and Myrnin forgave Amelie's harshness in return for her friendship.

They were paired evenly as far as body, mind, and ability. But their souls? Their souls were made up of two different things entirely; Myrnin's was madness and Amelie's, coldness.

The foundation of Myrnin's essence was sand—easily erodible and unsafe to trust in. Amelie's, however, was rock—sturdy, reliable, and forever. She was, and would always be, his rock.

But the reason, Myrnin knew, for Amelie's carefulness not to become too close to anyone was due to her father's lack of paternal feelings toward her. It was a wound that would scar anyone. Amelie's cold manner and detached appearance was because of her hatred for Bishop.

But she'd looked past the walled fortress that was her heart and had grown close to Myrnin.

Amelie was a wonder at dealing with Myrnin while he was in one of his moods. She, and she alone, was capable of following the quick tempo at which Myrnin's mind whirled, her footsteps as graceful as they would be if the two were to take Myrnin's fast valse to a dance floor. But occasionally, Amelie preferred to put her foot down instead of cave into his every whim and their dance would falter before Myrnin agreed to let Amelie lead.

The missing piece to Myrnin was sanity, and Amelie made up for his unbalanced behavior in her poised self tenfold. It was incredible, the effects she had on him. Only she was capable of pulling Myrnin to complete tranquility from the depths of his madness.

But just now, with her gone and in the clutches of death itself, had Myrnin realized all of this—all of what Amelie was to him: a safeguard, a lighthouse in his sanguine-colored fog, the base to his acid that neutralized him.

And it anguished him to realize that she might die.

All of their adventures, the pain they shared, the happiness they'd had—what would become of those memories? Would they morph into things that would wound Myrnin every time he thought back on them? Would they evolve into a monster that led him to insanity—an insanity he could not escape?

Amelie couldn't die. Especially not so recently after Ada had left him for good. Amelie could not die and leave him alone with Oliver. Amelie couldn't leave him. She couldn't.

It came to Myrnin that if this was his fate—to live alone and completely miserable—he wouldn't have it. If Amelie died, it would alter him forever; he would have no rock to stand on; have no person to trust in; and not a single being who would accept him as wholly as Amelie did. He would not let her die.

For Amelie, Myrnin would fight, and he would fight hard.

And forever.

Forever for Amelie.