Prompt: things you said while I was crying
There wasn't a lot Ava loved in the world.
Least of all herself.
Ava would keep to herself after losing Maggie—her friend's death an incident that still haunted her when she slept, screams scraping at her throat, clawing the edge of her tongue. She'd swallow them back. No one liked it when she cried aloud. She didn't like the murmurs that sieved through her hair either, rooting at the scalp, voices filling her head, as though the one that burned her ears wasn't enough, telling her to die.
She had been a troubled girl all her life. Maggie had been the only one to understand, bright eyes outmatched only by her smile.
But Ava lacked strength; so Maggie suffered.
She had cried until there was nothing left in her to let out, young, hurt, alone.
No one comforted her when she cried. She was fine with that.
It was deserved.
()
Ava sits despondently outside, staring at her palms, streaks of blue and red ribbons dribbling down her skin, merging together, vivid violet. It hurts to look at them, the scent of iron in the atmosphere, in her nose, cries resounding overhead.
"Y-You okay?"
Her head snaps up, pulling a muscle. Grimacing, Ava turns around, staring up at Odin, his expression mildly curious, eyes vivid violet—
Hurriedly turning away, rubbing the back of her neck, she nods, "I'm fine."
Walking over, he sits beside her, pulling out his pipe. Smoke soon curls around them, trailing out past his lips. He glances at Ava; she stares at her hands, fingers curling empty air, slightly shaking.
"You w-want to talk about it?"
"No…"
His heart jumps as she starts to cry.
"I'm… I'm fine…"
Shoulders bunch up, eyes stinging.
Odin's hand hovers in the air, unsure. Carefully, he sets it on her spine, feather-light.
Ava bawls into her hands, smelling phantom blood; crying harder, her shrieks become louder than the ones in her head, voice strong, alive with horror, hating herself for being a terrible person, for not being stronger.
It's Maggie all over again.
At the time, it was necessary—the people that watched her climb the stage, execution disguised as rebirth, everything gone wrong, watching a girl stripped of skin and bone and self, it had made her so angry. Under that fear, there was rage.
Killing all those people was justified, she thought, killing them made sense—they hadn't cared if she died so what was the difference?
In the aftermath of the slaughter, she towered over her enemies.
They hadn't mattered—they were in the way.
The way she hadn't mattered to Wrathia.
That was the worst part.
Screeches subside into sobs, into sniffles, then into nothing but quiet shame.
Ava doesn't dare to look at him.
Odin averts his gaze, wine colored wisps coiling through his teeth, wordless.
His hand stays on her back.
That said enough.
()
The demand was clear: sleep.
The threat was in the fall.
Once, slumber was her escape from the physical world, tucked in darkness, bad memories, and hopes, kept in treasure chests, which she could never quell.
Her demon was relentless in urging her to speak with the host of her husband—Ava could tell.
There was love in the plea; Ava's hatred burned hot beneath her heart, charring its bone case, bitter that her demon should and can love, has someone who loves her; she cries from the unfairness of it all.
She resists out of disgust.
But she tells.
"They want to meet each other,"
"O-Our demons?"
Ava folds her arms, sitting beside him, "Yeah."
"H-How's that?" inquires Odin, face obscured by vapors, "They're in our h-heads,"
"Yes, but we can have them meet when we sleep,"
His brows shoot up in surprise, "In our s-sleep?"
Ava nods, "I found that out when I slept near Maggie that one time—"
"When y-you peeked up her shirt,"
"That was entirely out of context," she rejects, flushing.
"F-Fine by me," he shrugs, "So… w-what do you want to do then?"
Her fists clench.
"Keep them far apart."
Odin casts a sidelong glance, gloom flitting over her features, red stare the color of dusk—contempt tangible in the space between them.
"That's w-what I think too,"
Their eyes meet, glinting from the light of day and something else.
"Really?" she breathes, fire blazing through her skull, flames all her own.
"A-Absolutely,"
"They're going to get so mad," she whispers as she leans in, excited.
"I know," he murmurs, smog on his tongue, wafting toward her.
It stings her eyes, tears forming, but her gaze is fixed, grin genuine, and there's no need to comfort her.
()
She'd never seen so many lights.
Ava bounds ahead, caught up in the euphoria of sensations—sounds, sights and smells she never thought she'd experience.
"Wow, so this is what carnivals are like!"
Odin strides slowly, hands in his pockets, "Y-You've said that three t-times already,"
"I know but it's exciting!" she replies, too much in a good mood to care about his tone.
Looking about, Ava curiously totters along, weaving through stalls, enrapt with the countless people, children rushing past, with Odin close behind, taking in the boisterous atmosphere; he thinks of his sisters and brother, wondering where they could be. He hasn't been to one of these since his parents—
Ava halts.
Odin nearly collides into her, "N-Now what?"
Ava points—stuffed animals line the walls, hanging securely on their perches, all in various cuddly forms.
He peers down at her. The look on her face apparent, he states, "You w-want one,"
"Hmm? Oh, no, I don't—"
Ignoring her, Odin walks over to the stall. Ava groans, going after him.
She comes up to his side as the vendor hands him three balls to knock down pins, aligned away several yards from them. Ava frowns, doubting he can make it and knowing the owner thinks the same, "Will you come on?"
He smirks, "Y-You come on,"
Odin whips his arm back, pins shattering to the ground from the first shot.
Ava and the vendor ogle the empty table. Odin, crossing his arms, pointedly stares at the options, "W-We'll take our prize n-now,"
The merchant grumbles under his breath.
The boy points at a fox, lurid red and soft in his hands, turning to pass it over.
Ava's arms outstretch, taking it carefully between her palms, skin smoothing over the plush animal.
"You want a di-different one?" Odin questions easily.
The girl shakes her head, angling her body, indicating she's ready to continue.
Odin looks at her, "Pfft, n-no need to thank m-me or anything,"
Ava asks, "How'd you do that?"
"What, t-the game?"
She nods.
"Child's p-play," he answers, "You should s-see the stuff Olai had us d-do—it's a lot harder than t-that. And, ha! My dad was the be-best at targets—"
Ava catches the hitch in his throat, "Did he bring you to fairs a lot?"
"…When it sh-showed up, y-yeah,"
"I didn't ask you to get this for me…"
"You really s-seemed to want i-i-it though,"
The pair stroll in silence, amidst vast noise, Ava clutching the toy to her chest, Odin seeing nothing significant in it.
She stops; so does he.
Ava chuckles faintly, smile widening bit by bit, "I've never had a gift before,"
Odin pivots his form, surprised by the confession.
She wipes her eyes, smiling at him, "Thank you, Odin,"
His gaze is direct, voice shy, "You're w-welcome,"
()
The excuse is strategy.
Her demon bemoans having her for a host, telling her that the longer she delays they meet in the place where mind and soul meet, the longer it will take to defeat TITAN's armada.
Her tormentor wishes to see her husband.
Ava refuses.
"She says that she and Pedri need to regroup, make up a plan,"
"T-They can relay with us if it annoys them so much," Odin answers blandly, disinterested in their wants.
"I told her that," Ava replies, tossing hair over her shoulder, "But she's persisting more than ever,"
Odin sneers, "T-They have a lot of nerve a-asking us to sleep by e-each other,"
"I'm glad we don't. It's just weird."
"I w-wouldn't like the idea of additional people in my h-head either,"
She nods, "I understand that."
He suddenly stops.
"What's the matter?"
"O-One thing lacks sense to me t-though."
She waits.
"If defeating TITAN will get rid of your leech f-forever, why don't you l-let them strategize?"
Ava stares at him, "I don't want them happy."
"N-Neither do I, Ava. But that's part o-of your deal, isn't it?"
"It's part of yours too."
"W-Which is also why I'm bringing i-it up,"
Looking away, Ava wraps her arms around herself, "He got to you,"
"No one g-got to me," Odin negates, peeved at the assumption, "I'll d-do what I want."
"Then why ask me at all?"
"My point is t-that we need them to h-hold up their end of the b-bargain. And if it means t-they meet up, we'll n-need to do that soon."
Ava glares at him, "No."
"Be r-reasonable—"
"I can't," Ava exclaims, "I won't!"
He steps forward, "You're going to l-let them meet,"
She stands still, lava shifting beneath skin, a bitter laugh tossed his way, "You're going to make me?"
Odin locks his eyes on hers, quiet.
"I didn't think so," she mocks, beginning to walk away—
His hand latches onto her wrist, halting her, pulling back, "I-I'm not a-asking, Ire,"
"I'm not giving in either, Arrow,"
His fingers squeeze tightly, digits cold around the burning pulse, "You h-have t-to—"
"No—"
"What's w-wrong with y-y-you?"
"You're pleading with the wrong person," she counters, yanking her wrist from his grip, "I don't have anything to lose!"
"A-And I d-do!"
Ava pauses, shocked.
Odin turns from her, "H-He hasn't threatened my f-f-family or anything but… the sooner TITAN i-is tak-k-ken down, the quicker o-our lives will return t-to normal."
But her life was never normal.
There had never been a time where she wished for it all to be the way it used to be—it was always about treading forward, yearning for the future.
Odin clung to the past, memories drifting around him, heady as incense. She never had something so euphoric, a source of comfort when all she can do is tear herself apart.
Ava hates Odin too.
Though she can't blame him for being worried for himself.
To each their own.
But she won't have his life on her conscience.
She sighs, "Fine."
Whirling around, he ogles her, "You'll d-do it then,"
Another statement. No objection.
"It was only a matter of time, I guess," she sighs.
Odin reaches out, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Ava looks up, his fingers giving a gentle squeeze.
"I won't g-go where I'm not allowed. I p-promise."
Tears come unbidden, choking her, unable to swallow, "I…"
"I g-get it," he says, offering an awkward smile, "I w-wanted them to keep suffering too."
She laughs, even as her shoulders shake, with neither of them knowing what she's feeling; she cries and nothing is said.
()
Odin waits in a dimly lit room, watching purple plumes rise from the back of his mouth toward the ceiling.
His heart pounds when the door opens, face impassive as Ava walks across the length between them and settles beside him. They sit at arm's length.
Don't get close to me.
He pulls out a pillow, "H-H-Here,"
"Thank you," she says blankly, holding it close to her chest.
Odin lays on his back, the smoke no longer as distracting, dead ash grating between his teeth.
I don't want to do this.
Ava shifts, getting as comfortable as the floor will allow, turning on her side. It hurts in that position. She copies his, staring everywhere but at him.
This isn't right.
They breathe inaudibly, chests tight, bodies rigid.
Both want to cry.
"I'm s-sorry,"
"I am too,"
The words are hollow.
()
The minds are compact.
It's darker than either thought, feeling the trickles of one another tease the border, inviting, terrifying.
Their demons merge, fire and smoke, crackling, hissing, in a language their kind could only recognize.
The boy and girl remain in enclaves of shadow, withdrawing deep into crevices from what they fear.
Don't find me.
Odin stays where he is, watching black burn in the distance, listening to weeping, reminding him of his mother and it's painful to compare.
Ava sobs into her hands, sensing his eyes scrutinize her as she smolders, to the thin wick of her soul, reminding her of everyone and it's painful to compare.
No one approaches; they are relieved.
No one approaches; they are not surprised.
()
Ava leaves with the dawn, breaking apart when she's alone. The monsters in their heads made them do this—it's what she tells herself, because it's easier to blame them than anything else. But she knows it's not wholly true. They didn't have to give in, invade private dark spaces and though nothing happened, everything felt different.
Odin chokes back the lump in his throat, feeling disgusted with himself, with his demon, with this whole lot. No matter how much good he thinks about, wants to do, or does, something always happens to make it worse. It would've been better if they never met, and he just let his family kill him.
They hate everyone, themselves, and each other.
()
Odin finds her in one of the cabins, staring pensively out the window. He's about to leave when she catches his reflection.
Ava turns, "Hey there,"
He clears his throat, "H-Hello,"
"What are you doing here?"
"Looking for a place to t-think,"
She hums, leaning against the wall, "I do that a lot,"
Odin swallows, scratching the back of his head, "I'll s-search for someplace else,"
"Odin."
He pauses mid-step, not wanting to look at her.
"About that night…"
A shudder moves down his spine, "W-What about it?"
"I'm sorry,"
Odin pivots to look at her, shocked, "You are s-sorry?"
"Yes, for… for not thinking your family mattered. I was selfish and just scared about it."
"You don't have a-anything to be sorry about," Odin states, walking over to her, "I shouldn't h-have asked you to do something like that,"
"It was bound to happen sooner or later," replies Ava, crossing her arms, "As much as I hate these people, we need them, unfortunately,"
"A-Ava, no, I'm sorry about it. I feel l-like shit over that,"
His voice is earnest, hurting her, "I do too. It was so… awkward."
"J-Just plain uncomfortable."
"Yeah… uncomfortable."
His hands push through his hair, "I was r-raised better than that."
Ava turns to look at him, slowly looking at the floor.
"W-We can't do that again," he murmurs.
"What if we have to?"
"W-We won't."
Ava hangs her head, "How can you be sure? They might ask at any time,"
"I c-can't go into your mind like that again,"
Stars move, Ava watching them flicker past, seemingly extraordinary yet finite; eventually, even they die. Her hands clench into her sleeves, "What if… what if it didn't feel right because they asked?"
Odin inhales deeply, palms pressing against his eyes. He finally looks at her, "W-What?"
"It was for them that we had to meet up," she continues, "So maybe… if we wanted to, it wouldn't feel so bad,"
Odin crosses the space between them, standing beside her in silence.
"Y-You're crying,"
Ava is mute.
"S-So we won't."
Never again.
A shaky breath leaves her, "Okay."
He keeps his hands to himself.
"But we're okay?" Ava questions.
"We're okay."
()
They pretend they're fine until they believe it.
()
Odin misses home.
The howling of the unforeseen, the russet of pines and the soft warmth of soil; he dreams of it often, wanting to be there all the rest of his life.
Excitedly, he rushes around his room, Ava watching him from the doorway, "Have any idea how long we'll be there?"
"I-I'm not sure, just long enough to r-resupply and maybe g-get our bearings," he admits, "But I k-know the girls are happy about going back,"
"So are you,"
He grins, "Y-Yeah I guess I am."
Ava walks into his quarters, his minimal possessions distributed neatly in one small container.
"You're lucky,"
Odin peers at her. Slowly, he heads over to sit beside her, "Y-You miss yours?"
"What?"
"T-The planet you were on,"
Ava wonders, shaking her head, "No… not really. It wasn't exactly a home."
He lays down, shirt hiking up his form, Ava briefly thinking of skin on skin before stomping away the memory that isn't hers.
She'll make her own.
Odin inhales, looking up at ceiling, "So w-what do you miss?"
"My parents,"
Quietly, he stares at the back of her head, imagining it darker from sweat, clinging to his fingers before stomping away the memory that isn't his.
He has enough of them.
"It's silly isn't it?"
"N-No. Why w-would you think it's silly?"
"Well," Ava murmurs, "It doesn't make sense really. How can you miss something you never had?"
Odin mulls over the idea, turning it over in his mind.
"I s-suppose…"
"You don't sound convinced,"
"N-No," he replies, "Because people can miss or m-mourn whatever they want. Emotions a-aren't bound to logic. If you want something, you're going to w-want it, and the same goes f-for missing someone."
"You miss your parents too?"
"A-All the time."
Ava can only imagine what her parents are like. There is no definite trait to them aside from wishful thinking; they might not even be alive.
How hard can she mourn for people she's never even touched?
Odin rises to his feet, "We s-should be docking soon, I'll need t-to check with Olai and g-get the girls ready,"
"Sure."
He heads out, leaving her to think of other things, miss other things. Soon the silence is unsettling. Ava gets up, heading to the front of the ship, bombarded by heavy weeping and screaming.
The Arrows stand in a cluster, tension surrounding them. Beyond the window, Ava finds nothing, a void of all they once knew.
Heart lurching, the girl stands beside the boy, his eyes dry.
"D-Don't cry for me,"
She tries not to, but can't help it. A home was all she wanted.
Odin misses home.
()
Slamming Odin against the wall, magma coating her tongue, heavy fire surging from her torso, Ava's hand tightens angrily on his clothes, "You lied to me,"
Odin's face tilts back, eyeing her coolly, "Y-Yes,"
"I can't believe you!" yells Ava, trembling. She should've guessed—no one ever cares.
His hands knock hers away, towering over her, sclera glinting red, "T-That's no one fault but y-yours,"
"My fault?" she demands, shoving him backwards, "You manipulate the two of us—to use these aliens we're stuck with, and you have the gall to say it's my fault?"
Scoffing, Odin shoves past her, "I've t-told that even d-dangerous aliens like yourself h-have to watch it,"
"I wasn't… I trusted you—"
"F-First mistake," he says, tone even.
"You used Maggie and me for own agenda…" she murmurs, voice wavering. Unbidden, tears remind her she still can feel hurt, still want to curl up into herself. She thought they were friends—they'd known each other for a while and, yet, this happens. It always happens.
Odin frowns, not wanting to care; telling himself not to. He says, "You w-would too if you h-had family to take care of,"
"No, I wouldn't," replies Ava, "That wouldn't be right,"
"My s-sister is sick. I couldn't l-let her condition w-worsen—you two had t-to be brought along,"
"So… everything we've gone through, was that a lie too?"
Odin focuses on her, brows furrowing, eyes flitting over his face, and it's hard not to notice the cues of when she's about to cry—they've been through a lot after all.
"N-No… those weren't l-lies,"
Burning fingers curl into fists, nails jabbing the palm. Ava swallows sulfur, acid churning in her gut, "You weren't supposed to be my friend then,"
He sighs, silent.
Looking away, Ava leans on the wall, hollow.
"Ava, I'm s-sorry,"
"Save it," she spits at him.
He doesn't defend himself, knowing he doesn't deserve forgiveness from her, if ever. And he doesn't care if he doesn't receive it—he lost his home; his family is all that's left.
"I know you're not a horrible person," she suddenly tells him, catching him off guard, "I've seen it. You've shown it to me."
Squinting, he watches her stand to full height, skin colorless, shoulders stooped over.
Only her eyes burn, "But you're just like everyone else."
His turns to lead, "Don't p-preach to me,"
"Didn't you think, for once, that you could've asked for something instead of schemed for it?"
"Oh, and you would've w-willingly come with me—remember h-how often you said n-no? That's a load of b-bullshit coming fr-from you,"
"Yes, I would have, if you told me the truth!"
"You d-didn't know me back the-e-en!" he counters, "Our f-first encounter wasn't exactly id-d-deal either, there was no way you would've he-helped me out, so you can get off y-your damn high horse,"
"But to keep it from me for so long!"
"Like y-you haven't kept th-things from me,"
"What have I kept from you?"
"You t-think Pedri doesn't say anything i-in my head? He's t-told me about what you want—about y-you wanting a n-new life,"
Ava freezes.
"Our d-demons are blabbermouths, they said a lot of stuff in front of m-me that one night,"
Flaring up, Ava's expression contorts, teeth bared, "And you're just telling me this now?"
"L-Like it wasn't obvious," he continues, words turning bitter, "They discussed how y-you asked for a new life—that's b-basically leaving behind everyo-o-one you know. Maggie, Gil, the others—how l-long were you going to hang around me until you g-got what you wanted?"
"That's not the same thing. I never lied."
"But you ha-have a motive as much as I do,"
Skin prickling from internal heat, Ava gazes at the ground.
Did they know each other at all?
There's too much fear.
Hanging her head, she feels the proverbial sting of tears, "I wouldn't have done this to you…"
"You wouldn't k-know. You d-don't even have a family,"
Ava tenses, spine rigid.
He pushes past her, finished.
"I thought you were raised better than this."
Silence, accompanied by quiet steps.
Throat tight, she wants to fall to her knees, shocked by the callous words.
It shouldn't matter.
She's been damaged by crueler ones.
But it came from him.
Ava doesn't cry. He won't respond; and even if he did, she doesn't want him to.
()
His gift is worthless; she tears it apart.
()
They have no choice but to continue the journey together.
Odin keeps his distance, as does Ava.
He guards his siblings and she guards herself.
Maggie sits next to her, reclining backward, saying for the umpteenth time, "I knew we couldn't trust him,"
Ava nods in response as usual.
Maggie observes the other girl's mannerisms, humming quietly.
Ava jumps slightly at contact on her shoulder. Maggie's expression is sympathetic.
"What?" she asks, confused by the gentleness there.
Maggie exhales, patting her several times. She's seen that look in mirrors.
"Don't pay him attention,"
Ava tilts her head, "Because he doesn't deserve it?"
"No," Maggie answers, tossing back her hair, "He's a guy, Ava. Eventually, they all come to their senses,"
Ava flushes, shining gold, "I don't like him that way."
"I believe you,"
Startled, Ava looks up, "Really?"
"Yeah. You don't like him that way; but it still bugs you."
Ava's thoughts whir to a standstill, confused.
"He's a jerk but you miss him, right?"
"No," Ava answers. She never knew him enough to miss.
Shrugging, Maggie leaves her to think alone. The side of Ava's head pounds, suddenly tired.
Odin cradles Magpie in his arms, not sparing a glance in her direction.
Her eyes remain dry.
()
It's quick—the slash across her chest.
He's faster to block her from it.
Clutching his wound, Odin falls back as Ava rushes forward to defend him, slashing upward, feeling skin shred, lodging under claws.
Slain, the enemy hits the ground with a heavy thud. Hastily, Ava whirls around, lifting Odin up.
"I'm f-fine—"
She smacks him soundly across the face.
A lilac imprint forms, marred with red. Odin wipes the flesh from his face, incredulous rather than hurt, "W-What's your problem?!"
"You idiot! I can't die! Why'd you jump in front of me?"
"Wow, I'll m-make sure not to save you ne-next time," Odin answers, rolling his eyes.
"I'm serious!"
"I ju-just reacted!"
"It was completely unnecessary,"
"I see t-that," he spits out, getting to his feet. He experimentally moves his mouth, "Did y-you unhinge my jaw?"
"I didn't hit you that hard," snaps Ava.
"Why you hit me at all i-is beyond comprehension also," Odin states, "Besides, the w-wound's already gone,"
Ava's eyes flicker downward, "Next time, don't,"
"I'm unable to die t-too, you know,"
"But you have a family," she spits out under her breath, tone waspish.
Odin raises a brow, sneering down at her, "I t-told you, I just r-reacted. That wasn't e-entirely me."
Blanching, Ava stomps away, "That's lovely, Pedri cares more than you do,"
"I said it w-wasn't entirely me. That doesn't m-mean it was only him,"
Her steps falter slowly, facing him. She stares up at this stranger she thought she could understand, finding him difficult, too bound in shadows, murky as herself. Collectively, they meld into a singular black whole, one neither can find peace within.
But she thought—she hoped—that they were dark enough together to understand, that they could learn to let someone into those secrets. And it was the worst thing they've ever experienced.
"I don't believe you."
"T-Then don't believe me. I don't c-care."
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Ava turns away, Odin unidentifiable.
"I d-did what I had to do. I'm n-not sorry for protecting my f-family, but…"
Glancing over her shoulder, she catches the barest flicker of the boy swathed in alien features, Pedri unidentifiable, "I'm s-sorry it was at your expense,"
"Believe me when I say I don't care."
She leaves him behind, Ava unidentifiable, Wrathia nonexistent. She is a person new, empty, a space to fill or keep that way.
It's a start.
()
It's quick—the slash across his chest.
There is no one to block the blow.
It is internal.
Odin had sworn to protect them, promised—he had made a promise; the pact had never been important.
It was all about the promise to the dead he loved.
His siblings lie in red, the attack unexpected—his brother unrecognizable, having shielded them all but it didn't work.
Odin cradles his sister to his chest, face marred by burns and they feel so heavy, the way corpses weigh down those they leave behind and he sobs harshly because he can't tell which one she is and that had always been easiest for him to know—he can't tell which, he can't tell which, he can't tell…
"I'm d-done,"
The pact—
"I d-don't care," Odin murmurs, soul gnarling inside him, twisting, "The deal is off."
We can bring them back—
"You're lying," the words come in a guttural growl, drenched in failure, letting the soul turn to brittle ash. It doesn't matter.
He has nothing to lose.
()
The demand is clear: search.
The threat is in the fall.
She finds him in a thicket of his own despair, clouding over; his body is a hearse.
Ava places her hand on his, fingers cold, fingernails crusted with black, and the iron smell is too familiar.
"D-Don't cry for me," he murmurs, tired.
"I'm not crying," she lies.
"If y-you say so,"
She doesn't look around at the carnage, the bodies of people he couldn't protect; selfishly, she hopes to protect the one she has left, to avoid this.
Ava offers no pity. Odin is grateful.
Yet she weeps.
How can you miss something you never had?
"I'm so sorry,"
"I a-am too,"
They don't know what will happen to him, the future never having been his desire—Ava worries, her body searing on his as it morphs.
There isn't a lot Ava loves in this world.
It's hard to hate him when she can finally understand.
"Are you scared?"
"N-No," he answers, eyes suddenly alight, manic, "I'm n-not the only one who failed."
Her nails dig into a wrist, flesh no longer soft, the other soul dwelling inside her screaming. She is glad.
He leaves her behind, Odin unidentifiable, Pedri nonexistent. He is a monster new, full, a space to exhaust or keep that way.
It's an end.
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Nothingness is a good thing, numbing, bringing empty slumbers. The quiet tangible, the boy and girl revel in not having to rely on anyone but themselves.
They are alone in their warped minds, trapped because they want to be. It's a little lonely.
But their demons suffer, apart; punished.
And that's enough to weep for joy.
That's all that can be said.