Dust had settled by the broken window.
Every day, the wind changed the patterns it settled in. Sometimes... it wouldn't even change at all, not once, not even a little bit in twenty four hours. He tried to imagine it, tried to imagine staying perfectly still for that long - not moving, not breathing, not thinking.
In a lot of ways, he wished it was possible.
He had stopped struggling. His energy had been depleted. There was nothing left to do but to submit to the dust and the wood and the beetles that crawled in and out and found freedom in the smallest of spaces. But he was not dust and he was not wood and he was certainly not a beetle. He was the pride of Alexandria, the pride of the world - he was built for killing and death and killing and not for dying in a slow rot.
Sometimes, he tried to fit through that broken window. He'd already broken off his wings, torn the feathers apart and played with them in the rubble. Such beautiful little decorations they made, bright blue against faded gold and brown. So pretty, so delicate. But even though the pain throbbed at the little tiny stubs left in his back, even though he had given all that he still couldn't squeeze through the tiny window.
Maybe he could dislocate his hips and crawl all the way back to Alexandria.
No, no no no nonono. He had Alexandria right here. A palace of destruction. It was nice! Really, it was... after he'd done some decorating, after he realized that this was a place that screamed desolation and all the other things he was supposed to like. But he was a creature ofwanderlust, he needed to be free, free to bring this beauty upon the rest of the world, kwahahah. Yes, yes, that was it, he was a traveler, a sightseer - not one to be cooped up in a cage with wheels for the rest of his life.
He sometimes watched the changing patterns of the light from the window. It was like a painting that changed throughout the day, bleeding from blue to pink to black. It changed the mood of the train, too. Sometimes it felt light and airy, and very rarely the whole interior would light up red. It was those times that he felt alive, it was those times he believed that things could still change.
The hope of the world rested with him.
He wandered round and round the cabin. It was raining, today. He could hear it as a constant buzz of noise. Tink tink tink TINK tink TINK, it was random and unforgettable. He wished he was out in the fields down by the mice and the insects, feeling the lush grass poke through his flesh. Scarecrow.
But he was not in the fields and he was not a scarecrow.
But at least... today, today he could feel her company. He only talked to her on rainy days. He went to her bedroom, stood over the boards that hid his only treasure.
"Princess, get up," he rasped. No, no, too harsh. Bending down to the boards, he whispered,"Princess, it's time to wake up." Tilting his head, he added, "It's a lovely rainy day."
Lifting the wooden boards, he looked down into her bedchamber. He'd fashioned it from one of the rows of seats that had vaguely survived. It was the only place that could remain warm and out of the wind's way. He lifted her delicate, warm little body - gently placing it against his chest and moving back over to the window.
Some rain was dribbling through - he held her out beneath it.
"Today you can be clean."
Her sad little body flopped and fell over as the rain battered against it. Her dress was ruined. No one would take her seriously, now - but it was better than being dirty and getting sick. She could die then. And even though, even though he so, so wanted to rip her little raghead from her shoulders and send stuffing everywhere and find her tiny little heart and pierce it with his talons - he couldn't just let her die and he certainly couldn't do any of that. He had to protect her, he had to retrieve her.
"You smell better. Now you've washed the scum from you."
He wandered round the wreckage of the train, examining the foliage that was coming through. It was disgusting how desperately life clung to anything, even death. But Princess liked it. He hoped they would one day bloom and make little flowers in the rain, then she could see them too and be happy.
They'd had little teaparties sometimes and little story telling sessions where he would make up the plays he'd pretended to have heard. And she'd always listen and always be kind and always be good. She could do no wrong, she was everything stupid and everything perfect and she and he never conflicted about anything even though her mere existence made his existence conflict with itself.
She was worthy of being his friend.
"We can't go back home," he suddenly snapped, glowering at her. "We can't go anywhere and Alexandria still stands and I can't take you there." He existed for two reasons and neither could be fulfilled and he was rotting here why was he here he wanted out he wanted out why wasn't anyone looking for him must retrieve the princess kill exist only to...
He'd dropped her.
He twitched the little stubs on his back, bending down to pick her up.
"I'm sorry, but you should really be more careful." He stared at the creases on her face. She was so beautiful and tiny and like a little tiny flower and all she needed was to Go Back To Alexandria and then he could End Her Misery.
He did not like friends.
He thought vaguely of the other Waltzes, from time to time. He could feel the little cogs and mist in his brain churning, turning out thoughts and memories he didn't need to see/hear/feel - and sometimes Kuja slipped in there and Brahne too, fat faces full of smugness and then two little jesters red and blue and hatehatehate. He hated that the most, when his brain turned. But he had the Princess, and on rainy days she stopped his brain turning.
He held her in his hands.
"This isn't what you want."
Her sad, pathetic little face crumbled as if to agree. He played with the rags she had for hair.
He drove a talon into the back of her head, but did not pierce through her flesh. He simply felt the way it molded beneath his finger, just felt how close he was to killing her. A wave passed over him, he shuddered.
"I can't," he explained because she was something holy and untouchable and the only thing he'd kill himself before. Never mind, never mind.
"However..." He could fulfill one axiom, he could, he could - one promise to her. "I exist only to retrieve the Princess," he explained. "I exist only to kill."
He was certain she understood. He made her nod her head.
Walking towards the window, he stared out.
He had retrieved her, he could not take her home.
He picked her up in his hands, looking at every detail of her. Burning her into his brain.
"You can go home."
The rain slashed against his face. "You will have to be careful. All the world is your enemy."
She would surely remember him. He felt his throat itch.
"Goodbye."
He chucked her out of the window and into the grey light, and her silvery-white form fell into the rubble, landing beside a weed or two.
He stopped himself from weeping.