(Cuckoo boy)
He's nineteen and wild - strong, fearless, and reckless - and death is like a specter, waiting for him to fall down, down, down to nothingness, where he cannot scream. He laughs at its face and promises, "You'll never get me."
Audacious, but with blood and wine in his tongue and steel in his chest, maybe he was right. And he's stronger, cruel, and deathless. He's a monster and a god. He destroys and lets the world scream as he laughs.
Oh, messed up immortal boy, what are you? Why do you do the things you do? Why do you hate because you cannot ache? Do you need someone to make you undone?
He gets his wish. Poor dear.
(Paper girl)
She's seventeen and foolish – pretty, young, and clueless – and lovely, terrible boys come and go as she breaks into tiny little shreds of snow white bits. She bleeds and she screams and all she wants it to be loved. She looks at death in the face and asks, "Is it always gonna be this way?"
Curious, such a question. And she tastes iron in her mouth and the imprint of someone's mouth on hers. And she's fragile, weightless and futile. She's a toy and a placeholder. She screams into the night when she thinks no one can hear.
Oh, sweet mortal girl, how are you? Will you cry until the world is all blue? Why do you love ones who care not? Do you need someone to tear you apart?
She gets her wish and an answer.
(Winter King)
He meets her on Christmas Eve, on the ground making snow angels. He stares down at her, all smiles and rosy cheeks and he stings like an open wound. He asks, "Are you mad?"
She opens her eyes and they're the color of the sky. "Maybe. Are you?"
He aches, the feeling burns like frostbite in his toes and he wants her more than life itself.
(Spring Queen)
She wants to disappear. Wants her bones to disintegrate to ash and dance in the wind. She wants to become no more. She wants the aching in her chest cavity to float away like it was never there.
"Let me go," She hisses at him, her nails digging into his skin.
Please. It's a cruel word. Small but he can't resist such a plea. So he lets her wither until she is nothing but a memory imprinted in his skin and lips.
"Stay," She can almost hear as she leaves.
Please.
Stay.
(Life-Death)
She returns with a gift. Her rounded belly like a wrapping to the world's best, worst present and he feeds her pomegranate seeds and nectar until at last she can be immortal too. And he will never be alone again.
A world grows inside her, bright and beautiful, dark and dreadful and they wait. They wait till autumn comes and a little girl screams as she enters the world, wet and wild. Fragile and futile as she grasps unto life with greedy, little fists-
And kills her father and he turns to dust, finally death has claimed the prodigal son. Her mother cries and she'll wait and ache as the fire birds fly into the sky, proclaiming the end of all days. Warm and safe, like they are trapped in an egg until they can awaken again. For this is life and this is death.
I don't care if this makes sense. I needed to write, hence.