Wake up, wake up! Wake up! The screeching in his head woke him from a dreamfull sleep, screeching and howling in the back of his mind. Disgruntled, Hecarim checked his surroundings. What was so pressing his own bedraggled mind had daughter the waking world over a dream of that woman; that ethereal woman that had dared to touch him at the cost of her skin? He knew not, in the silence. Instead, he closed his eyes once more, resting his nose within the cape she had left behind that still smelled like her, despite the time having passed. He had had no visitor since. No corpse half- rotted that made it to the bowels that were his chambers. Just him, and the very many voices that echoed in his head with aching certainty that she had never existed in the first place. That he had been so starved for attention that he conjured her himself. Wake up!
He felt it this time, the searing pain upon his chest as the voices screeched him awake. Pain that reminded him of her touch; fine pale hands resting upon his chest as they began to melt. What was wrong? He thought. Was she… was she harmed? The very thought burned the pit of his stomach, and the horseman scrambled to his feet with little pause. The ache went away, and then returned with more intensity than before. Yes, he thought, as desire flooded his mind. He must check upon her.
Take us! Take us! The voices screeched and howled, writhing in his mind. He turned toward the stone that suffered upon the wall, growing as blood was added to the castle with every drop of madness gained. A spire called him, and he severed the multi- sided crystal with nay a second thought. A crescendo of screaming filled his mind and he silenced it with thoughts of her. Instead, he wrapped the pulsating rock, and began his tread to the surface.
He had thought this world would be brighter, in truth, but as his hooves carried him over cobble and stone, through desolate streets, he found it all too similar to the bowels of his keep. Disgusting, rotting men and women filled his path, and he passed them with hardly a second thought. His only goal was her, and the ebb and flow of pain across his chest was his only clue upon her whereabouts. Another turn in a labyrinth well below ground and he knew he was lost. Hopelessly, endlessly lost within a prison of stone.
And then he saw her.
She was slumped and breathing hard against the wall, one of her arms twisted gruesomely around where it dangled lifeless at her side. Hecarim approached her, with the same carefulness she had shown to him, and removed her cape from around his shoulders. She was harmed, he thought. She was dying. Blood stained her face and neck, and it was the first time he felt hate upon the sight, wrapping her to lift her in his arms. She gazed at him, one of her eyes glassy and fog- filled, her hand lifting to his helm. He noticed, as it brushed the edge, that it was as flawless as he had remembered it being when they first laid eyes upon one another. She greeted him with touch rather than words, swallowing what he assumed must be blood welling in her mouth. She reeked of it, stank of death. He followed her direction, until they were within a room he knew was hers. And then he placed her down, lying upon the ground beside her where she sat. He had no desire to watch this woman die, he thought. It pulled at his heart, in a way nothing else ever had.
She reached her hand within her chest, and the noise that escape between her lips as she pulled mangled and mixed with blood spilling forth. She swallowed, resting the encased heart upon her lap in what he knew was trust. And this was where he saw the problems; the reasons why they had met, why she had dared the death and madness to arrive where he called home.
Her heart was not the problem, no, for it beat and pulsed strongly, but he only knew because of the dim light that filtered through its stone with every pulse. The problem was the stone. Dark and cloudy, nearly black. Nowhere near the translucent , brilliant red it ought have been. Draining her survival with the same ferocity that it kept her alive. Driving her as mad as he.
Hecarim placed the new one upon her lap with care not to touch her, to not cause harm to her as he knew not how more her form could take. He watched silently, remaining as close as he dared as she removed her heart from one and transposed it to the other. And as the deed was done she sighed softly, gritting her teeth as her arm corrected itself, as her haggard breath became more steady and then ceased all together. She cast the old stone away, where it shattered upon the floor, and held the other outward from herself.
He knew the newcomer was as far from human as he, perhaps further, yet they appeared the same. The things hands encircled the crystal heart and took it close to itself, and for his part, Hecarim feigned protection over the slight, still healing beast upon his side. But somewhere, in his fog- filled brain, he knew this thing would hurt the woman as willingly as he, and instead simply used it as an excuse to pull her closer.
There was no scent of burning and no scalding of skin as she touched him, resting her head against his shoulder where they laid upon the ground. She would explain to him hours from now how it was that she had come to be, how her humanity was but an intricate disguise and she was less man than even he. He would learn to converse with her, and tell her how it was the knight of the stones had stolen the very thing he had been sworn to protect, and brought it willingly to her so that she may live. The many reasons how and why would all come in time.
But for now, he was content to let her rest.
