Fandom:
Aphmau
Characters:
Aphmau, Irene, Travis, Enki, Aaron, Shad, other Divine Warriors
Prompt: N/A
Warnings:
use of pronouns repeatedly in place of nouns because I was feeling weird in September/October, when the draft was written, mention of death and reincarnation I guess, and if there's more don't hesitate to tell me.
Summary:
Aphmau is alike Irene is many ways and somehow none at all.
or, an exploration of the library leads to the line between them blurring but neither care too much, too nostalgic and sad and tired to care that much.
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They had been frantic. There are splatters of ink, the imprint of bitter, regretful, exhausted tears and in latter pages, the dull garnet of ancient- yet vibrant- blood.
She wonders, how did the author manage? Isolation in these mind-numbingly cold mountains, with what feels like never ending echoes… already, she feels as though she's lost her mind.
It's barely been a week.
She studies the books, carefully marking the location of those that truly had content; words of ink, visible to the human eyes and not memories, memories of what she is- once was, once had.
Candles flicker. Lavender and cinnamon fills the air, masking the scent of (decades, centuries, millennium?) old parchment and books. She ignores the pang of nostalgia, ignores the taste of their cinnamon buns, the light touch of their embrace.
Breathe in, breathe out. In, and out.
Shadows dance around the edges of her peripheral vision. She doesn't turn, doesn't let hope blooming in her that he's there.
Because he's not. He's not there; he isn't here; he won't be by her side. Not any more.
Her face is wet. She's surprised. She thought she ran out of tears after the first three days of sobbing, weeping and begging for forgiveness.
(Please… I-I'm so sorry! Im so sorry! Please forgive me…!)
(... she knows she doesn't deserve it...)
Breathe in. Immediately, the sinfully heaven-like smell of cinnamon and lavender fills her from head to toe… their favourite spice, and flower, respectively. Briefly, memories (of a hand to hold, of a promise to forever- why am I still here, then?) burst to the forefront of her mind and overlap the sight of the terribly large, terribly lonely library. She's careful (regretful, emotional) when she breathes out.
She has three weeks left.
Despite its fine, sturdy leather binding, slender fingers tremble, slow and steady as they turn delicate pages yellowed with time and piercingly quiet, in the silent, silent library.
His work begins in structured, flowing paragraphs and his writing is neat, easy to read. His explanations are laid out well, fluent to read as though he was there and talking to her...
She manages to locate the corresponding notebooks with his additional notes, and can't help the pride, adoration, admiration searing her soul as she reads through them.
He poured his time and energy into these, it's obvious. He was always the scholarly type and adored recording information, even in the later reincarnations she remembered.
(Or was it her previous reincarnation that knew this? After all, her version was more dedicated to protecting his people with his sword… even after they turned their backs on him for something as trivial as his heritage, the ungrateful wretched people that they were.)
(... with both, all, of them though... she never could protect them properly. It was why she slept for so long, why she's here and searching for answers now. Why is she such a failure?)
Breathe in, and out. It grows colder, the fire now a faint glow that splutters instead of the merry cackling earlier. She sighs, shakes her head to rip her head out of the clouds and goes to rekindle the fire.
3 weeks, 21 days, 254 hours give-or-take before she will be forced to attend to other duties, if she's lucky.
She knows that a single lifetime will not be enough to uncover her past, as long as her immortal(?) life has been so far, nor the lives of those she cherished (still cherishes), but damn if she won't do her best to find out why he had changed so much, what in the name of the gods she had done to hurt him so badly that he (her almost-lover, most trusted comrade, her best friend)... hated her so.
Why does she feel the urge to just end it all, to just, repent for her crimes through a simple, swift slice?
She needed to know... she wanted to know. What had her past self done?
... her soul still misses him. Both of them.
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A/N:
I had actually wrote the draft for this during an English lesson, and had been really interested in exploring how Aph/Irene would've/could've/should've (?) felt, exploring Enki's Library. Yes, it deserves a capital in my opinion because imagine being in it, the sheer size of the building (? it was technically in a cavern but still--)! So many books, even if many appear to be empty...
Overall I was just inspired by the library scene, and was curious as to an alternative way Aphmau could have reacted, and since Irene had taken over a couple of episodes ago, what could their combined, acknowledged existence in the one body have led to? I don't think I quite achieved it, but eh?
Also, I don't remember why, but a month ago I didn't want to use names for some reason, so I apologise if the repetition of pronouns grew tiring, although overall technically only like, nine people were mentioned, with three being very very brief...?? I hope you enjoyed, I'll be looking into writing oneshots for other series soon...
PUBLISHED 9TH NOVEMBER 2019.
EDITED 9TH NOVEMBER 2019.