The Days of Us
4. 墓, grave
It's not a grave - not really. There's no coffin, no six-foot hole in the ground, no funeral procession, just a mound of dirt with a stake in it, but that's all she can really manage right now. The gravel has opened cuts in her fingertips, the dirt is smeared with her blood, but it doesn't hurt her - not like how she has hurt so many more (men, women, children) - and she would dig dirt for all of the dead Ishvalans, would dig until her hands are raw and bleeding because don't they at least deserve it? And she knows that it will never lift the burden off her shoulders, never wash the blood from her hands, never assuage her guilt, but she hopes that at the least, the souls of all the lives she has taken will find peace, somewhere in a better place.
She doesn't hear the footsteps or notice the presence behind her until she hears his voice, and even then, it seems so far away. The war is over, he says, and it's been over, she knows (she spends her days and nights listening to the laughter and drunken merriment and wonders just how these people can be so happy), and he tells her that it's time to go home and she vaguely wonders where home is (she is a wandering nomad without a place to go or return to).
Her hands have not stilled - they work as if to build back everything they have destroyed. They cannot forget the things they have done here, because forgetting means forgiveness and that is something they neither want nor deserve. It is too late for repentance, but she never asked for forgiveness, and neither had he (she knows because she bears his sins upon her own two shoulders). Their uniforms have been washed in sand as their hands have been bathed in blood. There is nothing they can do to change it.
He notices the dirt caught under her finger nails, the cuts on her palms, and kneels down to catch her hands in his (he cradles them as if they were something precious, something to be worshiped; how ironic that is). There is gravel caught in the open wounds and covered in dust, her hands are begging for an infection; how he wishes to clean and bandage and just never let go.
"Stop. You've already done enough." His voice is a sonorous murmur in her ear, his forehead a soft weight against her temple; there's a hauntingly distant look in her eye that he finds when he tries to catch her gaze with his. "Come on, it's time to go."
But she doesn't want to go. Not now, not when she has so much more to do (so many more bodies to bury). She wants to give each fallen Ishvalan a proper burial, say a prayer that each of their souls can find its way to heaven. She wants to feel the burn of fire from the inside out (she needs to know that her sins are real), and so for the first time in a long time, she asks a favor of him.
"I want you to burn my back."
For a moment he is silent, and she is afraid that he does not understand because she can hear his refusal in what he's not saying.
"I want you to burn my back," she repeats. "I need to know that there will never be another flame alchemist."
Her words hold no venom, just sadness and regret. She does not blame him like she rightfully should. He had been the one to misuse her father's alchemy, he had been the one to drag her into this, and so he supposes that this is his punishment. He would take the fire for her any day, but he knows that that is not what she wants. She wants to protect the world from another war by fire, she wants to burn away all of her regrets, she wants to fly away like a bird freed from its cage. He understands, and as much as it disgusts him, he'll set her free.
"Okay," he whispers, quiet, "I'll do it."
Angst because angst is a synonym for Royai.
I think I like this one better. But maybe that's just me.
As always, a big thank you to Minerva Aemilius, Acacia0321, and, Melinda-chan for the reviews! And thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please let me know!
