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Hey, my love , buried you a month or two ago.
Asra found another trinket of hers, hanging at the windows of the back room. He hadn’t visited the space in while, not since Talia had… gone. He swore he could smell her scent in the air of the room which had been unattended to for months. He reached up and gently curled his fingers around the protective charm, smiling softly when he felt Talia’s familiar magic tingle up his arm.
I keep thinking that you're standing on my floor, that you're waiting there for me.
He heard rustling behind him and for an impossible moment, he thought that it was Talia, standing at the door.
But… it was only Faust. His familiar was worried about him, and also distressed, distressed that Talia was gone. His face twisted with heartache and he yanked the charm off where it was hanging, crushing it in his fist. Oh, how he hated his dumb hopefulness. He needed to get out of this space, her space. He allowed Faust to wind up his body and rest on his shoulders before snatching up what he had been looking for – his satchel – and stormed out of the house, through the back door which slammed heavily behind him.
Hey, my love, you've walked out a hundred times.
How was I supposed to know this time that you wouldn't come, that you wouldn't come home?
Fights were inevitable when you knew someone for 9 years. Granted, that was the worst fight they had ever had, and they didn’t contact each other in the period that they were apart, because they both thought that the other was wrong. He had wanted to run away together, avoid the plague, but she wanted to stay, she had wanted to help. How was he supposed to know that it would be the last fight they would ever have? How was he supposed to know that that would be her downfall? That he would come home to this gaping, empty chasm of absence? That things would never return to normal, that Talia would be gone, that nothing would ever be the same again? How could he have known? And he had disappeared, withdrew from her and Vesuvia. He wasn’t even there for her in her last moments.
But four drinks I’m wasted.
He found himself in front of the Rowdy Raven. A tavern that neither of them frequented that much, and so it was bearable to be in. He ordered his usual, Turak, a sweet-tasting but strong homemade brew by the barkeep. He downed the first glass, quickly followed by the other.
I can see you dancing
I can lay down next to you, at the foot of my bed
.
But there were still so many memories here. Nine years’ worth of them. He remembered when she first brought them here, he remembered when they had first tried Salty Bitters. He swallowed back a laugh as bitter as the drink, and ordered another two more glasses of Turak.
If I drink enough, I can taste your lipstick, I can lay down next to you.
In the din of the tavern, Asra swore he could hear her call his name, hear Talia’s raucous laugh mixed in with the crowd. He groaned and threw back another drink, slamming the glass down hard on the counter. SHE’S NOT HERE ANYMORE. He clenched his fingers tightly in his hair and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He could faintly feel Faust slide out of his garments, but paid her no mind.
But it's all in my head. If I drink enough I swear that I will wake up next to you.
It was almost enough. His vision was blurring and he could barely even taste the alcohol anymore. Asra wasn’t even sure how long he had been in the tavern, but there were so many glasses surrounding him as he lay on the sticky countertop. The pain was almost gone. He dug around in his coin purse and scrounged up a few more coins… Huh. He distantly remembered coming with more money. Nevertheless, he offered the last few coins to the barkeep. But even the barkeep seemed hesitant to serve him any more alcohol.
“Son, perhaps ‘tis time to stop—” They began.
“Give me more,” Asra slurred.
“Look at the state you’re in!”
“I said give. Me. More!” Asra snarled. The anger swirled up a little bit of magic out of him and the nearest glass to him shattered. He scowled and rubbed his hand heavily over his face. The barkeep sighed, swiping the last of Asra’s money from him and poured him another glass. Satisfied, Asra downed the Turak.
When you left, you took my bestest friends away.
He had barely drank the last drop when he heard the tavern door slam open. He lifted his heavy head and turned to see… Muriel? And Faust, draped on his shoulders. He seemed to take up even more space than usual as he stooped into the already cramped tavern. He got bigger and bigger until… Oh. Muriel was right in front of Asra. Muriel fixed him with a heavy, disapproving stare that Asra was too drunk to tolerate. He tried to say something but before he could, Muriel bent down and scooped Asra up, surprisingly gentle. Asra sighed and placed a hand on Muriel’s chest, which felt cold to the touch. He probably only just left his hut. It wasn’t the first time since Talia’s death that Muriel had to pick him up in this state.
“Muriel, I can explain-“
Muriel simply shook his head. Muriel was affected by Talia’s death too, of course. They all were. Talia was so well-loved. But not everyone loved her the same way Asra did, and not everyone spiraled the same way Asra did.
And in this mess, I think I dug a thousand graves, Talia, I hope you're happy anyway.
Asra and Muriel had fought about his habits, about his tendency to drink his grief away. Muriel didn’t take well to the quarrelling and withdrew deeper into his shell, save for the times when he had to take Asra home. It wasn’t that Asra wanted to chase his friends away, especially not his longest, dearest friend, but he just… couldn’t help it. Everyone reminded him of Talia and he just couldn’t take it. There was Talia in everyone, in everything. But he didn’t want to be lonelier than he already was.
“I hope you don’t leave me too.” Asra murmured, his tongue heavy and foreign in his mouth.
Muriel looked shocked. Then, his expression softened and he nodded, setting Asra down on the bed that he shared with Talia. Asra choked up and little and finally, for the first time that night, teared up.
“Thank you,” Asra whispered.
“………Please take care of yourself, Asra.” Muriel brushed Asra’s sweaty, sticky hair off his forehead in an uncharacteristic show of affection. Then, without another heartbeat, he withdrew and left the shop.
Asra was alone again. Sometimes he felt that even Faust couldn’t stand his grief, when he was in this state. Neither could he.
But four drinks I'm wasted.
Asra’s eyes drifted shut. He hoped for a dreamless sleep.
I can see you dancing.
He heard rustling, at the end of the bed. He looked up and in the dim candlelight, he saw… he saw her .
Talia with her long, curly turquoise hair. She was undressing, hence the rustling he heard. Asra remembered this outfit. A muted purple gown with countless gold-embroidered scarves artfully wrapped around her figure. She was removing them one by one, her hips swaying intoxicatingly. Asra watched, mesmerized. He had missed her. Where had she gone for so long?
“My love?”
Talia looked up and a slow, secretive smile spread across her lips. She unwrapped the final scarf around her waist and walked slowly towards Asra.
Asra started to sob. “Oh, Talia, will you ever forgive me?”
Talia reached out, hair falling past her shoulders. He could smell her sweet chrysanthemum perfume and underneath it, something more earthy, more Talia. She touched his cheek lightly, and his tears came even more freely. He felt as if his chest was coming undone and all the grief was pouring out. She was here, she was here again and everything would be okay.
I can lay down next to you , at the foot of my bed .
Asra reached out as well, desperately, only to be met with emptiness. He floundered and tried to regain his balance. He managed to stay in the bed but he accidentally swept everything off the bedside table. A vase crashed to the floor, breaking into pieces, just like his heart, again. Where did she go? A raw sob clawed its way out of his throat as he frantically reached down to scoop up the long-wilted flowers that had spilled out the vase. He could barely see, his vision so blurred with tears, as he cast a clumsy charm on the flowers – chrysanthemums – to revive them. He couldn’t let these flowers die. These were the last ones she had planted.
But… Wait.
If he could bring flowers back to life, couldn’t he bring Talia back as well? He had barely finished formulating the thought when he heard Talia call his name.
If I drink enough, I can taste your lipstick.
He turned over and saw her, saw Talia, beautiful and silhouetted by the almost dead candlelight.
“Talia, I love you , I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, please come back, just come back—“
I can lay down next to you.
She was lying down right next to him. Something soft brushed against his lips – Talia’s finger, hushing him. “You need to sleep, sweetheart.”
Her lilting voice, oh how he had missed it. He placed a hand on Talia’s waist but his hand only passed through. Talia’s apparition disappeared, along with the last of the candlelight. He was shrouded in darkness again. There wasn’t even any moonlight tonight.
But it's all in my head.
Asra curled up, sobbing again. He clutched a pillow to his chest, as if he could fill the gap in his chest if he held the pillow hard and close enough. And slowly, he drifted off to sleep, the same way he had all these nights. Pillow and chest wet, with tears drying on his face. In the morning he would wake up with a pounding headache, as he always did. But tomorrow morning, he would also wake up with something new, an idea that would bring his love back to him. He would bring Talia back, no matter the cost. Seeing Talia every night without being able to touch her would make him lose his mind, he was sure of it. He had to do something.
If I drink enough I swear that I will wake up next to you.