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Night stares out at the burning village atop a stump, mindlessly transfixed by dancing flame and the scent of burning wood.
"Lovely night, isn't it?" A low voice rasps behind him. Night makes an soft, affirmative noise, and his hands, intertwined, twist a little where he's had them clasped in his lap. The wind blows, cold, and a freezing presence sits beside him on the stump.
"Still sorting through everything, I see." Mare hums, and Night can feel his burning eye settle on his profile. Night doesn't meet it, letting out a slow sigh. Guilt and relief twist together to clutch his throat, and he rubs his eyes.
"You make it seem like it is so simple." Night lowly replies, watching the memory, the village, reset itself - as people run out from their homes, terrorized by a rampaging monster. Deep in his chest, he feels a thrum of pride that no doubt belongs to Mare, and a terrible, harmonious sense of Us that resonates in him.
"I suppose not for you." The corruption hums. "But for me, everything slots into place quite easily."
Night's mouth falls into a thin line as guilt overtakes his relief. "We," his voice shudders a little. "We killed children, Mare."
Mare only smiles thinly, a narrow thing cut by a knife, gleaming a perfect white.
"Every single one of them," Night breathlessly turns to look at him, where a low and dark sense of contentment has arisen in Mare.
Mare leans into him, closing their short proximity with a lidded eye, the deep satisfaction within his chest infecting Night as their chests press close together - and with it, their tether.
"Good." Mare whispers, the rough notes of his voice catching with excitement. His pupil shrinks into a thin slit, and Night slowly breathes in, unwittingly catching the scent of apple cider and sin and tragedy, metal and burnt wood and he turns away because the guilt now mingles with something he refuses to name. Mare only laughs quietly. "What could they have done? Died on their own, with their parents?"
"You cannot ignore the needless death we have incurred," Night hisses, his eye closed, his face turned away from Mare. Unfortunately, he still sees through the other, nestled in Mare's skull. Watching him. "How do you simply accept what we have done?"
There's a noncommittal, dismissive noise. "I never knew those children. I simply saw them as... little, unfortunate bystanders. It wasn't as if we were trying to target them. They were just too slow." He waves a hand in the air, flicking it toward the village. The flames extinguish the screams, crashing down on the little figures like tidal waves, and ashes paint the bones of the houses.
Night feels sick. Mare knows. "We were out of our minds, if it makes you feel better." Mare whispers, a snake curling around his shoulders and smoothing down his bristling alarm and sharp nausea.
"We were powerful. So, so powerful together, and it all went up to our head." He hums, low and melodic, like a lullaby to soothe his nerves. A cold finger tips his chin up to tap his temple. Night tries to push away the invisible hand which smothers his emotions, but it clutches him and drags him beneath the surface.
"It wasn't your fault, Night. It was all mine. Just blame it on me, so you can feel better about yourself and move on from your pesky self-torture."