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Jote feels it hours before the crystal shatters and pieces of it disperse into the murky sky.
Stone encases her heart and drops it straight down, taking her breath along, and she stumbles back from the sudden dizziness. Tarja eyes her, mouth ready to ask if she's okay. She has enough clarity to realize she should leave; she doesn't want to distract her from more important matters. Waving her hand in dismissal, Jote chokes back the nausea stirring low and hurries out of the infirmary.
Origin continues to hover in the sky but something has happened. The heaviness inside her morphs into a sharp pain and she clutches her chest, thinking for the briefest of moments, that she’s dying.
I need space, I need to be alone, where do I go?
Without much forethought, she finds herself crawling down the basement to Mid's research area. It's fortunately empty— the assistants are elsewhere, possibly waiting alongside Mid for the others. Still, Jote finds a small room in the back and stuffs herself inside amongst discarded blueprints and trinkets. Only then does she allow her weight to drop, her palms against the floor, and her chest heaving.
Why does it feel like she's dying? That her ribs are breaking and she can't breathe? At the next exhale, her eyes burn and the darkness wavers in front of her. She can feel drops hitting her gloves.
"Oh." A torrent of tears rush down her chin and she touches her face, mystified. She's not dying— she's crying— and she can't get it to stop. The quake occurring inside Jote stretches far past her body's limit. Another realization takes her out, and the sob wanting to rip through causes her to rest her forehead against the floor, hands tucked under her chin. The cold wood does little to cool her.
He’s dead, she thinks. The drops on her gloves turn into tiny river currents; each inhale of air makes her believe she might split in half. They'll open the closet and find her unrecognizable corpse.
She tries to say the words out loud but her voice won't appear.
Joshua's gone.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
She's always felt different from them.
It was never enough for them to question her ability to protect His Grace. No one else was better suited than Jote; they would always give her the honor of protecting him. A different timeline could exist, and she would still meet Joshua and be at his side.
Regardless, it still doesn't mask how different she is. No matter how well she's kept them in check, her emotions do not run the same as the other Undying. It was clear even before Joshua released her from her duties toward him and she dared to question his choice.
Right now, it continues to be clear how much of an oddity she is. Standing before Cyril, Jote tries to figure out why he appears so placid but her face is flushed and damp, lips bitten to the point of them turning dark brown. Why does she feel like dying when Cyril appears as if he’s never questioned if he wanted to wake up tomorrow?
How can he not be as upset as she is?
He's called her and other Undyings out here because they need to discuss what happens from here on out. Each time someone opens their mouth Jote hears ear-grating static. She glances at every face, covered and uncovered, and they all bear a resemblance to Cyril: somber enough to be neutral. Enough to confuse for indifference.
Somewhere in the sadness, there's enough space for Jote to feel angry.
"None of you care," she says, so low her lips barely move. A person looks at her and Cyril pauses in his talk. Jote's eyes are on the ground, unable to meet anyone's gaze lest the anger tower up more.
He's dead and none of you care. Why don't you all feel as awful as I do? Why am I the only one suffering? I failed him; I didn't protect him.
"You did what was originally assigned to you." Cyril's voice cuts through the haze and Jote finds enough will to make eye contact with him. All she can decipher is a scrap of pity; polite disappointment at the circumstances of His Grace's passing, but he's already entirely accepted what happened.
He's already moved on.
"His Grace gave his final order to you. I understand it is unfortunate that— ."
The static grows louder. All Jote hears from it is this isn't about you. It was never about you. So why are you crying?
I don't know, she wants to tell him. I don't know what to do anymore.
I just want him back.
She knows outsiders viewed her duty as a burden. To devote her life and have her entire world revolve around one person must have been hard.
Yet it never was.
Her childhood before she began training under the Undying wasn't always the most pleasant. The day she met Joshua, the day she was gifted the task of taking care of him—
The days she spent with Joshua were the happiest moments of her life, and she doesn't think she'll be that happy again. Acceptance of the fact only adds to the hollowness occupying her body. She's grown used to it. In its own odd way, it comforts her.
Finding friendship with her sadness is the only way she can cope. She's tried explaining it to Cyril, but Jote doesn't need him to understand her anymore. It won't fix anything. It won't make her hurt less.
They don't know how much she wants him back, and that is fine. This sadness is only for her. This sadness is the last thing he gifted her. She'll carry it with her until she reaches the end.
Jote feels it moments before the sun breaks through the sky. A soft grip on her heart causes her to gasp as she stumbles back, eyes trained on the milky blue above her.
Something has changed; something is different.
She keeps her sight set on the horizon and waits.