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Sinclair sat on the conjugal bed, the one with a frame made of broken prosthetics, the undeniable proof of their matrimony. His eyes were bloodshot and strained from a lack of sleep. The One Who Grips stroked his cheek, his nose, and his jaw. The skin had gone pallid from lack of sun, for he often stayed in the cathedral these days. The man had grown sickly from poor health. He had grown gaunt from lack of nutrition. He had grown disillusioned with the world, barely remembering his past and unable to comprehend the concept of a future other than this.
Still he leaned against Kromer on the mattress, his old shirt oversized as he became thinner. Her hand ran through his hair, preening it and kissing his forehead as though they were a pair of mated birds. There was nothing but an empty hole inside of him now. No matter how he stuffed the void full, it would always remain gaping and empty. This bird had fallen out of the nest and had become overrun with ants, and he found himself at peace with the fact. This was his destiny. To be the One Who Shall Grip, and purify this world by his lover’s side. To be eaten by ants and carried to their nest in bits was what he wanted, and what he deserved.
How many had he killed by now? The blood was becoming harder and harder to clean out of his hair. He had been conditioned to think that these were no longer people. Not even numbers. They were nothing but flies to be eradicated. An invasive species, a pest.
“My Sinclair,” Kromer mumbled against his shoulder. “Can you believe it? It was seven years ago now.”
“Seven… seven years since what?”
Kromer chuckled, then broke into maniacal laughter. She pulled away and gave Sinclair the chance to stare at those deep silver eyes, the ones that broke him and remade him, the ones he loved and hated and felt nothing for. “Seven years since that Christmas day.”
“...It’s Christmas?”
“You haven’t heard the carols?”
“I have heard, but I’ve been so tired. They didn’t register in my mind.” Sinclair paused. “I need to go to the cathedral,” he spoke weakly. The cathedral had become his nest and his resting ground. Though Kromer had picked out the perfect straws and sticks for their nest together, he still found himself returning to those cramped walls and that humid air.
“Oh, of course, of course! Can I come with you?”
Sinclair stood up off the bed, the blood rushing throughout his body making him dizzy. “I’m afraid I must go alone.”
“Again? You’re starting to break my heart, dear Sinclair.”
No point in fighting her. “If you must join me, then come along.”
“Oh, no, no! I’ll leave you be. It’s not fun to leave a bird in its cage all the time.”
Sinclair forced a smile. “You’re too kind.”
So he got on his uniform, newly cleaned by Kromer and sparkled to perfection. The sight of such an outfit without blood splattered on the fabric and metal seemed nearly eerie. Inquisitors and blood became one and the same. The greaves clanked on the dirty cobblestone ground as he made his way throughout the Inquisition’s camp in N Corp. There was an abandoned chapel far away from camp that only he had access to. Kromer had gifted the key to him as a thank you for being her very own key.
Venturing deep within the forest, Sinclair could feel himself begin to get sweaty. Metal and multiple layers of cloth made for a hot outfit even in the bleak coldness of winter. Finally, he came upon the cathedral, standing tall through the snow. It took some fidgeting with the padlock for the door to open with a loud creak. Once he was in, though, he was overwhelmed with the familiar scent of dust and mold.
There was something off, though.
The windows were snowed in yesterday. Sinclair had to bring a candle.
Now they were perfectly clean. This wasn’t the look of snow naturally melting or falling down. This looked particularly human. Large piles of snow circled around the church. This allowed the bright sun to creep its way into the long-lost sanctuary, abandoned by the world.
Sinclair was so distracted by the windows that he didn’t even notice the shadow looming from the altar, spindly and human-shaped with a trailing scarf. Though the man was only about Sinclair’s height, he felt trapped in the figure he left on the ground.
In a rush he grabbed his halberd and sprinted to the man at the altar, only to be stopped in his tracks by a hand. It swiped up and he froze in place, the edge of the halberd mere centimeters away from the person’s neck. Though his gut told him the figure was male, he looked not quite man nor woman, and he couldn’t place an age on him either. The coldness in his eyes was something he only ever saw in animals, maybe trees, or perhaps the moon.
Wait a second.
“Hello, Sinclair.” When he saw his smile, millions of memories hit him at once.
“Demian.” The name left Sinclair’s lips in a hushed whisper, though it was as if though the whole galaxy of stars could hear him. “I thought… I thought you were gone.”
“A star only fades away after billions of years. My time is not up and shall not be up for millenia, though it still feels infinitesimal in the end. Eternity itself seems small when you realize how fast everything moves.” Demian cupped Sinclair’s face, causing the One Who Shall Grip to drop his weapon. “It’s all ephemeral, Sinclair. You, my rose, are ephemeral.”
“I…”
“Do you feel lost, Sinclair?”
“No.”
Sinclair was happier than he had ever been, right? He had forgotten all of his childhood and early adolescence, the foolish times where he believed he was in bliss. The awkward cracking of the shell wasn’t worth remembering. All that mattered was the sparrow he had become, even if he was to be scavenged on the ground and not missed when he died. Despite his loss of memory, he still remembered the day Demian left him. Though he had the gaze of someone who knew all of this would happen, he left as soon as he came with little to say.
“I left my folly to die as you left me to die.”
“Oh, you think I left you to die?” He felt Sinclair bare his teeth as he held his jaw in his hand. This wasn’t the touch of a mere friend. This was the touch only long-separated lovers had. “It’s quite the opposite, dear Sinclair. I only wish for you to fly. And if this is how you soar, who am I to judge?”
“You abandoned me.”
“I’ve always been watching you.” Demian had a disgusting grin on his face, glaring at Sinclair as one would a beloved pet. “Don’t you know? I’ve always been here, just out of your sight. Such as when you had your coronation ceremony… Your baptism… Your wedding…”
Sinclair’s palms began to get sweaty.
“And I still see it all. How you barely eat… How you no longer sleep, passing out at seemingly random times… How Kromer cradles you in her arms and you feel nothing... It’s a disgusting thing, isn’t it?”
“...Yeah, it’s filthy.” Sinclair backed away. “But so are they. Once I purge all of the filth in the world… Then I will finally be happy.”
“You truly believe that, don’t you?”
“Stop asking me stupid questions.”
“Poor thing. You really have changed. Perhaps some birds are better left in the egg after all. Remember that September back in Calw?”
“No, I don’t.” There was an ache in the back of his head. Perhaps memories were attempting to lapse back into his mind, but they failed against the nullification of the Canned Experience and drugs.
“A shame. You confessed your love to me under the school’s spruce tree.”
They were starting to come back.
“And you held my face…”
“And kissed you.”
He felt angry.
“We were happy children in love far after spring and into summer.”
“We celebrated our first anniversary under that same spruce tree.”
No, he felt more than that. He felt enraged.
“We stayed together until she killed my whole family. Then you abandoned me in that alleyway..”
“But I never broke up with you, didn’t I?”
“Bullshit. You’re the one who left me and didn’t talk to me for years. Now you come here and tell me about how you’ve always been watching me. Then you have the nerve to say you never broke up with me?” His voice quivered with rage. “Fine. I didn’t love you anyway.”
“Is that so?”
Sinclair breathed heavily, unable to speak, trembling and unable to cut him with his halberd despite how much he wished to. Demian leaned over to Sinclair's ear, his breath cool against the other man’s skin.
“That’s a lie, Sinclair. And you know it.”
“...Haah.”
“Who knew that such a kind and upstanding young man, one at the top of his class and never wanting to disappoint his mother and father, would go so far as to lie to me?”
Something unlocked within Sinclair.
He swung his halberd towards Demian, aiming for his throat.
Not even close.
Demian seemed to teleport back, and for the first time in forever, Sinclair missed a strike.
So he tried again and again. Each time, Demian appeared just out of reach. He made a game out of it, dancing on the halberd and popping behind Sinclair. He’d tease him and skip away from his slashes. Eventually, Demian must have had enough, because he swept his arm up. This alone knocked Sinclair to the ground, halberd landing far away from him.
Before he could get up, Demian’s shoe landed on his chest. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, the sound swelling in his ears like thunderstorms. For years upon years, he had many dreams about this exact scenario. Kromer would be kneeling over him, shoe digging into his chest, only for Demian to eventually take her place. At first, he regarded Kromer with fear and Demian with reverence. Slowly but surely the emotions became muddled together, and by now he couldn’t tell the difference between the faces anymore.
Demian sat onto his knees, one on Sinclair’s chest and the other on the ground. All of the strength sapped away from Sinclair’s body, his bones heavy. Demian took his sweet time to inspect Sinclair’s face almost surgically.
“I must take my leave now.”
Dusting off his clothes, Demian stood up and turned around.
Sinclair couldn’t chase after him.
“But… Draw me a sheep, okay?”
And just like then, Sinclair’s vision went blurry and he passed out.
When he woke up, the star was gone.