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You are nothing at all.
You are everything around you.
"I think you know what I am." Is what he says when you see him again.
Your hand is still on the mirror as it cracks. This isn't it, right? It feels like too small an ending to the long act between you and him. Not that he remembers most of it.
A god, that's what you are, you can do anything. Now you know this truth there are no questions left to ask him.
Reaching your hand out through the glass is so easy, as soon as you realise you can. The mirror is also part of you, it listens to your command without flaw. Even he is part of you, in a way. A stain must be left on something after all.
You reach out until you find him, and you pull him through. Your hands are without kindness for the thing that made you.
He can't stop you. Your power makes the entire construct shake. He barrels out in a dark flurry of feathers. His legs unable to bear weight, fail him, and he ends up on the mimicry of a ground.
The echo is not a small creature, but you absolutely tower over him, even as you sit down at his level, cross legged, right next to him.
He is still on the floor, on his hands and knees catching his breath, clearly shaken from his unusual transportation.
You grab him with your right arm, by the waist, and pull him towards you.
He's not as heavy as you'd think. Probably hollow bones, or he's just very messed up from this whole "dying yet being left behind" deal.
You drag him onto your lap and against your chest, keeping one arm around his waist and the other around his shoulders and chest, draping his head and beak over it.
As soon as you touch him he tries to struggle out of your arms to no avail, kicking his legs, pushing you away, trying to break your grip, "what the hell are you doing?" His petty efforts do not hinder you.
"Isn't this what you wanted? Just a static unchanging moment?" You say with a sadistic smirk.
His elbow hits you in the stomach, you no longer care for this vessel like you did, you no longer feel it as intensely.
"Be careful with that, you may hurt yourself, pull a muscle or something." You condescend.
Your roots, flaying bits of textured nothing, wrap around his legs so they'll stop kicking.
Your wings close around you both, engulfing you in a cocoon of utter quiet.
That, at last, is enough to calm him down. The Narrator finally stops fighting you, as he is lying in your arms, surrounded by all the parts of his creation.
His entire body is still rigid like a rock.
You run a hand through the feathers on his back and in a soft, soothing, tone you say, "shh, it's okay.. isn't this what you wanted?" His feathers are a little rough, but still they feel soft to your skin.
He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the irony of that makes you angry, but that anger almost immediately melts away as you continue your soothing gesture.
His body reacts extremely, in a couple of moments he goes from a caged animal, to a trembling limp mess, seemingly not able to resist the first comfort he must have had in ages, melting into your arms so easily, leaning into your touch a little, then immediately pulling back. You make a very soft noise of adoration, then you sober up.
"I won't be doing it. Slaying the princess I mean, we belong together." You inform him, but that's not all you say, "You can see this as a way to save some valuable time for the entire world, really as much time as you want. If that makes you feel better."
He doesn't say anything, but you can feel the shaking get worse. You pull him just that little bit closer because of it. It's cute.
"I can stay here forever.. Unless you want me to leave of course?" Your hand has found head, you start stroking the messy feathers back in place. Your face feigns the same cold carelessness as your voice.
Your other half won't mind waiting. She's done it before, and she will manage a lot longer than he possibly can. You long for the moment you will be reunited, but you also wish to spend these last mortal moments as just you.
But he doesn't understand that, he knows you can wait forever, he doesn't think about how he can't.
The Narrator shakes his head more vividly this time. Your hand slides just underneath his beak and you force his head up, onto your shoulder, his beak slotting between your neck and shoulders, you make sure his eyes meet yours as you speak, "Use your words, dove, we both know you love talking."
That gives you another full flinch to savour. But he does obey your demand with a very soft half whispered, "no." his eyes immediately start drifting, avoiding the eye contact. You allow him to.
But, your grip on his face tightens, your talons starting to dig into his skin, "Sorry, what did you say? Speak up, please."
A pained whine escapes from him as your nails dig into him, you can see embarrassment about it form on his face instantly. He shouldn't, you've bled and fought and died in front of versions of him before, this really is nothing.
Apparently he can actually follow simple orders, as he repeats his last word, louder now, a more resolute "no." The stubborn old bastard.
You let go of his face, but not putting it back over your arm, and continue caressing his feathers.
You do nothing else for a little while, tracing your fingers over his body, enjoying the way it makes you feel warm and fuzzy. It's a special kind of revenge, just as it makes you feel powerful, just as good is it to simply hold someone. Even if it's just him, you won't ever get that with her.
Time is hard to describe in a place like this, even after you realise how you are this entire construct.
But even without measurement it does not take long for him to cry, starting with one sob, and then more that he cannot hold back.
Such a weak yet fascinating creature.
It's only soft noises at first, even though his entire body is convulsing. Is it more difficult to cry with his head tilted upwards? It must be.
You wipe away some of his tears with your thumb, he makes a choked sound, a fearful but minute reaction to your presence.
You lean forward to whisper in his ear, "Cry. I've heard it helps." Then you, not unkindly, lead his body back into the space it was before. His head draped over your arm like a strange feather boa.
He bawls, for quite a while, once again not being able to resist his own urges. You continue whispering soft reassurances and petting the black feathers.
More happy time passes.
Your fingers have shifted through every bit of coverage they can reach, your body feels sore and tired. Neither of these matter to you.
He tries to shift more than once, he must be sore too, but it's not like you'll let him. He can stay immobile, right where he is.
Eventually he speaks again, unable to carry the burden of stillness.
"I'm sorry." He says, silently, still hoarse from his earlier breakdown. There was no prompting for his apology, sadly you think you already know what the words truly mean.
You cock your head, "for what?"
"For all this.. unpleasantness," you stay silent waiting for him to continue, if he thinks that's enough he's sorely mistaken. He does continue talking, "For thinking I knew what was best for everyone, and messing with forces far above mortal control." Even he doesn't sound certain.
The talons on the hand around his waist dig all the way into the skin, he whimpers.
"Stop stop! Aah. What- what did I say wrong- I'm sorry! please!" He panics, it's a much better tone on him than wannabe manipulative.
Your nails clutch into his insides, both the above and the underneath part of your hand contracting into a fist, it feels a little strange, very soft and squishy.
He screams.
There will be no escape in death for him.
You know he's lying, he knows he's lying. You don't even grace him with the words of a response. Instead you push your nails further through the squishy bits. His body is, for the first time in a while, tense, but he isn't trying to fight you anymore.
With a visceral tear of flesh you rip away the skin. Blood slips between your fingers, staining them red and vivid. Stained black feathers push against your claws. Flesh rests within your palm.
Part of your veins, the textureless strange of the construct, take the meat away. For a short passing of time you consider forcing it into him, making him eat his own flesh and blood. It will make him regret even ever thinking of trying to persuade you with his lies. He doesn't even understand how he hurt you and her.
But you can be kind, at least for a little. He's already learned his lesson.
Your hand finds its way back to the wound, covering up the gaping hole. He lets out a pathetic moan, it must be very very painful.
More happy time passes, the wound does not infect, you'll spare him from that too.
You continue all the same, perfectly content, until he speaks again, small and hoarse.
"Can you- can you stop touching?" His voice is trembling even when his body has long stopped.
You click your tongue, "Rude," Your hand traces up his back.
"Please."
You sigh exasperated, "Isn't this exactly what would happen if your plan succeeded? Everything would stop changing, the good, the bad, the everything. We can't go soft on you, of all people."
If he is, in some way, part of you, don't you own every part of his body too? That should logic somewhere.
He doesn't have an answer for you. He shudders, and gives the smallest whimper, as you continue petting him, but he doesn't have an answer, despite how his eyes tear up.
More happy time passes. The wound heals a little.
"What is it that you want from this?" He asks you. His voice is loaded with fatigue.
You kiss his forehead, gently, "there is no need for you to think, it won't change anything, dove."
His fists clench, and he opens his mouth multiple times to answer but says nothing.
More happy time passes. In the end it wasn't even that long.
His voice is shaky but determined this time, "I'm done with this. You said you'd let me go.. get rid of me for good, if I wanted to. Well. Do it."
You smile, tauntingly, even if he cannot see, "That didn't take long, are you sure?"
"Yes." God, he's so adorable when he's sure of himself, trying to put on a more confident front.
What a weak, weak, man.
"I wonder how I'd feel if I was in your position, but without a chance for change." You tell him. His plan was flawed from the start.
You push his head forward a very small amount, leaning over his exposed neck, "what are you-" he tries to ask with his final words. He doesn't get to finish as you bite down, then you tear.
The taste of simple revenge is rather plain after all the other things you did to him.