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The Cold sits on the stairs of a cabin. He is not gone, surprisingly enough. He just been left behind. The shifting mound and the long quiet became one once again, and they didn't need these fragments anymore.
Or maybe this is the quiet's idea of a gift, a body of his own. Feathers and fibers to feel the world with. Cold would have rather just gone with them.
He's been sitting here for a while, alone in an empty cabin. It's been quiet, boring. He doesn't know where the princess went, doesn't know where the others like him went. He doesn't care.
There's nothing to do here. He hasn't gotten up. Maybe there's something outside the cabin for him.. or maybe it's just more of this. He doesn't want to leave, doesn't know how to.
Time has passed a lot when the enamoured one comes to visit.
Cold knows it is him, even without looking, because he kicks down the door with bravado, loudly declaring, "Finally I have found you, you fiend! I have arrived here to at last deliver vengeance for the pain you have caused my beloved and me. Like I promised."
Cold remembers this. He's sort of curious, how this body could feel, what the Smitten will do.
Something like excitement coils in his chest. He doesn't need to look behind him to know the other holds a pristine blade.
"The princess still loved us in the end didn't she?" He notes. It's true. Even if they're here now and she isn't.
"The Hero told me that not once, but twice, has your influence harmed us so, stabbing the princess without remorse like some common villain! Using our hands like a file tool to spread your horrid deeds! I have decided that you require to be stopped before you spread your influence to the helpless damsels of this wide world."
A faint quiet smile spreads across his face, "You're late. I was getting bored.."
Cold stands up slowly dusting off his pants. For a moment the world spins and his vision blacks out.
Then he resumes, "So now what? You'll kill me? Or are you going to actually try?" His last words come out low in a hiss, challenging the man that has the knife. He slides towards the Smitten without hesitation in his steps steps. He isn't afraid.
He stops right in front of the other corvid, his fingers wrapping around the other bird's blade hand. The romantic rapidly pulls back, but Cold closes in again.
"Come on then, show me the worst you can do."
The man swallows slowly, his eyes flustered, then confused, then filled with righteous fury once again.
His hesitation makes Cold feel briefly like something, and the determination that settles over the Smitten after even moreso.
"So I will." He answers, before harsly pushing Cold away from him.
Cold stumbles against the table, losing his balance easily. He doesn't like having a body that's all his own. It's far too empty in here.
Smitten is quick to take advantage of his imbalance, taking hold of him again and shoving him against the wall in the other corner.
The bruises are good. It hurts more now, but pain is more real.
His hands are pinned above his head, a little awkwardly due to the fact that the chunkier bird is still holding the blade. He could probably break free if he really wanted to.
He gives Smitten a blank look, "Surely you can do better than that. This is more soft than even your beloved princess."
The reminder seems to do it.
A sharp pain registers in one of his wrists as Smitten harshly twists it. Then it splinters with and overwhelming feeling rush of feeling and pain.
A small gasp of pain escapes past the Cold's lips but inside it is like a cannon got fired. A complicated network of cells instantly activated, signals cascading through his body alerting him something is deeply wrong in a way he has never felt it.
Cold embraces the pain like an old friend but that no longer takes the edge of, the pain vivid and real.
He doesn't say another word, his throat dry. He doesn't need to, it seems his earlier words have agitated Smitten plenty.
The man pulls his non blade fist back and punches, connecting with his face. Something raw is reflected in the Smitten's eyes. Seems like even when angry he is a crier. What a waste.
Getting punched in the face feels comparable to how Cold would would think a sledgehammer feels everything spinning, his head throbbing with pain. It feels like any moment his weak skull should start cracking, liquid brain straining and escaping confinement.
The moment never comes but the third punch does.
Blood dribbles down his brow into his eye. A few black feathers fall onto the wooden floor.
Smitten stands still heaving screaming in his face, "WHY?! WHY DID YOU FEEL THE NEED TO KILL HER, MY BELOVED!?! EVEN WHEN SHE TRUSTED US!"
The world is a merry go around, the words bounce around in an empty head until finally an answer slips arduously from a dry throat, "I was bored. We wanted to know what would happen.."
Technically it wasn't even him that made the choice.
Another rage filled scream radiates from the Smitten. Then he snarls, low and back to his flowery tones, "You monster."
Cold smiles.
There is a blink. An overwhelming pain. The next thing the Cold registers is that he is at the bottom of the stairs and he is in agony.
For once Cold can't figure out whether this is a good thing or not. It's certainly something, and something is still better than nothing could ever be. But it feels so wrong. Like yelling. His ears are yelling at him. An instant annoying ringing, just like the lovebird.
Other parts of his body twinkle in agony but it becomes too difficult to track what is where. He can't feel his legs he thinks, any any movement sends unfathomable pain down his arms.
Smitten's footsteps are pounding, loud, echoing, as he descends the stairs. It takes a long time for him to reach the bottom. Even then he doesn't continue hurting, just for a moment he just looms.
"Do you miss her?" He asks, Cold almost misses it over the ringing in his ears.
Words feel too heavy, too difficult to form. His beak is chipped. He just nods. He misses her more than he misses himself.
"You don't deserve to." Comes the answer, "You deserved to feel us burn with her."
She's so much more than that. So much more than the one time they went up in flames. But, when Cold opens his mouth no words come out. That's weird.
Smitten kneels down, a pristine blade glints in the tiny stream of moonlight. Cold wonders if he'll finally finish the job.
He doesn't. The knife cuts the flesh of his arm, the one with the broken wrist, not the one that's all twisted underneath him.
Then it stabs, again and again and again. Salt tears drip onto the bloodied flesh.
Cold cries too, although that's much more because of the pain. It's too much, too real.
He hates this body.
The body, lines of flesh and meat, opens it's dry mouth, trembling, "Please stop.." it's all too much too late. Too many feelings when they're already past the conclusion of their story. Everything hurts.
Smitten stops. An almost surprised look in his eyes, like he never expected Cold to break.
Cold mumbles something, unintelligible even to his own ears, wrapping his body, the broken unwanted vessel, around Smitten's knees. He doesn't feel quite right.
The man stares down at him. His mascara is wiped all across his feathery cheeks. "This isn't valiant at all.. She wouldn't want me to do this, would she?" He laughs wryly, "It didn't even make me feel better.."
Cold giggles, everything hurts, pain is real, "Me neither." Blood is still staining, spreading across the floor. It's sticky and unpleasant.
Smitten takes off his elaborate vest, tearing it up with the blade, then letting the weapon fall uselessly to the ground, ".. let me help you with that." He says as he starts bandaging away the damage he caused.
The Cold is so very tired, tired and alone. The Smitten is too.