Work Text:
Flowers were placed upon the bed of soil.
The earth disturbed, as if it was dug up and put back to place.
As if someone’s grave was marked.
In this case, it was.
Two Time could barely look. Eyes wet with something familiar to guilt or maybe fear.
Death was natural. They shouldn’t be so effected as they were.
They couldn’t even dare to turn to look at their mentor, standing beside them. Hand resting upon their shoulder.
The soft, rare reassuring whispers, breathed into their ear, something they used to want when they were younger. But now? It was only mocking. The gentle, "Well done, my child. Thy has pleased the Spawn.."
"The Spawn will be so proud of thy bravery of this sacrifice."
"Of thy flexibility of pure loyalty. Removing that tumor from thy life, with the Spawn in thy mind."
"Thy did nothing bad. Thy was only butchering the weeds preventing flowers to bloom."
They recoiled from the touch, a sob choking it’s way out their chest.
They couldn’t hold it in. They felt sick. They felt wrong. Just wrong. All completely wrong.
They could remember the blood.
The warm, wet. The liquid painting their fingers an obscene crimson color.
They could remember it all.
The way he gasped as the dagger was lunged into his chest. No where near his heart.
They should of stabbed him in the heart..
The way his eyes gazed up at them in horror.
They should of stabbed him in the heart..
The way his eyes slowly drifted, dazed to the dagger was punctured. No where near something fatal. Nothing that would kill him immediately. A slow death. A horrible slow death..
They should of stabbed him in the heart..
Yet, he smiled. Wobbly and crooked. But he still smiled. His lukewarm hand brushing against their cheek. Wiping their tears of regret.
They had stared before slowly, almost reluctant grabbed hold of the dagger once more.
They wanted him to die quickly. They don’t want him to be in pain for too long.
So they had conjured all their strength to yank the dagger out of his skin.
And stabbed again. In the heart.
Amarah grasped at them, tugging them closer to him.
They whined in discomfort, tail whacking against her leg in resistance.
But he just hushed them, hugging them tight. Something she used to do when they were just a child, when they started crying because they were hurt or just overwhelmed.
They didn’t want this. They want to be in their room and lock themself in there and rot. They don’t want to be here.
They don’t want to be at his stupid grave.
They don’t want to watch the other members place down flowers they don’t know the meaning of.
They don’t want to stare as the flowers that were resting against his grave, were not his favorites.
They didn’t want to remember that nightshades were his favorites.
They wish they just rot.
They wanted to rot.
They didn’t want this.
They were just a dirty sinner.
They- He didn’t deserve to die.
He was so much better than them.
Why did Spawn command them to?
Why did Amarah tell them that it was necessary?
Why weren’t they the one sacrificed?
They continued to cry. Into Amarah’s arms, because that’s what parental figures do. They comfort.
They continued to cry. About a grave.
About something below the soil they didn’t want to remember again.
About the flowers perched on the soil.
The disturbed soil.
About the person that used to hug them in the morning. Proud they survived another day.
About the person that used to kiss them goodnight. Make sure they were okay when they cried.
About the person that wouldn’t judge them. Understand their good and bad.
About the person that wouldn’t leave them. Even if they locked themself up.
About the person who loved them, staying outside the room they locked. Asked if they were okay.
About the person who loved them, cared and worried for them. Held their hand in services.
About the person who promised it would be okay. That they’ll last.
About the person who promised he would cry if they suffered. Hugged them for hours.
No one would do that now.
They realized.
Maybe minutes ago.
Maybe hours ago.
But it’s just reoccurred.
Remembered.
Understood.
They looked back down at the soil.
Maybe he would grow into a flower. A belladonna.
They sniffed, wiping their eyes with their sleeve. Something Amarah would of lecture them about, but she said nothing.
They shrugged him off of them and knelt down, a slight smile wavering onto their face, hesitantly.
They closed their eyes, placing the nightshade that was slightly ruined from how tightly they were gripping onto it.
And patted the soil, bittersweetly.
Thank you, Azure.
.. .-..-. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- .-.-.-
May many flowers be found upon your resting place.
- .... . / ..-. .-.. --- .-- . .-. ... / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / .-. --- - .-.-.- / - .... . -.-- / -.. --- / -. --- - / .-- .- -. - / - --- / .-. . -- . -- -... . .-. .-.-.-
May Spawn understand your pureness.
-.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / -. --- - / .--. ..- .-. . --..-- / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / - .- .. -. - . -.. .-.-.- / - .... . -.-- / .... .- ...- . / ..-. --- .-. --. --- - - . -. .-.-.-
May I remember you in my next life.
.. - .-..-. ... / -. --- - / - .... .- - / .. / -.-. .- -. .-..-. - / .-. . -- . -- -... . .-. --..-- / .. - .-..-. ... / - .... .- - / .. / -.. --- -. .-..-. - / .-- .- -. - / - --- / .-. . -- . -- -... . .-. .-.-.-
Sweet dreams, my belladonna.
.. / ..-. . . .-.. / ... . .-.. ..-. .. ... .... --..-- / .--- ..- ... - / -... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / .. / .-- .- -. - / - --- / .... --- .-.. -.. / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. --- .-. / .--- ..- ... - / .- / .... --- ..- .-. / .-.. --- -. --. . .-. .-.-.-
Sweet dreams.