Work Text:
Mayali, Mayali, Mayali
Mayali, Mayali
Remember, I remember
Mayali, Mayali, Mayali
My little brother
Mayali, Mayali, Mayali, Mayali, Mayali
Azune can feel his fingers digging crescents into his palms as he stares at the spot of blood on the floor.
Mayali, Mayali, Mayali, the blood is Mayali’s
He reaches down to touch it, touch her, and blood trickles from his hand, intertwining with the splatter on the stones. Mayali. The image of his grown sister, auburn hair in a braid, blurs into the memory he’s been clinging to since he was 12, of the teenager with her hair cut short, her face just as sunken as it had been before the floor had eaten her alive.
“Mayali…” the word tumbles out of his mouth, a desperate plea to a godless world. He wants his sister back, he wants his sister back, he wants his family. She’s alive, she’s the only one who’s still alive.
The image of the bleeding Mayali morphs into an image of a hanging Thjazi Fang.
“I’m a person, I’m not a thing, I’m a person.”
She’s a person, up until now Mayali had only been a memory.
“I’m a person, I’m a person, I’m…”
“Calm”, he hears Bolaire say it and as his eyes flit between the man who took his sister and the man who wants to take his grief away and he’s not sure who he wants to punch.
His body takes a deep breath involuntarily and he can feel the sickness that had wormed its way into his gut crawl up into the pit of his throat, balling as tears tumble down his face.
Mayali, Mayali, Mayali
Mayali is gone.