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Time.
As Kaecilius had said, it ruins everything.
Stephen didn’t know what he was doing anymore, mind fogged and without a dire need to emote. There wasn’t anything that he could do with time, it’s nature confusing and forceful. It was no gentle thing, it’s hands of death wringing around your neck like a clock, ticking without a second chance. He needed a second chance.
He wanted it.
The Ancient One, was what they had called her. With her brimming smile and cup of wonderful tea, she was well remembered. And almost forgotten. She was a beacon of knowledge, a ray of sunshine in a dark room, causing the plants in the room long for her longing warmth. She was like a mother, still like a pond, yet dangerous and tainted like poison. It was something nobody could simply see and forget, yet Stephen had.
Christine Palmer was important to him too. Her gentle words lulling him to sleep, and fingers caressing his jaw with care. He would warm her hands by holding them in the snow, crystals landing in her hair as Stephen simply counted how many would stay on and how many would melt. The memories continued for her, and yet he didn’t know why.
Wong and Hamir came soon came after, their calmness near to frightening yet stern and some how knowing. The two were strong, both in heart and in spirit. He didn’t know how the two could be so wise, or as gentle, Wong always somehow pushing through for the doctor, even if it wasn’t necessary. As for Hamir, he taught Stephen how to continue without his teacher. Without his mentor.
There wasn’t anything left in his memories anymore, just the deafening silence to the Sanctum. His eyes burned constantly, his tears to the pain not doing anything but adding onto the unnerving sensation. It was almost like something was on his face, but every time he looked, he was normal.
Sometimes he can remember the moment they had gone. How they had gone down. The blood draped like sticky, curtains, and their bodies sprawled out like they were dancing in the next life. Their tears stained the floor, forever there and never washed out. His hands were coated with something, but he couldn’t remember what. Was it blood? Was he trying to help them?
Who killed his friends? Who caused him to grow lonely as the Sorcerer Supreme. Who killed the only people he trusted?
The only one’s he trusted with his life.
Little does he know.
That it was all his doing in the end.