Chapter Text
His body seemed just as broken as his heart.
He was a Vessel— he was nothing more. His Deity made that painfully clear. His hands bled his own crimson, glass imbedded into his knees and his chest.
As he opened his mouth to breathe deeply, blood spat all over his—or, his Deities— dark, rotting wooden floors. He gasped, choking on the thick substance.
His nails dug into the brittle wood and tore, pain flaring into his arms and ricocheting through his body.
“Just kill me,” he whimpered. He was so tired— he wanted to rest with Two. Two was all he could remember. His Deity had taken every memory from him besides the one of the Drummer. “I’m so tired, My Lady.”
He spoke to no one— As She was gone. She had been for a while, but he chose to drown himself in sorrow and prayer. Maybe She would come back with Two, and maybe with Her She would bring the fame and love that She had previously promised would arrive through devotion.
His second half. His Two. He wanted him. But he knew His Maiden to not be so merciful as to put him out of his misery.
He pulled himself up to his knees, gasping as pain flared through his body. He coughed out a horrible cry, his eyes welling and tears making their clear path.
His build that had once been lean but strong had faded into nothing but skin and bone. He had starved himself— he found no need for food, as what was the reason to even try for life without Her and Two?
He stumbled to his feet, staring at the altar that was surrounded by glass shards, melted candle wax, strung beads and shells.
The altar itself was a combination of four candles, representing each of Her previous Vessels. Only one remained lit— it was him. The only one that remained with a soul in his body.
The skull of a deer was placed on the center, a rune carved in its forehead. When he had found it in the room of worship, She had explained it was a creature from a universe that She had once been from. It was where She sent Her Vessels after death— a second chance, in Her words.
Before making his trip to his destination, he walked shakily to the bathroom. He set his hands on the broken, cracking sink, and looked up to the mirror.
He gasped at the man in the reflection— it was not him, no, the man in the mirror was a fragment, a remnant of what he had used to be.
Unable to face his bloodied reflection, he turned and began to walk out of the manor.
He stepped through even more glass, and he refused to look down as he could feel the blood seeping. He stepped outside, his feet pushing against the grass and soft earth.
He strolled slowly, taking in the woods and where the great green pines became a field of lupin and wisteria, purple and green as far as eye could see.
His journey took only three days. On the third, he approached his destination. The fields had turned into trees of dark and light pinks and flowers.
He had lost an unsettling amount of blood and his legs were like lead, his arms as useless as broken pencils. He found the ritual site— each area had at least one— and fully collapsed once he reached it.
He exhaled, finally, and rolled onto his back.
“My Lady, I am here. I’ll find Two to the ends of the world in the next life, no matter what. I will not forgive you for your trickery— not now, not ever.”
His eyes shut.