into the sea, you and me
all these years, and no one heard
i love you, let's go

There’s pieces on the floor, all of them left behind from things that cut up her fingers like razor blades when she grips shards blindly. Together, they make a mess she thrusts herself into just to clean up what she has left here, in this place that lacks a God despite how he was the one that led to her cast to darkness and hatred.
None of them want her here anymore, and how can she not blame them? She is a servant, only ever taught to serve, never told she’ll ever be a master and never coming to think that that someday that has a chance to be her.
She hates herself for it.
The cold sinks into her skin and she falls at the mercy of her decision, wearing it like a cape when all of her body and soul breathes sea salt into the air that rolls death off of its tongue. Steam twirls forth from twin nostrils. The shivering in her muscles warms up her regret.
How much in the past months has she ruined her life? How much is left of that?
Why should she even try now?
“No worth.”
Hobgoblin hums his words into her mind like a distant roll of thunder, so distant but at the same time so close, holding her hand, pushing her into the earth, trailing her when she carries herself into the desert, haunted by the low cry of seafaring winds?
“I know what I am.”
Discomfort burns in her chest like the rising state of drunkenness, the heat of alcohol bubbling in her chest as their seclusion shows its colours.
“No.”
A demand she can’t follow.
“Monster not worth you.”
She can’t tell if he’s right or wrong, if it’s the other way around or mutual, that their devotion to each other through all of this makes them worthy of the other.
“I don’t think she deserves me, actually.”
The sensation of fluidity that follows is soft that she begs to bask herself in it with him, to know what it feels like to break apart one body just to trade it in for another, but hold so tight to a state of mind that never changes. Paws give up everything they’ve got for nothing.
In brief moments followed by disruption, she wonders if his feet still touch and feel the earth when his body appears to so effortlessly glide across it.
“You worth.”
He’ll probably only ever be the only true thing she loves.
“Let’s just find her so we can go home.”
How sad that as the one name she’s searched so far so many times runs its way over her cracked lips, the pair chased by the cold, rising sun in the east, burning with empty betrayal, that Hobgoblin no longer holds an idea of what home is.

OOC: Hobgoblin is in his serval form until the mentioned change to his wendigo form.