en natt så kall och månen den var klar

[ Mau would cry if he could read her mind, Frostie. < /3 ]

She comes again.

Irma's voice was a feather-light whisper, a touch as subtle as the moonlight. It entered his mind so quietly, so lightly, that maybe it was just a thought echoing in the vastness of his skull—but the words thrummed through his blood, seeped into the walls, and he blinked. Turned his head to the side. And true enough, there among the trees, walking along the shallow stream, was another ghost, pale like snow and bearing her peculiar, proud crown. Arah. This time, it was not he who came to her, gently calling her name, but she who came, and stopped, and was silent. His heart counted the seconds, but the silence held. No greeting. Nothing.. just, nothing. Was this what he'd reduced his entire life to? Empty, and meaningless things and bonds? Oh, there where so many things he could've, and maybe should've, done differently; he always should've cared more.. should've shown how much he cared.

Maybe it wouldn't have been like this, then. All soulless silences, deafening even the birds and brook with its heavy weight.

"From a ghost to a ghost," he murmured, and cocked his head. Then, a little louder, "Arah,". Her heavy hair fell to the ground, partially obscuring her face, but as he drew nearer he saw more of her—and of.. of how nothing seemed right anymore. Was she even real? Or was he imagining her? Her heart, which had been gentle, if hurt by him before, seemed lacking, speaking of its absence through the dull silence of her lovely, warm voice. And her eyes... It was as if they mirrored his emptiness. Dead within. His throat constricted. Not her, too. Delinne was already dying within, drying up in the throes of her madness, and he had since long fallen—why Arah, too? Was nothing of joy to be left in this world?

Ophelia.

He'd probably failed her a hundred times over, too.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, quietly, his voice bleeding all the concern he'd never known how to show, and still didn't know how to: it just tumbled out like a flood, coloring the pale depths of his eyes with its gentle blue. Would she answer, and would she answer honestly? Did he deserve her trust? Another chance? The ugly bitterness snapped at him, told him he'd just botch it again, so why bother? Shouldn't he push her aside, too, for her own sake? So that he could never accidentally hurt her with his absence again, because she would not miss him?

He swallowed the monster and its venomous bile. If he gave in, and gave up before even trying—how was he ever going to do something right?

Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål