She crumbles at the smallest weight, breaking down into smaller pieces as she spreads her tired and broken body across the cold, moist floor, loathing the dull sensation of all of Hobgoblin's joy, awe, and excitement.
He is only a child, she reminds herself, closing her eyes and letting him take over for once.
Any other time, she would of surely fought for the right to share their throne(for it was more than large enough for the two of them but too small for anyone else), but today? There isn't enough strength and willpower in her chest to even think of the might she'd have to acquire to make that battle.
His emotions have the strength to uphold her dying heart, almost enough that he can let her suffering go without thought nor care.
Innocence is so pure.
If she had been in a different mood, any mood, state of being, mind set, then she would of paid attention to her surroundings. Lying upon her side was dangerous for even this area, but her eyes were dull and her eyelids heavy, heart shattered and will crushed, slowly dragging herself into the depths of the earth. All of this came together so that she couldn't bring herself to check for a sound or body.
Her wounded trust was set into Hobgoblin enough that she felt that she could believe in him to be her shield and her sword, to protect her from the horrors of the world dare they just find the pity to pull her out of it.
Deaf ears reach for softly spoken words. Pale blue eyes don't look for a body, but red eyes watch with attention, claws gripping, tearing into a vine of glowing flowers, shedding petals of light down, laying them across the champagne mare's body as they rage with intense fury at the sight they see.
Sikeax does not like to be touched. He has seen fear kiss her lips and only to turn into hate and sorrow when she had been touched by someone else other than himself and a few beings he can't see the importance of to her, but if they have been chosen to worship at his temple of a bonded, then he cannot complain nor change their purpose in Sikeax's life as a guiding light.
But again, Sikeax does not like to be touched, and by God, Hobgoblin does not like to see her be touched.
A sigh, long and mourning, almost heartbroken with grief, pulls itself from the grave of the healer's lips. The soft blue glow of a horn outlines the emotions etched into her face, chiseled into her features as if they were always meant to be there.
"We are never alone."
It whispers out like something a ghost might say when it begs to be noticed in a dark, forgotten home, trespassed upon by unwelcome visitors. How many times must she say this?
We are never alone.
The words replay in her head over and over again as if her train of thought is a broken record that only knows four, sorrow-filled notes, doomed to repeat them over an eternity of lightless hours.
"I am not alone because I have my broken heart and the living, breathing part of my soul that took all the good I never had, and found the strength and will to become another. He is always with me and I will always be with him."
Silence draws over her for what she feels is an infinite amount of time, but only ticks away as a few seconds in reality.
"He is all of my will power and strength to live, to push on, to face the world. I am nothing without him."
She can't help but think about how the male in the cave, how he made such hate towards her and her brother, how much hatred was given to the other half of her and not the other half of him.
Sikeax had made the choice to allow him to move unchecked, carelessly and violently, to almost be wounded before her very eyes when all Hobgoblin could think of was how to protect Sikeax against a very real threat, one that didn't care if they broke her broken parts even more.
He is all that I could ever love.
Those aren't thoughts she should think when she has been told that he is a beast and a monster, prone to all the bad of her heart, soul, and mind, but they are one together and those are thoughts she can't ever stop herself from thinking.
"Then again, you're here with me, are you not?"
Or maybe you're just a ghost, and I'm dead, and you're here to take my hand and lead me to the other side.
The thought is cold but possibly even warm, promising in a bittersweet way that tells her she's fulfilled whatever purpose in her life, and that its finally time to go.

@[Tiamat]

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