Epistles of Saints & Sinners
Chapter Summary:
Reflections are made on Tav and Astarion's intimate night together before entering the Goblin Camp.
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Story Summary:
When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.
But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.
As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?
Healing isn’t linear—after all.
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Chapter 7: Beholden
Ao3
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Word Count: 3.8k
Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav
CW: Blood, Violence, Language, Act 1 Spoilers
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We must follow nature’s course. Whether it be cruel or kind.
We cannot interrupt its plan for the world.
Their tadpoles connected them in more ways,
than a simple acknowledgement
of their shared affliction.
But, boundaries are toilsome when broken.
And creeping upon their coasts, will cost a sacrifice, yet to be demanded.
— Halsin, journal entry 1,200
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There was a stir of a song being born. One from the buds of untilled soil thought dead. The words to accompany it were being haphazardly forged on parchment, like random notes written on coffee-stained napkins.
Tav hummed and wrote. Wrote and hummed. It was an all-consuming process that transfixed her until it was completed. And her lucky muse? A wreath of ghostly ringlets framing two eyes of garnet that haunted the pounding organ behind her cage of bones.
♫On your chariot of umbra,
You rode up from the world below,
And with a kiss of starlight you…um???
Youuuuuu….♫
“Hope I’m not pesterin’ you. Saw you over here by your lonesome,” Karlach interrupted as she approached the lounging minstrel with a lopsided smile and a ‘hair of the dog’ pint in her grasp.
“Mornin.’ Only struggling with this verse,” she beamed, tucking a wavy piece of hair behind her ear.
“Something’s different about you, eh?” The fiery tiefling observed, taking a sip from her drink.
Tav placed her quill back into its ink pot and straightened out her music sheets while readjusting her position on the tree stump. A cunning prickling of thorns flushed on her cheeks. “I—no. I don’t believe anything has changed about me.”
But, that wasn’t true. Within a man’s arms she came undone, finding empyrean respite. His fingers worked her like a charm spell until she lost herself in the casted shadows of candlelight. Yet, it wasn’t her moans for him in the night nor the donation of her ichor that she gave willingly that surprised her: it was a piece of her trust.
“Perhaps it is because she engaged in quite the exhaustive venture last evening! Blood loss does have quite the effect on people. Or so I’m told,” Astarion cut in. “But, me? I feel wonderful!”
And he does look wonderful. His cheeks are less gaunt. Bags under his eyes are a calmer shade of powdery periwinkle. Eyes appear sharper, a brighter red. The sky blue coloring is more saturated in the prominent veins of his arms.
All his beauty and dangerous splendor are the reasons sonnets are made along the roadways of mud and intoxicating jasmine blooms. There are thousands of intricately weaved words inserted into poems to describe his ilk, like morning mist drops settled upon the threads of arachnids.
Tav cannot contain the lightness she feels when she sees Astarion. Her wings spread out, each feather hiding fragility under their vanes. Will he catch her slim feet as she flies away?
“Hey-o, you dandy! Ready to go gut some gobs today?”
Tav hushed the acrobats in her stomach. “Good dawn to you, ‘Starion.”
“Karlach. Songbird,” he greeted them equally. “You know I wouldn’t miss out on such a gutting show, however, I did come to check on our leader before we head out.”
Before she was able to speak, he had already sailed over to her upon muted silver heeled footsteps. She straightened her posture, suddenly aware that he is bent acutely at his waist, enough to reach out to kindly dust her fresh marks.
“How badly does it hurt?” His pale head tilted, curls slipping to the side.
The smell of his freshly applied perfumes addled her mind. His eyes, a clever decadence, held the knowledge of her ecstasies that she snuck to him during an impulsive need.
“Sorer than the wrist. Like a dull muscle ache from a cramp,” she congenially answered.
“Nothing you cannot surely triumph over. And how about everything else?” He breathed out.
The vampire does not attempt to mask his meaning or shy from the euphoria he exorcized from her body. He was brazen to ask her in front of their acquaintance.
A sharp intake of air blessed her partially opened mouth. Heavily did she swallow to control the overflow of her marching chest. “Fine. Everything else is fine.”
“Hmm. You know…,” Astarion whispered, a low distraction as she watched the tip of his tongue wet his lips. “I can still taste you on my fingers.”
This fancier of the bloodthirsty arts, has two sets of teeth.
One with which to feed. The other with which to claim.
For this elven bard, a bargain has been made.
She wanted to match him in his torturous tease. To pluck out his devil’s tongue and boil it in a spiritual cleanse.
But, there was fine print that sat on the curled edges of the pages of their pasts, smudged with fingerprints and laced with belladonna. Warnings of holes where their hearts lay; labyrinths of frozen gardens that have no end.
Tav had not forgotten the way their rousing decision ended the night prior—with his fingers covered in her fruit and her lips finding purchase upon his alabaster skin. The vague emptiness that enameled over his touch, apparent through the shadows of his eyes.
She had left his tent, with her sex loosened and a continual masturbatory bomb of fears that she had crossed a broken boundary of his that he didn’t yet understand.
“Astarion, there’s something I wanted to ask you about last night.” She willed her face to form into stone to show her sincerity, attempting to mouth it to him in hushed tones.
“Oh my sweet, you’re not getting mawkish on me now, are you? The only serious thing we need to discuss is when you’ll invite me back for another snack,” Astarion winked suggestively.
The bard continued her well-nigh unresponsive discretion of her features, ignoring Karlach’s pacing behind the pale elf. She stood up, a few inches shy of his natural height, placing her hands on her hips. Her jaw tightened, but she remained silent while she stared into his face.
There was a surprised look, as if she had just turned an entire ocean to desert. He avoided entertaining her with any further quips or illusions, instead, blinking several times before abruptly summoning his trained foxy slink to his face.
“Did you hear that? I think it’s our ghastly duty calling upon us to finally help those Silvanus freaks before they start complaining about ‘the leaves of nature being preserved.’ It may be wise to think of better songs to regale the goblins with then you did that foul ogre. Lest we wind up on the skewer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ” he dramatically retorted as he casually checked the cleanliness of his nails.
Astarion gave the women a mannerful bow before he strode away without paying another peek in Tav’s direction.
Tav remained calm as he left, breathing out a long sigh. They needed to prepare for the assault on the goblins. He was a distraction—not necessarily an unwelcome one—but one with knobby roots twisted along the cloister inside his dried innards. If she didn’t get her shit together, a lot of people would die and their blood would be on her hands.
“I’m sorry about the interruption Karlach, he—”
Karlach took a long gulp of her drink, the ale dripping down onto her chin. Her face lit up, almost literally, with an excited smile. Tav knew immediately that the barbarian was far too astute in situations of sexual vices to not read the interaction that just occurred.
“Oh. My. Gods. That’s why you look like you’re glowing today! You and Astarion?! You fucked him, didn’t you?!”
The songtress’s vision widened and her face felt like it would burst into flames, much like the tiefling’s engine.
“Hells, Kar. Could you keep your voice down? We just—we kissed. A lot. And he obviously bit my neck to feed afterwards.” She pulled down the collar of her doublet to show her the punctures.
A white lie. Not entirely. She wasn’t one to share the details of her romanticisms with others. It was a preference to keep the echoes of intimate reflections as special moments; treasures discovered along the shipwrecks of life.
“Hey, I’m not judging! Astarion is gorgeous! Bit of a sassy grouch sometimes, but if I had my chance with him, I would not hesitate to get all over that.” The red woman made thrusting motions with her hips. “That being said—you don’t look entirely happy about it.”
Tav pursed her mouth, staring off to the right side of Karlach as she collected her thoughts. Her throat tightened as she spoke, delicately attempting to avoid providing any details she knew of the spawn’s past.
“You mentioned recently that you sensed Astarion has been through a lot of pain, but I’m unsure where that begins and ends for him. And that concerns me. Karlach, I don’t want to potentially hurt him further. I barely know him and it’s… look, I’m telling you this because I think out of everyone, you will understand.”
Karlach crossed her arms. A caring frown accompanied the orangish calm of her irises. “I won’t pry further, but Astarion seems to be fixated on his freedom. Can’t blame him. I am too with my own from Zariel. He can be a real piece of work, but even rotten scoundrels need a gentle hand sometimes. Maybe he hasn’t had that in a long time—if ever.”
The bard blew out the air she’d been holding in. “A gentle hand,” she repeated. “You’re right. Thank you for listening. It’s not easy to open up about these types of subjects. And I want what’s best for Astarion—everyone really—but I’m not sure he even knows what that is just yet.”
“I’ve got your back, Tav. Everyone in camp does—really. And shit will work out. Alright? We’re truly in this together, as sappy as that sounds.” The tiefling knocked back the rest of her drink, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. “Now, can you at least tell me how it was to kiss him? Please let me live vicariously through you.”
A merry laugh passed through Tav. She curled her index finger near her chin in thought. “Okay. Close your eyes and I’ll describe it to you. Imagine lips: Plush, supple, but chilled. Not frozen, but a pleasant degree—like sweetened cool milk soothing your warmed lips. As you press them against his, you can feel your heart quicken and slow at the same time. Your breath’s intertwine with warm and cold temperatures that elicit thoughts you’ve never had. And when your lips start to move? It feels like you’ve both committed the crime of lassoing the sun closer to you as you melt into one another.”
Karlach visibly shuddered, opening her eyes to Tav smiling gently at her. “It’s no wonder you’re a bard. I could almost feel that myself! Thank you, friend. I suppose we’ve wasted enough time talking about boys for the day—should we get things rumblin’?”
She politely nodded and turned around to round up her belongings. Rummaging aimlessly through her satchel, her brow furrowed in annoyance.
“Something the matter?” The tiefling questioned.
“Just something odd. I could have sworn I put it in here before I came to write.”
“Maybe I can help find it. What is it that we’re looking for?”
Lost in confusion, Tav held the purse upside down a final time to see if any items stumbled to the ground. “My cuticle oil.”
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When he woke from his trance in the early morning hours with dried blood cracking in the corners of his mouth, his vampiric nose involuntarily breathed in an alien scent that had seemed to fill his tent overnight.
Astarion’s clothes had stunk of Tav’s fragrance she was ever so fond of, having made homes for itself in the islands of stitches on his sleeves and ruffled v-neck. Bodily fluids, now dried on his ornamental pillows, a sexual honeyed musk. He wrapped his tongue around his finger, still tasting the glacé of her sensual defeat; a sour memory of their night together.
He reached for the rags he used to wipe off her bloodied essence from her upper body, scrunching them up to place under his nostrils. He inhaled without reserve and groaned. Cock half-hard, a reminder of the effect drinking from thinking creatures had on his hunger. A pink tongue darted out to clean off his mouth, swallowing the red flakes down.
Under the light of a candle, its single flame licking wicked pathways to her want, he had concealed his guise of disgust behind her shoulder. All he could remember was the act itself—that it happened. That his fingers entered her and he poetically spoke naughty phrases into her ear to anchor her wetness for him.
Trust. Trust. Trust. She gave it to him with the arch of her back into his chest. Just as he predicted. Just as he planned.
However, virtually all of the details of their intimacy—the night—were lost on him. Her face was another among the blur of thousands he seduced over two centuries. Up petticoats and down breeches he searched their bodies to steal their pleasures. His cock would only thicken out of trained habit or a rare wishful fancy of ravaging apart a neck from any creature without hisses and tails. It meant nothing to him.
Yet, a singular detail did remain. A place he entered beyond the second circle of hell in lust, a circle where it seemed like his death could be undone. A river of lyrics carrying him along a raft of flower-crowned skulls towards the banks of her merciful arms.
During the twilit minutes before he released her, he made the blunder of examining her eyes before their ravenous kiss. What he had seen was—acceptance.
And it scared the fuck out of him.
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“I am enjoying our walks together, aren't you Gale?” Astarion teased while they walked through the inner sanctum of the temple overtaken by the goblins.
“Um yes, in silence.” Gale leaned in towards him, whiffing his scent, “By the way, I don’t mean to pry, but did you apply more of your aromatic oils than usual? ”
He searched for a quick remark to hand to the wizard. “Only because I knew I’d be in your presence today.”
Half of the vampire’s morning had been dedicated to scrubbing. Crouched over a bucket of soapy water, Astarion had soaked his clothing and rags, ridding them of scents unknown. Of the lingering remnants of her. His skin raw from how hard he attacked his flesh with suds and woven cloth. The final touch? Excessive dabs of his oils in unusual places to cloy any bits leftover of her odor.
“The Priestess is up ahead. I’ll go speak with her. Wait here for a moment,” Tav’s melodious voice spoke reservedly to them.
No-nonsense. This was a part of her Astarion both equally appreciated and despised. Despite her penchant to offer her generosity to all of Faerûn, she pulled her punches. It was a waste of time to her otherwise and could be messy. Efficiency would deliver the most desired outcomes, but gods, he desperately wanted to create mischief at every turn.
Astarion, be sweet. Astarion, we don’t need to lockpick EVERY chest. Astarion, leave that ogre and bugbear having intercourse in the barn to fulfill their needs alone. Astarion, don’t have fun. Astarion, let’s save all these idiots!
”Astarion? Please don’t hurt me.”
Dizziness. Presumably from their encounter with the dream visitor in the prism as they came upon the entrance of camp a short while ago. It wanted to protect them against The Chosen. The Absolute. All their enemies. To give them power. Yes. Power was the most important ability to hold in all aspects. Power will usher forth freedom and protection. With power: the possibilities were endless.
Thrum-dub…thrum-dub…thrum-dub.
Pulses? Astarion felt the constellation of his soul mark beating mildly. Tav’s back faced him, her features obscured. Her body was hunched over minimally at the waist, hand at the side of her temple. His eyes narrowed, jaw taunt. Something happened.
Thrum-dub.Thrum-DUB. THRUM-DUB. THRUM. THRUM. DUB.
Faster now. Harder pounds of a pumping bass through the bandwidth of their marks. She was nervous—frightened. The threshold betwixt them was closing in as an invisible rope pulled him closer.
He flinched. Really, he should stay out of her way; he shouldn’t get involved. It was perhaps wicked to not divulge to her the shared marks they possessed, but it would change everything. His plans would become a brittle cascade of a future he sought. He didn’t want to disrupt the plank he had been trying to balance upon since his unintentional escape from Cazador. But, he’s aware that he needs her and she needs him.
Besides, what better way to obtain one’s help to a cause—his cause—than a life owed?
“They’re connected. Quickly, we need to do something! If we start attacking, Tav could be in danger.” Gale stepped forward, sweat trickling down the sides of his face.
Light were Astarion’s steps as he snuck upon Tav and Priestess Gut. The creator of his misery appeared stifled, her mouth partly opened with persistent shallow breaths. The tadpoles of the goblin and elf had connected; Tav was fighting to push it out. A dull whimpering snuck out from her throat as if a deer was jerking around in pain.
Astarion seized her elbow, declining his head to press his lips to the opening of her ear canal, nose softly resting against its shell. He whispered in elvish, a language only the two of them would know, steadying his voice firmly.
“She won’t see it. Nothing is going to hurt you. I’m here.”
The hex of the worms severed and she was free! Tav’s body slumped downwards, but faithful hands were catching her, grabbing at her arm to wrap around staunch shoulders—wrapping around the illusionary dripping silverlight he exuded.
“When did you…?” Her voice broke up in a hoarse muttered tone.
Giving her waist a confident squeeze, he smiled sweetly at her. “Hello beautiful. Think you can stand on your own?”
“Urgh...yes, I think so.”
“Splendid. As much as I detest putting you in that wizard’s care, do me a favor and go to him.”
The bard wobbled as she stood on her own, backing away towards Gale. “What do you plan on doing?”
Astarion removed one of his trusted blades from his back. Bringing it to his mouth, he licked the side of it, much like when he smothered his saliva over bitten wounds. “I plan on slicing open the Priestess’s neck. Now stand back—the smell of blood will be in the air soon.”
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Filets of goblin meat were a stark contrast against the erected statues of the temple dedicated to Selûne. Her lifeless face watched the companions as they carved through the vile threats. Ripped sashes of ruby life essence unwound in the drafty camp, splashing the group.
A witness Tav played, as she paid honor to Astarion’s image under the sparks of the wagon wheel chandelier inside the chambers of Dror Ragzlin. He stood soaked in ichor, peering off to his side; a final swoosh of his dagger through the atmosphere, flicking off excess blood. The dance macabre had been sated.
Flags of pure white raised, red fangs and swords embroidered in the middle.
The belief of their crusade, a righteous seat upon golden scales.
Raise thy sword in the name of murder. Let us pray.
All three leaders: Priestess Gut, the drow Minthara, and Dror Ragzlin—deceased.
“As you can see, ceremorphosis has been halted, as a surprise to all of us. I am not one to tempt fate, but if you cannot heal us, then any guided direction towards someone that could offer assistance would be most appreciated,” Gale explained hastily to the arch druid Halsin they released from the goblin prison.
Halsin casted a yellow glow that coated Gale’s entire body, sensing the mechanisms of the mind flayers. “Illithid tadpoles. Oak Father preserve you all. I’ve studied these for a long time now, without much results. It was the reason I came here, to seek out research. I may not be able to heal you, but I can at least tell you where a mass amount of true souls are going to be infected.”
The druid was large. Almost the size of the bear wild shape they had found him in. He towered over Tav easily. Scars upon his wise face, a set of misty tea irises surrounded by reddish brown hair that wafted of autumn leaves and sandalwood.
The bard was stunned. “You mean they aren’t all being captured upon a ship and given the worm as we have?”
“I’m afraid not. Moonrise Towers is a stronghold ruled by a man named Kethric Thorm in the Shadowlands. Innocents go in and true souls—infected—come out. The lands are dangerous. Anyone that steps foot there is at risk for turning into demonic shades,” Halsin spoke in caution. “You have two options to enter. Through the Mountain Pass or the Underdark. Both come with their own sets of tribulations. The Underdark specifically is home to a Sharran temple.”
Gale faced Tav, speaking in a muffled shallow. “Shadowheart may be quite interested in hearing about that bit of information.”
Focusing on the fine lines of Gale’s crow’s feet lifting upwards, she nodded. Her eyes swooped down to the strange circular marking in the middle of his chest, the way it seemed like tendrils of smoke sneaking up past his clavicle, to the side of his neck. A part of him, he frequently hesitated to speak on. But, being so close to the human man, she wondered what secrets lay under the surface of his skin.
“I know you’re curious about it—the marking, I mean. But, now isn’t the time to explain. Soon. I promise.” He gave her a reassuring compress on her shoulder. Tav nodded again, embarrassed that Gale had caught her staring.
Turning around, two crimson eyes followed her. Coveting and dark.
Thousands of flowers sprouted behind her as she went to him.
With her tears, she would bathe his feet; with her hair, she would dry them.
His armor drenched in blood, dripping onto the new growths left behind, urging petals open.
Thankful for his earlier care with the priestess, an inspirited hand graced the tips of Astarion’s fingers with delicate plumy touches as she briskly clenched hers around them before turning to leave the chambers.
“I owe you my life ‘Starion,” Tav whispered, peering away from him.
He deceitfully smiled. ”I’m sure there will come a time when I will need your help in return.”
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waking up hurts.
it makes no sense that the light of dawn would sting his eyes this badly —— the eyes of a star, no less, a being vivid with light —— but it does. the doll shouldn’t make him this susceptible... but wait... he’s not inside of the doll, is he? he’s loose, nay, laid bare in what seems to be something of a vast, white wasteland. small nubs peel away from his face, exposing the full extent of what he’s facing to his gaze. it’s... nothing. it’s just nothing.
then, a voice——
❝ it took you long enough. ❞
❝ wh—— ❞ the little star whirls around, only to be confronted by another. their appearance is unmistakable. the spherical form, the jutting spikes of black matter erupting from their body, the harsh glare of red eyes—— a dark star. why? where did they come from?! this is an obviously urgent matter! the power of a dark star is nothing to sneeze at! he needs—— he needs to——
❝ what, about to call your dear master eldstar for help? ❞ the blasted thing cackles, glowing red thinning into slits. ❝ can’t do it alone, can you? since when do you need to rely on that old cretin to do anything for you? as if he ever has? ❞
they... read his mind? are they really reading his mind? it makes his very plasma run cold as ice. his mouth dangles open. ❝ it’s not... i-it’s—— i have to put my personal feelings aside—— ❞
❝ ha! hahaha! ❞ the hatred dripping from this thing’s voice is thick as blood. ❝ your personal feelings? if you actually stuck to those, you wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at that moron. seriously? are you that dense? as stupid as he is? ❞
that’s plenty to rile him up. this thing... this monster knows every single way to poke at his most sensitive topics. geno grits his teeth. ❝ who are you to even spew that bull at me? you think you know me so well?! ❞
❝ of course i do. ❞ the enraged star spirit is about to toss his rebuttal, but the dark star silences him before he manages a peep. ❝ who do you think i am? don’t be so daft! you know who you’re talking to. you may as well be looking right in the mirror. ❞
geno could spit cobra venom at this, this abomination right about now. ❝ i’m nothing like you! don’t you dare insinuate—— ❞
❝ i am you. ❞
❝ will you cut it out already? cut the cr—— ❞
❝ i literally am you. ❞ they tilt their head... their body? ❝ don’t you remember? halloween? you’ve been waking up in weird places, haven’t you? the fields, the graveyards, the cornstalks, the pumpkin patches... ❞
geno’s mouth runs dry. ❝ the magic of halloween town——? ❞
❝ ding ding ding! haha, wow. ❞ the dark star rolls their eyes. ❝ i thought we were smarter than that. i’m hurt—— ❞
they choke as they’re viciously cut off, geno’s real body slamming into them with the power of a hissing prankster comet. eyes stare wildly down at this manifestation, livid out of his mind. the dark star doesn’t even flinch. ❝ there’s no we in this equation! halloween’s almost over, and when it is, you’re toast. ❞
❝ alas, yeah... though, am i really? ❞ they notice their light counterpart rearing back for another attack, and immediately, they bring up a shadowy shield. ❝ hey, chill! i’m not here to fight! tsk—— you may as well have the brain of a smilax! ❞
geno snarls. ❝ then what do you want?! ❞
❝ it’s simple. ❞ they breathe in, eyes slipping shut. ❝ look at me. you fear me, don’t you? do you know what all i’m capable of? think about it. think of what you can do... and how much worse it would be if i did it. the power to even defeat your own mother, she who watches the whole of the cosmos... power that only comes once in a blue moon to us star spirits. you are afraid of that, aren’t you? ❞
geno can’t even manage a response. he just watches as they ascend above him, whirling lazily around his head.
❝ now, imagine how much they fear it. ❞
it all clicks into place then, and if anything, it only makes him more frustrated. ❝ is that what this is all about? let me guess, you want me to feel bad for what the council did to me? ❞
❝ hah! no way. ❞ the dark star, himself, faces his frazzled expression. ❝ quite the opposite, even. wouldn’t you like... to experience their fear firsthand? ❞ no matter how many times geno attempts to interject, they seem to know how to shut him up before he utters a word. ❝ face it. you hate what they did to you. you’re, in fact, way too soft. the fact that you haven’t taken vengeance of any kind yet is asinine. i can only do so much as a figment of halloween town’s curses, but together... ❞
their eyes swirl, bearing into him with malice unlike anything he’s ever seen, all bred from hurt. centuries, centuries of hurt are in those eyes.
❝ we can make them regret doing everything they ever did. ❞
finally, they allow him a little breathing room. they back away slightly, hovering expectantly in their endless void. geno’s expression goes through a mixture of things all at once —— confusion, anger, anguish, contempt —— but in the end, it all settles onto one sense of finality: exhaustion.
❝ you... just don’t get it, do you? ❞
❝ oh, going to argue with me about it, are you? let me guess, you forgive them? ❞
❝ no! stars, no. geez, ❞ remarks geno with a palm shoved into his face. ❝ maybe you were right about one thing. maybe you really are stupid. who said anything about forgiving them? way to make a leap bigger than mario. ❞
now it’s their turn to be speechless. geno hardly has the time to sort through his thoughts, but frankly, he doesn’t need to. his response comes cut and dry, raw and unfiltered.
❝ i’m not going to just go around and start fights to make myself feel better. for what? what’s it going to solve? my feelings for them aren’t changing, and theirs for me aren’t changing either. besides, as much as i hate to admit it, i don’t want to hurt them. i don’t want to see them suffer. i just want them to leave me alone. don’t you get that? don’t you want that, too? you just want it to stay done and over with, right? if you’re really me, then you know what i’m talking about. ❞
the dark star deflates slightly. it seems it’s working... or something. to that, geno faintly senses that small amount of sympathy. it’s weird, though, isn’t it? feeling this way for himself, yet he does, approaching with care to place a nub on their side. they don’t react to it.
❝ so you don’t care, ❞ they concede. ❝ you’ll just forget about it—— like we don’t deserve any better. ❞
❝ yeeeah, no. quit saying stuff like that. i’ll never forget it, and i’ll never forgive them. what i think it is... ❞ geno’s eyes shut. ❝ i want... to get why they did it. you’re right. i am afraid of you. if that’s what they feel, i get that. it doesn’t excuse anything, but i get it. you know what i... you know what we can do with that knowledge, though? what we can do if we understand their side? ❞
the dark star begins to quiver. geno does, too, but with the fiercest determination behind his watchful eye.
❝ we can prevent it from happening to anyone else. ❞ he gives a tiny bob of his body. ❝ we don’t have to hurt. we can help. i don’t mean helping the council, but helping all the other stars who might be hurting in the exact same way. getting why they did it and refusing to forgive them... can co-exist, can’t they? just like how our bad feelings can exist without making us bad people —— like how we can both exist, right? we can make something better out of this instead of just... destroying. we don’t have to be a couple of doormats to do that. ❞
a sniffle from his darker self prompts geno to nuzzle their foreheads together, to which their body wracks with a sob. knowing well what they feel, what he feels, he gives a bitter smile.
❝ i-if you... if things had been any different, ❞ is the last thing the dark star tells him, ❝ you would be just like me. ❞
geno exhales. ❝ i know. ❞ the world grows dark around him, and the sensation of another body to his begins to fade. ❝ i know. ❞
he doesn’t fear the rise of dawn, of actual sunlight, when it finally comes.
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