all the weight of my intentions; magnus

[magnus]

magnus

howling ghosts, they reappear
in mountains that are stacked with fear

He had hear rumors, once, about her own abilities—the powers that lay just below the surface. The gift, perhaps the curse, to peer into a stranger’s mind and unfold it deftly. How powerful to be able to tap into the innermost corners of a stranger. How powerful to peel back even the strongest of defenses. How tragic to be exposed to such things—to be vulnerable and receptive to the loud voices, the mental cries.

His heart breaks at what she must have experienced—what she has been privy to.

So although his sooty lips curve, the smile is sad, sorrow reaching the corners of his eyes. “Perhaps once I had secrets,” his whiskey voice is thoughtful, holding onto her gaze quietly, “but I do not anymore. I have nothing to hide from you, Isle.” Her name comes to him quickly, and he holds onto it gently, letting it rest in the palm of his hand like a fragile bird—although it’s clear that she’s anything but fragile.

She weathered the tundra ice and the heat of a love that nearly devoured her, and yet she still stands.

No, she is not fragile.

He does not attempt to lift the memories, but it’s difficult to keep them locked away. It’s difficult for them to not churn in his mind—lifetimes of anguish and guilt and regret. The faces of all those he has loved and lost, those he has let down, those he has angered. All of the ways he has fallen short. It’s difficult to not think of his Amazonian home, and then the Gates that he served—first out of duty and then out of a love. The way he tried so hard to live up to her heavenly reputation but never hit the mark.

The lifetimes of love he has embraced and let destroy him.

Joelle, bleeding out the beach while he watched helplessly—life seeping from his veins.

Minette, fear in her eyes—disappearing into the shadows with him unable to follow.

Ellyse, youthful and beautiful who wanted so much more than he could ever give her.

His jaw clenches and he tears his eyes from her, wondering why such things are laid bare before he when she has just warned him. He swallows harshly, the emotion thick in his throat. “I’m sorry,” the apology is hoarse as he pulls them back within him, locking away the pain beneath years of training. “I cannot imagine how difficult it is to live your own life while being weighed down with the pain of others.”

He is quiet for a few minutes, listening to her, watching the ocean beat against the cliffs.

“Perhaps I want to remind myself that I am bigger than my demons.” Another humorless curve of his mouth, ghosts haunting the edges. “The ocean once took everything from me,” the memory of his death, of his grave rises like a wave and crashes against the corners of his mind, but he doesn’t let it consume him, “but I refuse to be afraid of it—I refuse to give it any more than it’s already taken from me.”

but you're a king and I'm a lionheart