leaves all sinking, fever dreaming; ANY

[magnus]

It is easy for him to recognize the hurt in another—the familiar anguish, his own personal brand of sorrow. It is easy for like to call upon like, and he can easily see it in her eyes, in the shifting of her ears. It’s enough for him to almost call it out. To almost ask about whatever hurt has burrowed beneath her skin and made its home, whatever has pierced her heart, leaving her open and bleeding beneath it.

But he knows that it is difficult to find the words to describe such hurt and opening it up to fresh air has a way of amplifying the pain. So, for now, he pretends to not notice—the same way that he pretends his own wounds do not sit just below the surface, threatening to rip open at the slightest movement.

“Kagerus,” he repeats her name, syllables dripping in whiskey, letting it sit on his tongue as he watches her. He still cannot put a finger on what about her is so recognizable. He cannot put a finger on what of her pulls at his heartstrings so deftly, reminding him of the ghosts that sit on the peripheral of his vision.

It’s an itch between his shoulder blades, distracting enough to cause a frown to furrow his brow, but he chases it away, smoothing out his face with a quirk of his lip. “My name is Magnus.” A name so often lost to the winding paths of time, buried beneath the pages of history and then dragged once more to the surface. “And are you sure you have the time?” He winks. “I have been known to be quite verbose.”

A not wholly accurate truth but close enough that it doesn’t sit unwell.

“Because if you do have time,” his voice breaks off for a second, his eyes glazing over as he sees that which no longer exists, the visions rising in the air, the edges hazy, “then I would gladly talk to you about the home of my heart.” His smile grows slightly sad as he focuses on her again. “Of the home that I ran as a young boy and walked as a young man. The jungle where my mother ruled, where the trees grew thicker than you and the vines were as alive as us both.” He doesn’t mention that this same memory that brings him joy also brings sorrow—of those who no longer lived, of the memory of the floodwaters rising to claim both of his parents. That the home of his heart was also the grave of his soul.

Instead, he just smiles, watching her curiously.

out of the blue out into the loneliest place that you'll ever know
I carried the world just as far as I could but the damage had taken its toll