resurrect the saint within the wretch
Immortality is not something that Warden thinks of often. He has heard that his elder sister and her wife hold this magical elixir - the power of living without fear of dying (or maybe it is with fear, for it only means they can return - not that they aren’t susceptible to death as all mortals are) - but other than that, the notion has not crossed his mind until tonight. Until Lilliana brings it to his attention and it is such a robust and prominent realization, he couldn’t help but comment on it. Despite its morbidity, the realization is also a relief; perhaps Lilliana herself will never grace the images that flash across his eyes unwarrantedly - at least, none of her own death. It is something that, though there is only a sliver of hope carved into his chest, emboldens it with a strong pulse he has long since forgotten the feeling of.
Lilliana’s laugh is out of place but it is genuine - the Watcher can tell - and it causes his dark eyes to glance at her from beneath a shadowed brow, where his own smile tugs lightly at his pale mouth. He cannot remember the last time he had tried to be humorous and in reality, he hadn’t really been trying when the realization left his mouth. It just sort of came out, unfiltered and raw, and perhaps in the weight of their sadness, they were able to find the humor in the midst of such a macabre thought. Maybe when they both run out of hope and they aren’t able to suck the life out of some other poor soul, the two would resort to laughter and humor to keep the otherwise darkened days bright in some way.
The light in his eyes dim suddenly and the softness that came to the edges of his face when he smiled now vanishes, replaced with the familiar thin line that Lilliana will find more than reasonable for his stature. Had he been a colt, the deep ocean color of his eyes would roll immaturely; but he is not a colt (he is the King in the West) and he remains otherwise expressionless, idly watching Leonidas hover silently but watchfully over them. He had always thought the stars to be nothing but burning balls of gas, but with a purse of his pale lips, he watches the sentient star above him prove all of his inklings wrong.
The Watcher’s dark tail flicks at his auburn haunch, stamping a single onyx foreleg. “I’ve heard that before and not from my father.” Little does Warden know that they are both thinking of the same silvery mare with a hardened gaze and steely voice. “Sounds silly - something made up to make us feel better.” His voice is grumbly but it is not said with the same tension when he speaks of visions and death and mortality. It begs to be proven wrong, imploring for her to find holes in his reasoning so that all the doubts will fall silent. “We are not stars. You are you and I am me.” Warden glances up at Leonidas with a shrug of his shoulder in the star’s direction. “I think your little friend would have told us if that were true.”
Her final words cause him to turn his horned head towards her curiously, the disbelief on his face only muted by the slight sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “Oh don’t patronize me, Lilliana.” The humor remains in his voice - there will be no solving of the future tonight, or even the past.
@[lilliana]