that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
Her panic is like a physical punch and although there is nothing physical about him in this moment, he still feels its impact. It is a jarring thing, to feel as though she would actually have been worried about him. Actually would have been concerned about him losing his life and whatever within him that is decent nearly feels guilt—feels it swell around him and through him, flooding the places that no longer exist.
He floats outside himself, watching them—the way she nearly reaches for him and aches.
He ignores that too.
When she has begun to curse him again, he sinks back into himself. Lets the magic knit himself back together. Soul to body. Bone to bone. His neck straightens and then pops and his golden eyes open as he blinks slowly. Even with his magic, death is not pleasant and the taste is metallic on his tongue. A bitter and unpleasant reminder of the ash he had once swallowed each and every night, the death he ran from.
“It was a little funny,” he says, his voice hoarse and gravelly, the death not yet having left him completely. When he feels more sure of himself, he rises to his knees and then pulls himself gracelessly to his feet, shaking the dust from his spotted coat. “Do you have any other requests, Maze?” he says with a twitch of his lips, coughing slightly and wishing that they were closer to a body of water of some kind.
The water he summoned was just never quite as sating as the natural sources.
“I would prefer a gentler request but you know I live to serve.”
At this, a laugh again, but he cannot deny that it is darker than before.
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
