i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
Perhaps Reave had not been born with memories of the future, but still they had come. If he were an introspective sort, he would have humored at the fact their childhoods had been borne in reverse. Where she had only known the future, he had seen the past. Except now, he too could watch the play of it on her eyelids, drifting over the curves and hollows of her skin so much like her memories. They are fleeting and divergent, the impermanence of the future carried as it is by whim and endless choices. The past tells him more though. Tells him which one she is more likely to choose.
If only he cared to listen.
She is fascinating in a way he hadn’t anticipated, redolent with the wilds beyond Beqanna. Reave, who had never ventured beyond the bounds of this continent, is fascinated. Her memories of her mother collide with memories he had stolen from his own. Sisters in spirit if not in blood, much like she had been with Brazen. Undoubtedly a good thing, given his own dubious ancestry.
She does not answer his question, causing him to tilt his head curiously. He eyes her with a devilish gleam in his blue eye, amused by the turn in which the conversation so rapidly takes. Impulsively, he steps forward, circling around her, gaze fixed with that impish intensity. When he comes alongside her, he presses close, boney hip against rounded, punctured shoulder against perfectly unblemished. Pressing damp against dry. Then, very close to the delicate shell of her ear, he softly intones, “Seems you’re wet too.”
With a laugh, he pulls away, eyes gleaming bright in the amused lines of his bone-shrouded features.
Though she tries to disarm him as he had attempted with her, he finds himself far more delighted than disconcerted. Truthfully he has never once considered his own grave. Indeed, if he should face death one day, he has yet to see it. His own future is as wobbly and twisted as all the others, but he has seen the length of it in a distant version of himself standing on the cliffs of Nerine, everything he had once known vanished, swept away by the winds of time. And he had seen himself sightlessly on the beach, grief in eyes that had grown ancient. And he had seen himself asleep, lost to the timeless slumber of the immortal. He doesn’t know yet if these will come to pass, but they tell stories he would be foolish not to listen to.
So he replies in the only way he knows how. “I have no grave.”
reave
@[Elliana]