Thank you, Tifa. [ Even if she argues; he means it. ]
You can call me Red. It's a sorry place for introductions, but I'm glad you stopped.
[ He'd felt so frozen. Now, the numbness and grief remains, stones inside his chest, but at least he's found his voice again, figured out how to move his hands enough to light the candle from the flame of another lined up by the shore. ]
...'scuse me.
[ Ducking his head, Red turns to step away for some privacy. The candle, nestled in its paper boat, feels so precarious. A fine metaphor for life, perhaps. Precarious and small, and burning so hot while it lasts.
He wades into the water, the cold a small shock cutting through the heaviness that weighs down his bones. It draws a shaky hiss of air from him, a gust of breath that catches the flame, makes it dance and flicker. He keeps walking, the water steadily lapping at his calves and knees, his hips, until he stands waist-deep in the inky darkness of the lake that seems to stretch on forever, dotted only with those little lights like stars.
Somehow, the flame has held fast. Warm in his cupped hands, when the rest of him is freezing. ]
Antea-- [ No one is around to hear him choke on her name. All he has to do is reach out. One more step, two, chest-deep now.
Ruaidrigh mac Raith places the little boat atop the water with reverent, shaking fingers, so very carefully balancing it in place. ]
Where have I found myself, my love? How can I face it without you?
[ There is, of course, no answer. ]
Wait for me, my love. [ With a gentle nudge of his fingers, the boat begins to float away. ]
I'll find you again. At the end. I'll find you, Antea.
I love you.
I'm sorry.
[ The light grows smaller and smaller. Eventually, when he stops being able to feel his limbs for the cold and the shaking makes it hard to breathe, Red turns away. He begins to wade back out. He doesn't expect that anyone is still there. ]
no subject
You can call me Red. It's a sorry place for introductions, but I'm glad you stopped.
[ He'd felt so frozen. Now, the numbness and grief remains, stones inside his chest, but at least he's found his voice again, figured out how to move his hands enough to light the candle from the flame of another lined up by the shore. ]
...'scuse me.
[ Ducking his head, Red turns to step away for some privacy. The candle, nestled in its paper boat, feels so precarious. A fine metaphor for life, perhaps. Precarious and small, and burning so hot while it lasts.
He wades into the water, the cold a small shock cutting through the heaviness that weighs down his bones. It draws a shaky hiss of air from him, a gust of breath that catches the flame, makes it dance and flicker. He keeps walking, the water steadily lapping at his calves and knees, his hips, until he stands waist-deep in the inky darkness of the lake that seems to stretch on forever, dotted only with those little lights like stars.
Somehow, the flame has held fast. Warm in his cupped hands, when the rest of him is freezing. ]
Antea-- [ No one is around to hear him choke on her name. All he has to do is reach out. One more step, two, chest-deep now.
Ruaidrigh mac Raith places the little boat atop the water with reverent, shaking fingers, so very carefully balancing it in place. ]
Where have I found myself, my love? How can I face it without you?
[ There is, of course, no answer. ]
Wait for me, my love. [ With a gentle nudge of his fingers, the boat begins to float away. ]
I'll find you again. At the end. I'll find you, Antea.
I love you.
I'm sorry.
[ The light grows smaller and smaller. Eventually, when he stops being able to feel his limbs for the cold and the shaking makes it hard to breathe, Red turns away. He begins to wade back out. He doesn't expect that anyone is still there. ]