[ Having Yen in his arms and pressed tightly against his chest is usually enough to chase away his demons. But this time is different. Even though he wills his soul and his heart to settle, even though he can feel the shape of her magic press against him, his mind rages and his heart continues to feel like it wants to break free from the confines of his chest. It feels like the worst bout of motion sickness he's ever had coupled with the fading but terrible sensation of his body screaming despite there being no searing heat burning his flesh from his bones.
Every nerve in his body feels like he's been made some kind of livewire. It's uncomfortably familiar, a nod to a time when he had been a self-sacrificing, foolish god. Except this time the galaxy and stars that he had been made of have been stuffed back into a mortal body of flesh and bone and there will be no coming back from what he's done. ]
I had a nightmare.
[ As if he can feel her gaze searching for his, he foolishly shuts his eyes tight as the words tumble from his mouth, unable to stop the habit of lying and pretending that he is fine and that he has some iota of control. Perhaps it is his death that has him realizing with startling clarity that he's had so very little control over his life. Fate, destiny, or whatever had been written in the stars had always propelled him along, made him feel like there was no such thing as control no matter how hard he tried to grasp it. Living with his head in the sand had not been an option. Not after the curtain had been torn back. So what other choice did he have but to rage against it? And if he could not gain control then he would fight for it, burn for something that he now knows he will never see but hopes will come to fruition in his galaxy some day, somehow. Everything shown to him, everything he did, had not been in vain. He would do it again over and over if he had to even if it ended just like this.
But what his conviction believes - knows - is right, can't reconcile with everything else that floods his mind. How can he even begin to think about how he's supposed to tell River? Percy and Annabeth? Istredd? Yennefer? A vice squeezes tight around his heart, not for himself but for those that he's built a semblance of a life with that he holds dear. And how much time does he have left before whatever magic holding him together at the seams deems that he returns to the stardust that flows in his veins? Those in his life are no strangers to loss but he had learned, after a dream lived as a god and now this, that he didn't want them to mourn him or cause them any undue pain.
His voice is low and gravely in an attempt to hold onto this for just a moment longer as he presses another kiss to her temple. ]
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Every nerve in his body feels like he's been made some kind of livewire. It's uncomfortably familiar, a nod to a time when he had been a self-sacrificing, foolish god. Except this time the galaxy and stars that he had been made of have been stuffed back into a mortal body of flesh and bone and there will be no coming back from what he's done. ]
I had a nightmare.
[ As if he can feel her gaze searching for his, he foolishly shuts his eyes tight as the words tumble from his mouth, unable to stop the habit of lying and pretending that he is fine and that he has some iota of control. Perhaps it is his death that has him realizing with startling clarity that he's had so very little control over his life. Fate, destiny, or whatever had been written in the stars had always propelled him along, made him feel like there was no such thing as control no matter how hard he tried to grasp it. Living with his head in the sand had not been an option. Not after the curtain had been torn back. So what other choice did he have but to rage against it? And if he could not gain control then he would fight for it, burn for something that he now knows he will never see but hopes will come to fruition in his galaxy some day, somehow. Everything shown to him, everything he did, had not been in vain. He would do it again over and over if he had to even if it ended just like this.
But what his conviction believes - knows - is right, can't reconcile with everything else that floods his mind. How can he even begin to think about how he's supposed to tell River? Percy and Annabeth? Istredd? Yennefer? A vice squeezes tight around his heart, not for himself but for those that he's built a semblance of a life with that he holds dear. And how much time does he have left before whatever magic holding him together at the seams deems that he returns to the stardust that flows in his veins? Those in his life are no strangers to loss but he had learned, after a dream lived as a god and now this, that he didn't want them to mourn him or cause them any undue pain.
His voice is low and gravely in an attempt to hold onto this for just a moment longer as he presses another kiss to her temple. ]
It's nothing. Go back to bed. Please.