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wayfarers_lodgeRosethorn sighed softly as she drove through the dark and heavy night. The rain spattered against the windscreen as she cruised, just above the speed limit, shaving precious moments off her journey towards mercy and forgiveness.
Her gaze wandered from the rearview to her traveling companion. Slumped against the passenger seat, deep in sleep, he didn't look like a powerful commander of life and death, nor like the other half of her soul- he looked old. Like a man who had lost his daughter when he had died the first time, like someone who had plumbed the very depths of being a scourge on the Awakened soul, like someone who had split himself in half to save someone too stupid to save herself. It was all written on his face, it curled his hands, and instead of making him look strong and relentless, like mortality and flawless lead, it made him look small and troubled as he slept.
For a brief moment, as she realised both his and her own weariness, she wondered if she was insane, flying down a dark, wet road to help someone who had, to all sights, been nothing but spiteful and hateful to everything she believed. Why did he deserve her, the both of them? Could it be a trap? Why was she leaving her home, where she was safe from all but the breaking of her heart and the echoing silence?
Then, as the moment of doubt passed, she knew that both she and her travel companion had to go- that they could sooner stop the world turning or the rising of the sun than turn away from this duty. A call for forgiveness had to be answered, and a confession of fear had to be negated. The message was clear- he was afraid for the sanctity of his soul, afraid that he would never see the light of the Supernal again, not in this lifetime or the next, and that could not be allowed to stand. Some things were more important than personal comfort or rest. This was one of them
Rosethorn sighed again as she wound down the window to take in the night air, hoping that the cold wouldn't wake Darcy up. As the lights of Melbourne came into view, her eyes darted to the cake box nestled safely behind Darcy's seat, and she whispered into the night wind.
"Hold on, Jack. We're coming."
Her gaze wandered from the rearview to her traveling companion. Slumped against the passenger seat, deep in sleep, he didn't look like a powerful commander of life and death, nor like the other half of her soul- he looked old. Like a man who had lost his daughter when he had died the first time, like someone who had plumbed the very depths of being a scourge on the Awakened soul, like someone who had split himself in half to save someone too stupid to save herself. It was all written on his face, it curled his hands, and instead of making him look strong and relentless, like mortality and flawless lead, it made him look small and troubled as he slept.
For a brief moment, as she realised both his and her own weariness, she wondered if she was insane, flying down a dark, wet road to help someone who had, to all sights, been nothing but spiteful and hateful to everything she believed. Why did he deserve her, the both of them? Could it be a trap? Why was she leaving her home, where she was safe from all but the breaking of her heart and the echoing silence?
Then, as the moment of doubt passed, she knew that both she and her travel companion had to go- that they could sooner stop the world turning or the rising of the sun than turn away from this duty. A call for forgiveness had to be answered, and a confession of fear had to be negated. The message was clear- he was afraid for the sanctity of his soul, afraid that he would never see the light of the Supernal again, not in this lifetime or the next, and that could not be allowed to stand. Some things were more important than personal comfort or rest. This was one of them
Rosethorn sighed again as she wound down the window to take in the night air, hoping that the cold wouldn't wake Darcy up. As the lights of Melbourne came into view, her eyes darted to the cake box nestled safely behind Darcy's seat, and she whispered into the night wind.
"Hold on, Jack. We're coming."
