❛ that’s not your choice to make, she’s gone. ❜ lyric’s doused in both frustration and concern. it’s well-intended, not latent with malice. he’s attempted managing this subject with hands gentle enough to nurture the broken, with delicate suggestions, and culled aberrations, distractions meant to keep the warlock at bay. but, today. oh today, chatter fills his mind; it drowns and overwhelms cosset thoughts like tumultuous waves burying a meager sailboat. it instills frustration in bleached bone, tenses muscles, and induces an ache unlike one he’s ever experienced. this musing has plagued him since hearing of the boy’s desire, and while he would’ve preferred to put this in more benevolent terms, emiliano needs to hear it. that is what ruptured his ability and willingness to coddle. this notion of reanimating the dead must wither.
voice of the future bellows, echoes within caverns of his mind : this is how you will lose him. this is your own fault.
she’s gone: as in, dead. as in buried six feet under, coffin tucked into the earth, body in a state of decay, festering while her soul’s misleadingly vigorous in the underworld. cerberus remembers her. greeting her at encrusted gates. even in death, she channeled warmth; a breath of fresh air amongst dilapidated souls. / that is not your choice to make: as in you can’t revive the lamented. you can’t play god; the world has many. that’s enough. however … would it be so terrible to make the mistake of letting his mother slip past the gates? he mustn’t. musn’t betray hades, he would never. but in remaining loyal to one, he’s privy to another’s pain. an ache thrashes betwixt splintered ribs knowing that, in theory, he could help. happiness is all he wishes upon the witch.
fear burrows in his chest. fear that emiliano will still try to revive her, and that he, himself, will be forced to stop this with abraded knuckles and violence unbecoming of the fondness held for the witch. he fears that in speaking his mind now, he’s severing their bond. deft fingers yearn to grasp the boy’s hand. he refrains. ❛ you know she’s not allowed to leave. ❜ ( you know i can’t let her. you know i can’t let her. you know i can’t let her go. you know what will happen if you try. ) words soften, sorrow nestles in umber hues. he doesn’t want to fight. not with him. not if he doesn’t have to. but that decision rests solely ‘pon em’s shoulders. ❛ i don’t — i don’t how to make this any clearer, just. please give this up. please. ❜
voice of the past cackles hoarsely, echoes in response : who’s to say he hasn’t lost him already? @elmagc.
he has to take a pause, he cannot afford to reply right away and risk losing the only person that had managed to stick with him through all of this, the only one that he didn’t run away. in that moment the tornado within him picked up again. harsh winds traveled in all directions of his mind as his two halves conflicted each other once more, argued over which way way best. on one side was the lightness, the image of him when he was a young witch who had both his mother and grandmother teaching him the craft. on the other side rested the darkness, the same darkness that pushed his mother over the edge and into the realm dark magic. while trying to find a middle ground he clenched his fists, fingernails digging into the palm of his hands, and took a deep breath of the air that he felt like he was being robbed of.
only when he feels his own emotions simmer down can he open his eyes again, looking over at cerbeus. what a shame that someone so powerful, so well connected, was wasting his breath on a witch like him.
❛ i know that she’s gone... ❜ that was all that he could say before he felt a familiar lump forming in his throat, a weight push against his chest as tears welled up in his eyes. it was grief, even before he felt it on his own he had already experienced the sensation, but nothing prepared him for dealing with this type of grief. emiliano un-clenched his fists and finally rested his tired hues upon cerb’s figure. he had given the male two options, either he go to the underworld with him to visit his mother or he would bring her back from the dead, yet he knew that both options were reckless and beyond idiotic. he couldn’t start a fight over this, over what everyone kept calling his mother’s destiny and her fate, but oh how he wanted to. how he wanted to push cerberus away like the others and continue on with his ritual, how he wanted her alive again.
selfish. that was the only word that could describe emilio as he stood there in the center of the mausoleum. the smell of fire and smoke overwhelmed his senses. five candles burned in a circle around them and three bouquet of roses burned in front of his mother’s coffin. how dare people bring the flowers she despised most to her funeral ?? how dare they insult her even in death by not knowing her ?? now he was the one doing the insulting. emiliano focused on the roses, extinguishing the fires with a mere thought before putting out the candles as well. he walked away from cerbeus, turning his back onto him almost as if that would make it easier. ❛ the only place i see her now are my dreams. i can’t even talk to her spirit. they don’t think i’m ready for that, they don’t think i can handle it. i suppose they’re right, i suppose you’re all right. ❜ oh and how he so badly wished they were all wrong.
maybe this was how it’s supposed to be, maybe in order to grow he had to understand true lost, but he wasn’t going to cope any better understanding that.
