ㅤㅤㅤ𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝… 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 ( for no longer, did sunday hold weight in aeons and higher powers, despite his emanation ) for waking up before his sister, had thanked his own fortitude for allowing himself to retreat into penacony's dark, unknown places to lick his own wounds. there was not so much a humiliation in his defeat - only a sort of understanding, a resolve that his dream had been... imperfect in the end. but with it, came a decimation of self, a sort of loss of control that he did not know how to quell, and a fundamental knowledge that his home would no longer want him, this his sister too - just the same, and perhaps the loneliness that had marked the better part of his entire existence, would continue for the rest of his pathetic days.
ㅤㅤㅤhe does not know what draws him back, perhaps a final glance, before he tried to leave and left penacony to it's fate ( robin, robin - what about robin? no, she wouldn't want him anymore ), but he does not expect to find the stoneheart here. sunday had not the time to mourn what they had - what they could've kept having, for he'd come too swept up in his own schemes - and aventurine his. the avgin too, was another failure... not because he had not adored their time together, not because the emotions hadn't been genuine, but because he'd let his crusade blind him to an immutable truth.
ㅤㅤㅤhis footsteps are slow, for he's not completely healed - the normally beautiful sunday's suit jacket long since discarded, ebony wings that had hugged him like a corset slumped at his side. blood encrusts the tips of a few light feathers, bruises concealed beneath vestments, but he doesn't seem too physically worse for wear. his mind though... the luster of his halo is gone, the permeating brightness of gilded eyes dulled to a bronze sheen. there is no angelic glow, no proud stance of his shoulders. where he'd usually greet aventurine by curling up in his mind like a contented cat... sunday cannot think to reach out with his thoughts.
ㅤㅤㅤ❝ i-i did not know you'd be here. ❞ he confesses, stopping only a few feet away. though aventurine isn't looking at him, even now sunday tries hard to keep his body language proud - but it doesn't work, for there is a sort of hesitance on his face, like he's waiting for the stoneheart to berate him, despite everything. yet he wants to sink against him, wants feel the warmth of that skin again, the familiar patter of two hearts beating in time but he... sunday steps forward, a shaky gesture, up to aventurine's side. those black wings fold in tight to himself, and he looks out to the crowd. ❝ did you know i would? ❞ he says, serene voice so soft. he knows aventurine's own words to have been gentle, but... sunday also would not blame him, for cruelty, ❝ did you come here to witness my grand failure? they've cleaned it up already. nothing left but... ❞ he casts his eyes down, staring fixedly at the blood encrusting his shoes,
