Zombiewood ficlet please :3
You hold on until you can’t hold on anymore. And Martyn had held on tight. He’d held on with all his might. That’s what trees did, wasn’t it? A seedling’s first instincts when it began germination was to root it’s radicles into the soil, to shed it’s seed shell and send root hairs into the marl, anchoring itself in the ground like a ship anchoring itself to the pier. Before it even thought about sending it's hypocotyl aboveground, it made sure not only it’s taproots had embedded into the dirt, but it’s secondary roots, it’s tertiary roots… even it’s fibrous roots had to have seeped so deep beneath the subsoil that the surface was surely a distant memory. Plants were intelligent in that sense. They had the right idea. They were in their infancy, they were vulnerable. They needed to forge as many rootways as possible, they had to have countless ways to transport transpiration to the xylem, they had to be rich in rootroutes and resources, they had to be ready before they showed their faces to world. To show their faces to the world. By the time he met his soulmate, he wanted to have put down roots. He wanted to have resources. He wanted to be prolific, frutiful and profuse, he wanted to be indispensable. Soulmates were symbiotic relationships, and he wanted theirs to be mutualistic, better yet, commensalistic; he wanted them to need him. If they relied on him, whether it be for resources or his resourcefulness, they couldn't abandon him. Maybe it was an irrational fear to have, given, after all, they were soulbound. Their healthbar, lives, and souls were intrinsically linked, abandonment was fundamentally impossible given the sheer nature of their connection, they were glued at the hip and tied by the arm, but still. Perhaps it was because of what had happened in Last Life. What he had become in Last Life.
The isolation had been unbearable. It had been excruciating. He couldn't go through that again. He couldn't handle being so alone he'd become delusional, he'd begun to talk to mannequins meant to mimic his former friends in a desperate reach for any companionship, abandoned and forsaken by everyone and everything he'd ever had. He couldn't go through that again. He didn't think he'd be able to survive if he did. But it was fine! Because he wouldn't. He couldn't go through that again… because he had a soulmate! He had a soulmate, this time, and his soulmate couldn't die on him, because if they died, he'd die, too. And they couldn't abandon him, because they shared a healthbar, the were soulbound, they were a pair, and besides, why would they want to? He was going to get so many resources for them, they'd be so impressed, they'd fawn over him and say: 'Ooh, Martyn, look at all the resources you brought for us! You're the best soulmate ever! I'm so lucky! I don't know what I'd do without you!'. He'd make such a good first impression they wouldn't even be able to fathom the idea of leaving him. They were going to be so proud of him.
"I'll do us proud, don't you worry." "Do yourself proud, don't worry about me." Obviously his plan hadn't gone as planned. In a game of soulmates, in which you were promised a pair, a partnership, a companion... Martyn was alone. Forsaken his own soulbound, abandoned by his fatepair, discarded by the person he'd been trying to make himself undiscardable to. At least Pearl had Tilly, but Martyn? He was completely alone. But it was fine! It was fine. He didn't need Tilly, or Pearl, because he would have Cleo, it would be fine. He had to have Cleo. He was hers. She'd see that eventually. She couldn't abandon him. That was against the rules. That wasn't supposed to happen this time. And yet it was exactly how it had happened last time; alone, deserted, desperate, desperate enough to say yes to what They'd offered him… No, he wouldn't let it happen this time. It's fine! He would win her back, this was just a little tiff, a petty miff, he would win them back and everything would be fine. He would not be alone. It would not happen again. Every tree had a woodwound or two, some burls and bruises, but he and Cleo were destined to inosculate. They were designed to. They would inosculate, even if he had to meld his scion into their stock to graft them together himself. Nothing could come between them, he wouldn't let it, he'd edaphoecotropate through anything that tried. Everyone knew that trying to stop a tree's tropism was futile. He'd just resort to thigmotropism if he had to. And yet, it seemed no matter what he did, no matter what he'd done, he still couldn't quite hold on tight enough. Or maybe the problem had been he'd held on too tight. His roots would dig into the soil, trying desperately to embed themselves into the ground, to intertwine with his soulmate's roots, but everytime he tried to sow the seeds of their relationship she would pull out the sprigs like they were nothing but weeds before they even had a chance to sprout. Maybe that's what she thought they were. Whilst he thought they were intertwining oak and linden trees, she thought he was nothing but a stranglers' fig, a hemiepiphyte who did nothing but suck up their shared nutrients from the soil for himself and leave her deprived. And maybe that was what he was. Maybe he'd been so desperate not to be left alone that, in the end, he'd become his own self-fulfilling prophecy, a damnation of his own creation. He'd held on too tight, clung to her with too much might, strangled his soulmate with the very string they shared. He'd held on until he couldn't hold on anymore. He'd held on until there was nothing to hold.
"Oh— Martyn— !" Martyn had spent the entire season trying to get Cleo to say those words. To say his name. Not with distain, disappointment, derision or disgust, but with actual want for him, for their relationship, for their soulbound. But in that moment, she hadn't wanted him, no. She had needed him. And he hadn't been there. No, instead, he'd dug himself into his own grave. Almost literally. He'd hidden away, like a coward, locked himself in his own sarcophagus, sealed his own fate and tomb. Ironic, wasn't it? He was soulbound to a zombie, and he died six blocks below. Meanwhile, she'd been soulbound to him, Martyn LittleWood, and had died by being skewered by a tree branch. Surely, there was some dramatic irony there, some quip or joke, but for once, he couldn’t make a jest out of the situation. All he could think about was the darkness. It had been so, so dark. He couldn’t see. All he could do was listen. Listen to Cleo's screams. He could hear dogs howling, he could hear Pearl giggling -- "Get her!" -- he could feel the adrenaline pumping in his chest as his soulbound ran for her life, for their life. He clawed, scraped, dug and dredged into the soil with raw fingertips and the desperation of somebody who knew they'd nailed their own coffin shut trying to unhinge the lid with all their might, trying to get out, because Cleo needed him, and he wasn't there, he needed to help her, he needed to get out. Not to live, but because this couldn't be how he died. He couldn't die like this. He couldn't die as he lived, alone, he couldn't die alone in this hole, no, he wanted to see her, he wanted to be with her, if they were going to die he at least wanted to die with her, he wanted them to die together-- But they didn't. Even in death, they were apart. Even in death, he was alone. Even in death, just as in life, he'd abandoned them. He'd abandoned her on last day of their lives, just like he had the first. History always repeated itself. Or maybe Martyn just always repeated his mistakes. ["All you have to do is say 'I'm sorry for abandoning you on the first day'. That's it! That's all you have to do! …. All it takes is an apology, Martyn."] ["Pf, You're not getting one, we both know you're not getting one."] I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Cleo.