@kesil cont from here [x] because you know how it is when you throw spaghetti everywhere and then the bowl shatters on the floor and you have spaghetti and glass shards and
There are things people should not mess with: the dead, the future and the past. The dead and the past walk hand-in-hand, and so they shape the future. By their presence or absence. Adonia is aware of this, as it is really not a difficult concept to comprehend.
If he is aware, then why would he tempt fate and walk backwards in such a way? Magic weaves easy from his hands and body: it flows through his veins, reversing and halting the flow of time. Not something he should be able to do, but reality has a way to bend itself around him. To achieve the impossible, a will so strong and unshakable that not even Fate can go against it.
So he returns to a place that crushes his heart like no other, a place full of ghosts and full of joy and full of sadness and full of rage.
Adonia knows of something else: this is not his. "Returning" never meant returning to the same spot. He turns to a familiar scene, but there are details wrong. It makes it more obvious that it is simply one of the many branches in a tree, one different that Adonia usually perches on.
Faces of the dead, smiling cheerfully. He keeps himself hidden, knowing that it would only cause confusion. Adonia cannot imagine talking to them. The cowardly part of him finds it easier to hide than to accept he would run away before acknowledging their presence.
He should not meddle. He should not, his feet betraying that very same thought: before long, he finds himself in front of a familiar room.
Adonia could do anything else, but he is doing this. He could warn his siblings, himself, fix things. Fix this.
Fix this.
How fragile they all seem, now. Adonia thought the bond that kept his family together was stronger than this.
He also considered his acting skills better than what they actually were.
Adonia could slice Olysseus' throat open and leave. Ignore the warnings, stain the water with blood. That ugly part of him knows how easy it would be, but when his sibling is so sharp —
"What are you talking about, Lyse? I am myself."
That old smile surfaces on his lips again. He is torn between logic and nostalgia, torn between what he should do and what he knows he should not. Is it right to follow fundamental rules, but know one is still responsible for tragedy?
He acknowledges that in that singular moment, he cannot bring himself to get rid of his brother. Because he has not done anything else. How can Adonia possibly pass judgment on a soul that is yet to be stained with the blood of their own people?
How can he – how did he – he would rather avoid all of this. That same annoying behavior resurfaces, so old now.
What is so different that he cannot bear to repeat the act of murder once more? He did it once. He killed him once. He should be able to--
Adonia smiles, his eyes closing a bit.
"Who would I be if not myself?"
