⊰ ♡ ⊱
Galacta had feared growing close to anyone again for this very reason.
Doctors were working tirelessly, and there was still a little warmth in the form that lay on the bed before him, but... there was no life in it. No power.
No soul.
No one else seemed able to sense it, evident in how they fussed with their tools and machines. Kirby and that irritating king had meanwhile gone after the perpetrator and thief. Galacta could have understood if it had been revenge, but ostensibly they planned to retrieve Galaxia for when Meta Knight awoke...
There was no point. They all were working for the sake of an empty vessel. One that that Galacta could no longer stand to look at.
Already he could feel himself trembling, the grief that no doubt already shadowed his eyes washing over his wings and body. This dark form gave him power; he could fight, could tear apart time and space, could try to force it to give his newfound friend back...
But he felt no will in his heart now. Not even anger. Had he not done this so many times? Those three... they were gone... Meta and Kirby could never replace them, and even if he tried now and succeeded where he'd failed before, how long could that sustain him? Fate had already proven its cruelty...
Despair spilled from eyes colored deep, dull blue as he whirled away and jumped outside the ship, wings pushing him through space as empty as he felt. Why!! Why was he alive, after all this time? Why was he never the one to die?
Why... why...
There was always grief and loss and there would always be grief and loss... Was there truly no escape...? He was so tired and alone... could he not leave this cruelty behind...
Please...
@somniferouswings
