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Pick me apart

@delirious-comfort Soo. I believe I owe you something?

(Del here requested the following for a prompt: It had to be you. In the most menacing way. Anything BUT SQ")

Ok, so the reason why I needed this long -looks around- I remember I shitton of time ago that I had the mind to write something Tadler for you AJ but we know how our collective mental health have been -chuckles in tired-. So I couldn't. And while I know that they are not your hyper fixation any longer I wanted to give back a little since you so graciously have given me an out so many times when it comes to creating. And more things but, ah xd Anyway, Tadler it is. Before you say anything on how I had complete creative freedom… yup, you gave it to me :P So here it is. I know it's not death becomes her and I will never be able to write tenderness wrapped in lust and hate and need as you do but I do hope this is good enough. Love you friend.

PS: I've watched the show once to write you something back then and I'm going with the notes I took at the time and what the wikia stated so I am preemptively asking for forgiveness in terms of canon compliance. < Not like you or I give a shit about that but xd PS2: In season 3 episode 1 Alder actually speaks in basque! I had forgotten about it and then when reading the wikia it came back to me. Not commenting on the sentence she speaks but seeing my country being actively named and my language being used is still a very very cool thing to have.

Pick me apart > Back at A03

---

The office door she had blown open; the wood pliable under her fingers as she had moved them in cyclical motions, willing the frame to give in. Her mind had briefly considered the possibility of the door to be warded but if there had been an alarm, she had not activated it. She realized, when she peered inside, the scent of books, leather and self-contained storms, that the place was not only empty of what she wanted, but there was very little left behind of Alder -and had been for a time now-.

Feet against carpeted floor, muted colors as she moved through the space. The world was still changing at the other side of the window, the sky shimmering and the promise of a future seeming to form in quiet soft ripples as she blinked, willing for her Sight to not spill over. The absence of sound felt like a claw on her throat, nicking at her skin but not quite drawing blood and Tally could feel her own fingers curling as she looked at the empty room; documents and wooden chairs, books and treaties and knickknacks.

She had known that Alder was gone. Had known for a long time. It should not be news. She had seen her body transform and leave them once already, the weight of the string between them growing taut and fragile, brittle like a spider's silk. She had thrown herself towards the blinking light, however, holding it close to her chest and willing for her warmth to keep it steady enough for her mind to halt so she could understand. She had been unable to, however, the cadence of the song that Alder had once filled the air with, every which breathing it as part of their past, as part of their present, growing fainter and fainter until it had been gone.

Tally bit down on her tongue, rage bugling through her in rippling murmur, vocal chords folding, glottis seizing.

"So you are really gone." She spoke, humorless. She would probably get in trouble with Petra if she did not move soon, maybe with the others. She did not know what had pulled her into the former's General's office after all: a need to see perhaps, if there was indeed no shadows in which she could be hiding, waiting for some other step to be taken. For her to re-appear and reassure everyone, to reassure her, that she was there.

Which was impossible, she knew. No Biddies, no Alder.

And yet.

She was still there. Her mind supplied, feeling stupidly left behind, tears forming before she willed them gone, imagining Alder's scent, clean and yet heady; smoke and wood left to dry. She wanted to push and grab, to not trust her eyes as she Saw, and Looked. And longed.

She moved closer to the window, glancing outside and willing for her eyes to see beyond the glimmering sky. Goddesses, Alder had said. The word felt too grandiose around her tongue, her teeth cackling under its power, the sound of the vowels and consonants a cacophony of catenations that she wished to break apart.

Her chest felt about to explode and she rose her hands to paw at her chest, grabbing the cloth she found there, pulling it taut: no string there to find, no link to be threaded with the mind of the older woman.

"It had to be you" It came out as sad, despite the anger bubbling inside of her, reaching through her lungs and slicing her open. She could imagine it now, dripping out of her against the carpet, her feet apart enough for her posture not to buckle beneath Alder's watchful eyes. She shuddered at the thought and recoiled from it; desperate.

"You who left. You who returned. You who disappeared."

She Looked inward, behind her eyelids, her synapses, the world outside turning soft around the edges as the image of herself grew more defined; skin flushed. She was vaguely aware that time kept on ticking away; sand that kept on cycling; the sky turning darker. She paid it no mind, however, realizing that, at some point, she would be found and words would be said, questions asked and not a single second left for her to keep looking, searching. Would Alder's eyes glow and glint from her own? Would their color change, the image on the window turning the General as Tally remembered her within the walls of the room that felt very much like a throne. No matter how much the older woman refused and denied.

She Saw the image of herself, knelt and reverent. She swallowed thickly at it, tongue heavy against the back of her mouth, closing her airways as she gluttonously refused to allow herself to breathe cleaner air that would be devoid of her scent.

"You who left. You who changed. Who changed me" Loss cuts deeper than the delight of a world not imploded. Happiness, the fleeting sensation of it, of what it could be a future shaped by the perspective of tomorrow ashes on her throat as she kept on Looking, on trying to Look. A part of her wishing for her Sight to fall away and leaving her with nothing. Would she not deserve it? They had saved everyone. They had found the piece missing, she had gotten to see how everything fit, how everything evolved. How could she be stupid enough to long and wish for. How could she be so selfish.

Not enough. Her mind supplied hot rod against her skin, marring her. Not selfish enough.

She considered hanging her head in penance. She thought on enunciating an apology a She balked against it, prideful.

How much would she want to see the image her mind conjured, of a witch difficult and complicated and ravenous, worshiped in a world that felt devoid of any color beyond the muted mauve of spilled and dried blood.

She Saw the maw of a wolf, gorging itself in gore as time and history passed, as the world kept on mending broken lines of narratives that had not gotten to pass. She felt the bronze of medals that had not been hers to sport, break down her skin under their weight. She saw the world requesting connection. She saw Alder, just as she had last saw her: gorgeous and beautiful and smiling.

And dead.

No, not dead, her mind supplied and Tally gritted her teeth as she kept eyeing herself, hands curved around her chest, right one peeling away her clothes, transforming her skin into Alder's, brain foggy, full of despair and anger, anger and ire that boiled and spilled, surging forward as her hands kept on trembling.

Eternally alive. A concept that she herself, despite everything, despite how much she had changed, had seen the world change, was still having trouble understanding how it would work.

Tally looked down as her hands touched the mirror's surface, cold against hot and clammy skin, the perspiration was leaving imprints wherever she touched, smear marks that marred the surface and for which she felt fascinated as she allowed her thumb to go over one, nail pressed, finger turning slightly paler where the skin felt the point of contact.

Alder was gone. No matter how much would spin it. Gone and transformed and she had discovered far too late that she had made a mistake. A mistake swirled in hate and necessity as much as complexity and want. She thought on the kiss she had been given on her forehead, pushing her temple against the glass of the window, feeling her heart pulsing as she stared and looked, her breathing labored, her larynx trapped. She felt needy in a way she did not fully want to explore, trembling as she pushed herself back to her previous stance, feet apart, back straight, the office door opened, the building at the other side darkened and empty.

She turned to leave, her fingers grazing every surface, willing for every speck, for every burl, to move and grow into the older woman's figure. Knowing that it would not happen.

The door closed behind her.

"It had to be you."

Gone, gone, gone.

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