Welcome to Gaia! ::

He held on to Ylaria, as she struggled to stand. Even as the mist thickened, he made sure not to lose her, his grip on her slightly desperate. The gesture wasn't as altruistic as it possibly seemed; selfishly, Alke just wanted to hold on to one of his few remaining possessions. It was becoming painfully clear with each following thought, each memory, how much they really had lost.

They had always told him not to do it, that all horsemen of Death had roles to fulfill. There were priestesses, and their guardians; the upper echelons of society. There were the jewelcrafters, somewhere in the middle- and they told him rough, clumsy hands like his were unsuited for jewel-work, he would never even get there. Alke didn't understand- either he couldn't, or he didn't want to- was there anything wrong with having dreams? It wasn't about the social standing- maybe a little of it was- he just wanted to fight, to enjoy the adrenaline rush, the risk- the proximity to death. For a while they let him play at it, closed one eye when he stole weapons and ran off to practice with them.

But as he grew older their patience wore thin. Your place is here, in the forges, they snapped.

Some of them walked past him, now, the same stern faces, expressions impassive. He expected them to push past him, almost, shoving him out of their paths, the same way they had when he told them he'd made it into the ranks of the ashen soldiers. Instead they walked through him, not even looking at him.

It felt a million times worse. He turned to follow them, as if he could catch up, as if he could catch hold of them and bring them back. The forges must be cold and empty now, ringing with silence instead of the clanging of metal. If they were even still intact; the blast must have destroyed everything. For so, so long, weaponsmiths and jewelcrafters had worked together, refining the art of metalworking. Now all that time was wasted, all that knowledge gone, thanks to the whims of a few disgusting, boring things.

In comparison, twenty years as an ashen soldier had really not been a very long time. For the most part he was still inexperienced, just a guy toting around a huge weapon, trying to do his job. He hadn't even been particularly good at it, really- not the way he'd hoped. Maybe they'd been right, maybe he wasn't cut out for it. But at the very least, he did enjoy it, and from the sense of satisfaction that came from accomplishments, from finally moving up the ranks, after all that hard work-- and from meeting her.

It was an honour he hadn't even dreamed of, to be named guardian of the head priestess herself. He looked for her, now, in the fog, hoping to reach out for her, to hold her, protect her, if it was the last thing he did before--

Before what? He had sworn to rebuild their home, somehow or other. If they needed fear, he would harvest it, all of it: single-handedly if he needed to. He wasn't letting them go, not now, not when they were all he had left of home.

The small white figure caught his eye. Medea had smiled at him, the same way, beckoning him over, singling him out from all the other soldiers. Nothing else mattered more than her- not the brothers he was leaving behind, nor the other priestesses watching. There was only Medea, in front of him..

"No."

He could not cross, without her. They had no more home to go back to.

"No," he repeated, a little more definitely, pushing the figure away.

"All paths lead to the same end." The familiar mantra, the words she always used. "I'll see you then, when we get there." A hand closed around the cameo he wore- an image of Medea, hand-carved by Ylaria.

A reminder of where home truly was- with the heart.

A fancy restaurant. Waiters in penguin black and whites. Candlelight, the faint smell of a lightly aged Chardonnay 1997, and three seats next to a table for two. 

"So?" Prompted the other, her dress light, cute, even, expression annoyed. There was a spark, a flicker of defiance in her features, lips pursed in annoyance. "So, are you done here?"

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Are you done with the food?" She prompted, impatient as always. "Because I am not paying for it this time and oh, while you thought it might be funny that he left, this was really important to me." 

It sounded important. He looked up. A blank mannequin with a blank face, hollow craters where eyes would be. Soon all colour washed out from her skin to, her clothes, the food around them, the wine, the noise, the chatter of those around them, the waiter breathing a little too noisily behind him-

"-Are you done here?" The mannequin did not prompt any more. Perhaps it had never spoken to begin with.

He simply sat at the table for two, all seats empty now as he continued to work on his food. One knife, one fork, one meticulously placed napkin, white, tucked in neatly. One tablecloth, also white. The candle, flame flickering white.

Everything else was grey.

Clerise’s heated gaze never broke from the phoenix flying above, her red eyes seething with hatred and pain and loss all over again. She was locked into it, trapped inside of her mind and a prisoner to her memories, focused intensely on all the goddamned bullshit she’d endured over the last few weeks.

And it was a lot of ******** bullshit, <******** you very much.

There had been human bits inside of her ******** mouth. She had seen a friend who she had, in fact, failed to protect, nearly fall prey to a horseman. Her worth had been devalued and her life had been threatened by one a*****e Death lead extraordinaire. She had faced another horseman, who had decided she was deli meat to slice up. She had gotten her leg mangled—and oh, how she relied on movement to survive, you stop moving and you ******** die—and had gotten Rep mained in the ******** process.

She had been called expendable and worthless and, sometimes, Clerise believed it. Especially when she had woken up screaming in a fit so bad the nurses sedated her and chained her to a goddamned hospital bed like a beast with rabies, a little monster in the labs that needed to be monitored lest it destroy the equipment.

Clerise had woken up—alone, by the way, with no signs of communication from ******** anyone— with silence ringing in hers, left to ponder the sudden and sharp realization that she was without her lifeline. She had wandered into the valley of the shadow of death and you know ******** what? No one had bothered to come with her.

There was no voice of reason in her mind, and runic daggers were fun and sharp and pointy, but they were no substitution for the weight of a ringed blade, that familiar weight that caused her to capitalize upon her momentum, to move like a dancer, to be free.

She had fought some little monsters in a room of crimson flowers and green vines, the remnants of them still lingering on—no, in her skin. They squirmed intermittently, prying apart fresh scar tissue and making their way further into her muscles, slowly taking root.

Somehow Clerise had slipped into reverie without fully realizing, startling out of it with a violent shudder as she realized that the phoenix was gone. The bird comprised of the remnants (the creatures did not get to have souls) of the Horsemen faded from view, her world swirling with grey.

She whirled around, eyes wild, looking for the people who had been so close just moments ago. Where was Reine? Where had Dakota gone off to? Where was Rep and his ******** man harem?

"Hello?" she asked, voice falling flat like the world had hushed her words, and the hazy memory of a dream floated into her mind, Clerise’s heart hammered in her chest.

A tendril of a whisper emanated from the dirty grey gauze that was the fog, but Clerise had no time to acknowledge it. Where was everyone? Where had they gone? The phoenix had vanished, but so had her allies and enemies and the whole goddamned battlefield, gone without a trace.

The entirety of Clerise’s vision was obscured by the grey, left to her own devices as tidbits of dreams crawled into her thoughts like insistent bugs. They wrapped the quiet around her, the pressure of it itching against her skin.

There were figures, now. They collected like a crowd, like a marching colony of ants, steadily making their way towards a destination. Some of them looked familiar, dressed in the way of the prior two horsemen she had seen, in the ragged and torn clothing of a mind lost to some sort of sickness.

“Excuse me,” the whispery voice asked once more, and when Clerise turned to see the source she found herself squinting against the light, breath hitching.

“Are you crossing as well?” Leaving her no time to answer, the figure came upon her with a smile, soft and sweet and sad folded into one, taking her large hand with their own, childlike and dainty.

Familiarity washed over Clerise, the same one that had snarled her when Balthazar had cracked. It pulled at her once more, leading the woman by the area behind her eyes more than by her hand, and Clerise let herself be quietly led like a lamb to the slaughter.

For a few quiet moments, this was fine. Clerise was weary, so tired of everything, so going home would be nice, she was sure of it.

”It will be okay, you know, my dusho moja,” a familiar voice crooned to her, wrapping around her like a pair of arms she had not felt for three long years. ”Hush now, my dear,” the voice crooned again, the whispering slowly forming from sound into shape, into a diminutive little woman—

“No,” Clerise growled, like a wounded and panicking animal, growing more and more distressed by the second. She stood her ground, despite the forceful tugging of her pale little companion, her knees threatening to give way.

Slim, ghostly fingers took hers, and it was like her fingers had been dunked into icy waters frigid and cold, swept away by the undertow of a one memory, then the next, and the next, and the—

---

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Clerise murmured, (voice husky with sleep, tinged with amusement) smoothing brown curls back from Danica's forehead, calloused fingers sliding along pale skin, down a bare shoulder and further.

Danica crooned back a greeting in Serbian, propping herself up on her elbows, pressing Cupid’s bow lips to Clerise's. Strong and sturdy limbs fit wonderfully against petite, and Clerise thought she tasted sweetness on Danica's lips (orange tic tacs and sunshine), and found her mouth warm and yielding.

---

She was the sun and the moon together, brilliant and honeyed and everything more. Brilliant jade eyes that twinkled with mischievous knowledge, singing sweet praises to her in Serbian.

---

A lazy, sunkissed morning with kisses and affection and attention of the best variety would melt into a brisk winter day, messily eating baby back ribs (the second batch) on the porch, the electric heater on under the table outside, a glass of wine in every hand.

---

Overwhelmed with a sense of being loved with frightening intensity, Clerise tore herself away from the visage of a memory, sobbing as the grief struck her like it had three years ago: raw and hot and painful. Like her heart had been seared out of her chest, left to be ashes of a wildfire.

She sunk to her knees, nails digging into the flesh of her arms as she cradled herself, the feeling of home washing over her, distraught because she knew, in her heart, it was gone. Two people had pried open her heart, over time. They had nurtured her like something precious that was worth their time and attention for more than just momentary engagements. Clerise had tentatively reached out, had accepted that she might, in fact, be worthy of something more—

All of that had been so snuffed out by a sudden malady, a life taken effortlessly.

“Ljubim te, sweetling,” the ghost of Danica said to her, the wispy touch of her fingers grasped Clerise’s once more, urging her to walk onwards once more. The redhead kept her head bowed, unable to cast her eyes upon her, afraid of her own reaction—

“You must go home, my dusho moja,” is whispered to her insistently, and it took everything Clerise had to keep placing one step after the other after the other, to shakily continue on towards home.

Her pace is jilting at best.

“I can’t,” Clerise screamed into the grey, the nostalgia and her want for love warring with sorrow, her voice falling flat in the fog.

Stubbornly, the acrobat tore away from her guide, choosing to sneer at the poor imitation of a vivacious life. “You left me,” she hissed, teeth bared and lip curled like an animal.

She had never dealt with grief well. Even as she struggled against the urge to plough ahead forward, like a workhorse stuck in its routine, a different voice wrapped around her.

It was pleasant and warm like summer rain, and it tangled itself in her hair. “Red,” was playfully murmured, and Clerise’s heart leaped upwards and into her throat, turning to face the memory of another woman entirely.

She tried not to think about how she felt about anyone these days, beyond what she could get from them and what she could do to mutually benefit them—

But Clarice had managed to worm her way into Clerise’s chest—maybe not in her heart, not really, if there even was one, the gaping void still sloppily covered in duct tape and string—

“You’re not sulking again, are you?” she playfully intoned, coaxing Clerise onward, a gentle push at her shoulders. With the contact came the memories of a Valentine’s Day that had been interrupted, of alcohol and singing and a softness that Clerise would have detested had it been within herself.

The journey got easier, in the grey, her little glowing white beacon of a companion singing to themselves a little pointless song, the redhead’s minds filling with memories that she had accumulated over the last three months.

Her voice was joined by a ******** obnoxious Scottish one, ******** screaming at her in a hospital room, shaking some goddamned sense into her, sure of her worth despite the fact that Clerise had, at that moment, wanted him to die. Of a shared hug, of confessions that rocked his ******** world and someone had actually trusted her and her big ******** mouth to hold something careful and close to her, and she would, for him. He called her sis, and really, it was an apt term, siblings separated by an ocean and half a country, but he was family now, whether he liked it or not—


The laughter of a familiar brat, playful, and Dakota was really the only person that grinned as easily as Clerise did. He was bright and precocious and nearly as obnoxious as her, and she liked him. She could mold him, perhaps, turn him into something ******** that was the rasp of a partner that defended her time and time again against a blade large enough to cut a car in two. Text messages for days, of jungle adventures and coloring books, her only visitor after a coma—

Then was the hiccupping, unsteady voice of a ghost who threw Clerise’s assumptions about the shadows all topsy-turvy, a living (or dead?) embodiment of computer data gone wrong, a fight tangled with curious kisses and lingering questions about their world—

Once more, the world turned to Clarice, of a moment shared in the snow with a camera phone and a snow girl, of shared loss and relief intertwined, the sensation of someone, perhaps, looking after her, finding her worthwhile, engaging—

The little white partner of Clerise’s was pleased, and showed it by trilling at her like a bird, smiling. “One last time, we need to go home, you know?”

Home—the concept was so odd to her. She had lived out of a trailer for eight years, sharing one for four. She had taken most of her possessions in a duffel bag with her to Deus Ex, and had no real personal belongings of her own, and yet—

Clerise laughed, shoving away the little b***h that had been dragging her around, clarity wrapping around her for just a ******** you,” the redhead hissed, her body shaking, that thick cloud of longing already threading its tendrils back into her mind, her bloodshot eyes narrowing at the tiny figure before closing, sinking to her knees this time, resolute instead of despondent, doubling over, hands clasped over her ears and, in a vain attempt to drown the world out—

She screamed.

Defend against the enemy. Stop them in their tracks. Keep your team mates safe. Heal them and let nothing happen to them. I sounded easy in theory. In Practice, not so much. As the Phoenix spread it’s wings, Marcus waited for impact, waited for an attack, but nothing came. Blinding mist wasn’t so bad really. At least it wasn’t until he lost sight of Cass. Hell, he lost sight of everyone. Panic set in as he couldn’t see past his own two hands. The glow of Dis did nothing. He had promised- and now he’d lost her.
Images, people he didn’t know walking along paths, black, grey and white. Not human, not his ally. Enemies. Horsemen. Yet, they paid him no mind, wandering without rhyme or reason. It was like they didn’t notice him and- Home. He wanted to go home but not without her. Not alone.

It was months past but the memory was clear as day. He was In his room, the warmth of a soft body curled up pressed to his side. Her eyes a light blue, fixed on the glow of the television they had pretty much stuck on permanent rent from the library. At least until he bought them an actual TV of their own. Theirs. The term he wanted to use yet was afraid to sometimes. She had agreed to be his girlfriend. A spur of the moment, the why not entering him and sending him enough courage to ask over a casual spar. Did she know how much her saying yes meant to him? Probably not. He had no plans to tell her. Not yet. Not then.

A scream from the woman on screen as her lover was stabbed and eaten in front of her. “Well that was stupid of him.” He muttered, picking at the popcorn resting off to the side. Cass grinned, tracing her fingers on his chest before snatching a handful of the popped kernels for herself. “Never play the hero.” Cass said looking at him with an intensity he hadn’t recognized. She blushed as she realized they had been staring at each other before looking back at the film.
He’d been debating his feelings. Wanting to tell her how he felt without scaring her off. Heck, she might not feel the same way and that scared him. He didn’t want to feel like this, not if was only going to end like things usually did. His alone yet again. “Aren’t we supposed to be heros?” He asked. Cass’s reply was to giggle. “Yeah, guess so. Why?” The words left him, not betraying the depth of what he was trying to convey. “I kind of want to be your hero.” The words left her slightly stunned as a smile crossed her face. “That’s why I love you. Because I know you’ll be my hero.”

The word tightened things in his chest made his pulse race. Even as she kissed him and returned to the movie he was in turmoil. She said it so casually and- “Do you mean it?” He asked hesitantly. “That..you love me I mean.” Looking back at him, by now the movie was long forgotten. It had no place for them. Color rose to her cheeks as she curled herself closer to his body, hand snaking into his hair, combing it out. “…Yes.” It was a whisper. A gentle, genuine admission. She didn’t know what that meant to him. What being told that she loved him meant. He didn’t have love. People just didn’t love and- She had spoken honestly. He knew her quirks, the way her eyes would jerk side to side, how her fingers moved- he knew when she lied. “I” he reach over, pulling her body up to his, as close as he could, “I love you Cassandra.” The soft touch of lips and he felt himself relax with her. Enjoy the weight of her body on his. Smiling as they didn’t talk. The soft tender brushed of fingers over skin. The butterfly kisses they gave each other every few minutes.

Cass said she loved him. The first time, repeated almost daily after. She loved him. She gave him something to fight for. Someone to protect. Someone to love him as much as he loved. Cassandra Norris had returned his feelings. She hadn’t left him alone.

The plague doctor had not moved. It hunched within Riley's frozen embrace, holding her tightly as the shockwave battered them, as the floating island tilted and plummeted. It hang on as mist swirled overhead, shutting out the sounds of battle in favor of pressing its forehead to hers, again and again, willing her to feel warm and pliant, hating the click of bone on stone with every fiber of its being.

Per favore, mia cara, amore mio, Aen'ryllis tresorina- It twisted, trying to curl itself around her yet utterly unwilling to break the hold she had on it. One wing slipped free from a curling tentacle, and it shuddered as if forcibly struck, trembling until it had re-threaded the appendage back into place. Departing her embrace was unthinkable. As long as it stayed here, it could imagine that she was simply maintaining her tender hold. They had clung to each other for long periods before...

She was not gone. She could not be gone, and yet it's traitorous mind remembered what the students who had returned from the Haunted House had said. The professor - Red - had become stone, and-

No!

It slumped, the tears clouding its lenses, beak gaping in a soundless, shuddering cry of anguish. Its claws dug into her shoulders, scraping against stone. This dream, this nightmare, was lasting too long, far too long, it couldn't think, couldn't speak. It had to wake up, with her beside it, and oh how they'd laugh and laugh and laugh-

A harsh, rasping sound intruded on its consciousness. It took it a moment to realize the noise was issuing from its own grief-ravaged throat. So loud, it was so loud...

A second realization followed on the heels of the first - the sound seemed so loud because the noise of battle around it had ceased. Slowly, Malodore lifted its head and looked out beyond Riley's arms for the first time in what felt like forever. A thick, white fog so heavy that it seemed almost like a wall had settled all around them; it could not make out the identities of any of the combatants nearby. They were all standing in place, moving only slightly; now and then one spoke, addressing no one that the plague doctor could see.

The fog... Like on that Island, long ago. For a moment, Malodore staggered under the force of memory, Riley carrying it, it stopping her from attacking, watching the others fall into temporary madness. The voices in the fog...

The students it saw now were acting very much like they had on the Island, as viewed by a 'sane' observer. It turned its head, looking this way and that. Everyone in its admittedly limited field of view was acting the same way, but the plague doctor itself heard no voices other than those who were visibly speaking. It felt no madness. Unless it was dreaming everything, yes, surely...

It shuddered and nuzzled weakly at Riley's cracked cheek. How it hoped that were true. And yet, somehow, it couldn't allow itself to believe that. It was, after all, a scientist. A student - it couldn't tell who - was standing just on the edge of Malodore's empathic range. It reached out, and felt the yearning. The longing for home that was innately alien to its personal experience, yet had been a part of every experience with Insanity it had ever had...

It pulled back, its head and neck drooping as it rested its forehead against Riley's shoulder. It felt nothing but grief and loss, with no additional emotions or sensations intruding into its mind from the outside. Could it be that the pain it felt was so powerful that not even Insanity could pierce it? For one moment, it wished with all its aching heart that it could throw itself open, become stone along with her and never leave her arms...

But no such release came. The plague doctor was protected, though it could not fathom why. Slowly, Malodore closed its eyes, leaned its forehead against her, and let the tears flow freely. Let the fog come, let it all come crashing down - the worst had already happened, as far as the plague doctor was concnerned. Now it could only wait in silence until something forced it to do otherwise.

Jack willing, nothing ever would. It breathed in, once, taking the fog into its lungs, then again and again. With each unfamiliar exhale came a low, broken moan. Inside, it turned the sound of her name into a heartbeat.

Aen'ryllis, Aen'ryllis, Aen'ryllis-

((As per the GMs, Malodore's natural ability makes it immune to the psychological effects of Insanity.

Idk how many words, but I bet it's enough.))

Closing her eyes, Lacie hadn’t noticed the disappearance of the phoenix. She faintly heard Aurian’s call, finally looking up, looking around for her friend. But she couldn’t see anything – panic and fear whelled inside of her, knowing these circumstances very well. She couldn’t lose them this time. Not again! But a small figure in white held her back. "Excuse me. Are you crossing as well?" Lacie’s first reaction was to refuse. N-, she wasn’t here to cross. She was here to find her friends! She had been battling- but they pulled her along.

Darkness enveloped her vision. And then.. a glimmer of light. Lacie remembered this darkness so very well. When she was trapped in that room. She had no concept of anything. Not of others, the outside world, or even light. The only time that anyone had interacted with her was when they had pushed her food through the slit in the door.

Lacie hadn’t understood why. But like a bird trapped in a cage all its life without the concept of freedom, she didn’t question the restraints put upon her.

It was one day that a man sat at the window sill. The grime and dust had been wiped away to reveal a stream of sunlight. Her eyes, unused to the brightness, had flinched.

She rustled even closer, holding her blanket tightly. “Huh? There was somebody here?” His voice sounded confused. “Come to think of it, I had heard..” He pulled at the rusty lock, finally sliding the glass window open. Fresh air invaded the dark room. “Come here.”

His arms picked Lacie up from the darkness that had encased her, bringing her outside. It was the first time that Lacie had even seen the grass and sky. But even before all of that, she had committed this man’s appearance to her memory. His sky blue eyes. His gentle smile. He couldn’t have been older than his twenties. Yet in her eyes, he wasn’t everything. “What’s your name?”

She hadn’t answered. Shaking her head, she didn’t even know the concept of a name. “What do they call you?” He asked kindly. “..They call me thing or it.” There were no signs of emotions on Lacie’s face. It was clear that she didn’t even know the connotations of those names, having been accustomed to hearing it.

“I won’t call you that. How about .. Lacie?”

“Lacie?”

“It’s very similar to the name of someone important to me.”

“Do you like Lacie?”

She nodded. “Y-yes!”

That was the first of many meetings.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Lacie herself didn’t know how often he had come. But every time he dropped by, he brought her more gifts. And he slowly began to teach her about the world. “Your name is Lacie.”

He often narrated experiences from his own life to make conversations with the reaper, who had no stories of her own to tell. “In my family, I have a mother, father, and a younger sister.” There were stories about his families, his travels, the people that he had met and the things that he had seen along the way. Lacie was sitting in his lap. “Do I have a mother? Father?” She questioned. “Perhaps.” He regarded the young girl with a familiarity like an older brother. He combed her hair with a brush that he had borrowed. When he had finally finished, he held up two yellow ribbons. “I brought this for you.” He remarked as he tied her hair into two large pigtails. “Thank you!” Lacie smiled.

At the sight of her smile, his grin seemed to hold a trace of sadness. “I wish that I didn’t have to leave you here every time. But just wait for a bit longer.”

“What are you?”

“We’re friends Lacie.”

“Friends?”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Te next time that he had come, an elderly man had accompanied him. “I brought someone new, Lacie. He’s your grandfather.”

“My grandfather?” Lacie tilted her head. “You are my family?” he nodded. “You’ve been by yourself for a long time. But that won’t be the case any longer.” Her grandfather took her hand gently, leading her to the carriage. “Where is..?” Lacie looked around for her friend. He was gone. The coach, having overhead lacie, asked the young girl, "Oh, that man? I saw him walking away earlier."

Running down the road, Lacie finally caught up with her savior. “You promised!” She said breathlessly. “You promised that you would stay with me!”

“Lacie, you don’t need me anymore.” He had grown extremely fond of the young girl. But she was just misguided. “You want to be with me because I’m the only person that you’ve known. But if you go with your grandfather, you’ll surely meet many more people. And you’ll forget about me one day.”

This had always been Lacie’s greatest fear. The arms that had brought her out of that dark cage.. what if they let go of her tomorrow? Perhaps, she might have accepted it. But now, she was a different person. “Why wouldn’t I need you..? and forget about you..?” Tears had begun to fall. “Please don’t say that. We’re friends, aren’t we?" She was speaking through her tears. Her heart hurt painfully, much more so than in the past. Now that she knew, she couldn't go back. "You are my previous friend. You say that I don’t need you anymore, but I have never once thought that. Please don’t tell me that you don’t need me. I don’t know what I should do or what I should say..” She was begging him to tell her the right things to do or the right words to say. Because she didn’t know.

“My dear Lacie. I’ll stay with you for as long as you need me then.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Weeks later, she had heard that she had been accepted in Amityville. She had spent some her happiest days, spending time with the man that had become her tutor, along with her grandfather who always seemed to enjoy her company. “But I don’t want to leave you Grandfather.”

He gave her a sad smile. “Please don’t mistake this. I love you, even more than I love your mother. But it’s because I love you that I want you to go to Amityville. You can learn many more things that you can’t here. You can make new friends. Find your purpose in life. Don’t stay here with an old man like me.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The day that Lacie had left, she had been escorted by somebody from Amityville. Holding her closed hand to her chest, she couldn't just leave them with a goodbye. There were so many words, so many things that she wanted to tell them. “I’ll come back! I won’t forget about you!” Not about the person who saved her, or her only family that loved here. With tears in her eyes, she promised, “I’ll come back!”

”I promise!”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Where was her home..? Back there..? or Amityville..?

Saya was with her two most favorite people in the world at the moment. The scenery dissolved, little stars dotting the small room she was in. It was her room. With the unbroken green satin over her bed, her pillows, her comforter wrapped around the three of them like a marshmallow.

There was her dear dear guardian, friend, brother .. Everything else that Saya needed him to be. The man who had taken Saya in, without a second thought. On the other side, she could feel Prompto's warm presence, a white-coated presence. She thought he had green hair and blue eyes, like the colors of his orb. But she wasn't completely sure, as she didn't want to open her eyes at the moment.

Instead, she cuddled between the two men.

It was like watching three felines curl up, one, a white kitten with a teal ribbon. The other, a black cat with glowing yellow eyes and the last, a white cat with clear blue eyes. Both larger cats, their bodies curled, shielding the smaller kitten.

Slowly but surely, the felines dissolved from view, leaving behind only the white kitten in the comforter. Empty indents were left in the pillow their heads once rested on, both hands, from each male, reaching out to brush against Saya's cheek for the first and last time.

The nonexistent memory of the two males in her life, one gone and the other without a form to touch, to comfort. They didn't exist in this world any more, at least, not properly.