Welcome to Gaia! ::

Without fail, there was always a full moon on Halloween. Every year, no matter if it rained or was too foggy to see, the full moon was always there. Even if it couldn't be seen for any reason whatsoever, the next night it would stare down at its citizens with just a sliver taken out, an indication of its prior fullness. And it was this moon that shone its light upon a witch silhouetted in her window and met her sad stare with its own. For the full moon meant she had failed, it meant that Belladonna had not succeeded in bringing her lover home. Never enough, she was simply never enough.
What it a shame it was too, for Halloween Night was to be a night of celebration and fun. And it had started so marvelously. Her foray into Trick or Treating had gone beyond well and the witch had actually managed to collect quite a lot of FEAR for her home. Seeing Ren had been lovely, but tempered with the arrival of the mysterious Natalia who, while kind, confused Ren and polluted their atmosphere with... something. It was surely something that would not deter the witch in her hopes of befriending the ghoul, but it had certainly put a small damper on the night. And of course the witch's whole evening had been splashed with sadness thanks to Grendel's curiosity over the missing zombie. The cherry on top was the sudden portal that had dispersed all the citizens and thus left everyone with a bitter taste in their mouths when it should have only been sweet.
Belladonna had returned to her room, kicked off her heels and immediately crawled into her window seat. It had not only become a haunt for her, it had become her post. As though if she sat there every night, and wished hard enough, he would come back. It was a silly hope, a ridiculous thought, but one Belladonna just could not stop herself from having, nor enacting.

The room was quiet, devoid of both familiar and minipets as they had slipped away for their own Halloween merriment, which left the witch alone for the evening. It was not something foreign, not by this point, so the witch was content to sit in a quiet attitude. The silence weighed heavy in the room, muffled the noises of the denizens below, of the Reapers who quietly filed into the building. But Belladonna didn't watch them, she kept her eyes trained on that bright, full light up in the sky.
So focused on the moon, she missed the first ping from her phone. The second ping caught her attention, the third had her sliding from her perch and the fourth came when her hands had found her skellyphone. The fourth message flashed on the screen and Belladonna stared down at it for only a second before she dropped her phone. It clattered noisily against the floor, ruined the illusion of quiet the room had taken on.
Stock still and frozen in place, Belladonna stared down at her empty hand that remained splayed around the air. It could not be true. This was a trick, some cruel joke that was sent to torment her, to give her false hope and drag her further down into despair.
Curiosity dictated otherwise. In a flash the witch had reached down and pulled the phone back up, near tears as she read the messages from Mort. They were as heartbreaking as the ones she had sent, they asked for her help.



She clattered around her room, hastily threw on a pair of flat boots because there was no way she was going to bother with heels. Her hat remained on its perch on her desk, her hair remained unbound and the witch did not even bother to change her shirt or skirt. There was no time because there was only now, there was only the potentiality that Mort had returned and needed her.
He needed her.
Once more, in a repeat of another time, the witch was out the door in a flash, running down the many Reaper dorms stairs. She pushed herself into a run made all the faster by the sheer need to get to him, to find him. In almost no time she was out the door and across the darkened yard, light up by the moon overhead. With it to guide her she headed toward the Undead dorm, frantic as she searched her surroundings for anything, any spark of blue, any hint of tall zombie, any bit of Mort.
Her Mort, come home.

With the moon so bright overhead and the residual FEAR still lingering in the air, coupled with the fact that Belladonna felt she was running for her life, it was almost like being part of a hunt. Of some great Artemis driven run, where the prize would be... What? Love? Redemption? Or was this something else entirely, was the witch not part of the hunt but trying to out run the hunt?
Her mind raced ahead of her feet to all manner of outcomes and possibilities, to what could, should, might happen. A reprieve from thought came with another message, which at once cheered and frightened the witch. It was good because it meant he was able to text, but it was horrid because this was another cycle. They had been in the forest before, they had mended broken things in this place weeks ago. Now the witch ran toward the end of that cycle, ran toward the completion of this circle. And cycles in ones life were never, ever a good thing.

But she pressed on, changed direction at the last minute and was off, tripping over her own frantic feet as she charged toward the forest. Even though there was provided light above, it did not illuminate the rocks and exposed roots from the encroaching trees. It did not let the witch see more than a myriad of details that provided her with a path. There was no sign that pointed her where to go, no helpful "Over here!" as she clattered down the small slope that finally flattened out into a line of trees. The trees only marched forward toward her until finally a ray of light show her a slouched figure with a pulled up hood.
This is a trap. This isn't real. You're aren't special enough or good enough or enough for this to be real.
The run had to be slowed down else the witch would plow straight on by, so though her legs suddenly ached, Belladonna managed to fall back to a trot as she drew near. With heightened senses made sharp by the odd mixture of adrenaline and FEAR, she saw his tattered clothing, bloodied and ripped and exactly as it had been toward the end of their fight. But that had been over two weeks ago, how was it that he'd returned exactly the same?
Not the same. Can't be the same. You didn't do anything. You talked to Red and she ignored your request and this is a trap and you're walking into it like you always do.
The mind was a spiteful thing when presented with exactly what it wanted. The red ribbon still wrapped around her finger and wrist did not glow, did not light up, did not even give her any indication that it was there.

Finally there came a point where Belladonna had to stop, though it was stilted, startled. There was enough space between them that a reach out of hand would not close the distance because the witch's mind still screamed at her that this was false, that she had to run in the opposite direction and not toward this danger.
But it was Mort. It was her Mort, tired and worn thin by his experiences. Wearied, broken looking and when the witch looked up into his face, she realized she was not breathing. A sharp gasp tried to form, hitched in her throat and choked her. A shaking hand reached up to her neck, to try and ebb the refusal of her traitorous body that would not draw in breath, would ruin this moment for them.
"M-Mort?" Was all Belladonna could manage before the world sprang up around her, before she crashed down to her knees and desperately tried to remember to breath in and not both try to speak and breath at the same time. Her eyes had fallen to the ground, but she quickly tore them away to look up at him, to try to realize what this was, what was going on.
Instead she tried to breath, tried not to cry, tried not to do anything that would further betray the fact that she was supposed to be strong for him. After all this time he needed someone to lean on and already she had fallen to the ground before him, already she presented to him how very weak and useless to him she was.
This was their reunion and she was ruining it with doubts.

Two weeks was an awfully long time for someone to operate under the idea that one's beloved was, for all intents and purposes, dead. It was the perfect amount of time in which to consider all that had happened, to make up any number of wild ideas about what had been, what would happen next. It was also the perfect amount of time to nurse a broken heart into healing so that the wounds were not nearly so jagged. They were still there, invisible scars that had finally stopped bleeding, had begun to knit themselves back together.
But after two weeks of tears and sobs and generally being heartbroken, to then be confronted with the person who could fix it, who could reverse all that and they give you a look of... Of... Weariness.
He was tired, he wanted to rest, to be done. And for one sharp intake of air, Belladonna honestly thought maybe he wanted to be done with her too.

A sudden warmth bloomed across her left hand, weak and desperate, but there.
It was not that he did not want her, it was that he needed her.
Of all the people he could have called to help him, it was only Belladonna who came running. It was only she who could stand beneath the weight of all the insurmountable odds and hold his hand, because that was all the strength she needed.
The witch's gaze rose slowly, up from the ragged hole splashed across the front of his hoodie, up over the dip of his collarbone and over his stitching, toward the spot of fuzzy hair and up still until...
Green.
That was when she realized she could breath again.

The shaking breath he took brought Belladonna back to this moment, where she remained on the ground, unable to stand when faced with this glorious wish come true. Like a hot brand, the sound of his voice startled her, for it was real and not the farce from her dreams that for a moment she did not understand what it was he was asking. Confusion colored the heartbroken look on her face, curbed the small tears that had streamed down her cheeks unbidden. But it did not take long, for things were still sharp and his question was a stark reminder of another cycle they were returning to.
They'd both questioned the others existence only two weeks hence, so why would it be any different now? For that matter, why wasn't Belladonna being more cautious? Why was she allowing anything but speculation or hesitation to cloud her judgement?
But that was silly. Belladonna need only to look up at his eyes that glowed a green she had missed for two weeks, a color that had been robbed of her in everything from plants to fabrics, to know that this was actually happening.

Quietly the witch brought her own shaking hands up to unfasten the little bit of plastic pinned over her heart. Before it could be seen she covered it with her fingers and momentarily bowed her head over her joined hands. A little flash of pink escaped the crevices of skin but it was only for a second. Slowly, as though he might startle easily, Belladonna opened her hands, though her fingers remained partially curled, cold and broken from gathering the pieces of her shattered heart. Still, she offered them out and up to Mort, where on her palms rested two school pins: His and hers.
"Real."

Unmarked upon changes certainly dotted the witch's appearance; her hair had grown longer when she hadn't looked, a hollowness that had only just now begun to ebb resided in her eyes and she held herself in a fragile manner, as though she had only hastily pieced herself back together and at any moment she would shatter like so much hollow glass. But none of this was conscious, none of this was anything Belladonna could have remarked upon as proof to further his acceptance, but acceptance still came when he sighed. The air expelled from him seemed to put a little life in the witch's limbs, and she almost began to rise up onto her feet to close this distance between them.
But there were still miles to go before her happy ending could be seen.
Eyes widened at Mort's frantic state, at what was supposed to be a happy reunion but continued to drag itself out into maddening melancholy and fear. The moment simply refused to turn back to the sweetness they had once known, and did not look like it would anytime soon. The cast off hoodie made an odd note of surprise spring from the witch as she stuck out a hand to catch the article before it was fully fallen. The action caused her to partially rise onto one knee and stretch herself out, but she managed to grasp around one arm and yank it toward her so that it only barely grazed the ground.
With the article clutched against her chest Belladonna could do nothing as she watched Mort search the remainder of his person for there was no help to offer. Unsure of exactly what it was he searched for, she only rose to her feet, shaky and pigeon-toed, but finally standing.

A wind filled the space between them, caught at the edges of Belladonna's hair and skirt and pulled, but she took a breath before she chanced a step closer to him. Her fingers shuffled under his hoodie so that when she offered him two items, they were his hoodie and her pin, his safely tucked into her opposite hand for she could let the fabric drape over her fist.
"I don't know... Red said you didn't but... You were gone. She absorbed your... You." Belladonna offered with only one quick glance up at him before she dropped her gaze. "I suppose real." There was no hope of keeping his stare, for he looked so stricken he could not really look at her. That hurt, among the other myriad varieties of pain. This was wrong and melancholy, not the beautiful, sweet thing that had been wished for.
But... But it was still him. And that was what she had honestly wished for.
"You can keep asking questions, but... Let's go inside. You must cold, and tired..."
Broken, confused, worried... Or is that just me?
A hand was still offered to him, outstretched and small, a tiny token of hope. For if he rejected her now, if he had called her to him and then found her unworthy, there would be no leaving this. It was perhaps a bit much for the witch to think now, but as she held out her hand to him and gazed up into his eyes, she could not help but make one more wish for him.

Finding it vaguely odd that he hadn't taken his hoodie back, the witch only maneuvered her fingers so that she could better grip the fabric weighed down by other objects. The hand she offered to him still held her pin, which Mort looked at rather than her. Confronted with such a reality it became difficult not to wilt on the spot, to not just throw everything down and finally admit to him that she wasn't worth this. That it would be easier, less stressful for the two of them to just call it quits because she was insufficient for him. Never before had she ever been adequate for anyone, and never would she be. But it was still worth a shot. Belladonna had not promised to try, to do her best and bring him back for nothing. As it had been in his name, so it would continue to be, even if she felt close to breaking.
Yet her gaze and sheer stubbornness paid off as she watched his arm at unusual slowness reach out toward her. The evening had turned cool, the wind skated across the witch's exposed fingers and collarbone, nipped at her cheeks and pulled at her hair, but the bloom of chill on her hand was enough to erase all that. When Mort touched her, she felt positively warm except for that one achingly tender hand wrapped in cold.
It was a balm on her wounds, it was a healing spell gone absolutely right, it was a spark in the dark.

Pink eyes rose up to meet missed green ones, but the expression there did not ease her worried heart. Belladonna took a step forward toward Mort, her face angled up to his, and let the full impact of that imploring expression wash over her. It asked for help, it asked for her.
The nod completely undid her.
The familiar ache of heartache returned, sharp and sudden as Belladonna closed the final distance between them and wrapped her arms around his waist to pull him close. With a sudden flex of hands she let go of his hoodie and pin to instead clutch at him, to grab at what remained of the cloth over his back just to pull him all that closer to her. The heart that had so carefully begun to mend itself shattered within her breast, but as the witch pressed her face into Mort's chest, she knew it was in a way that meant the pieces would fit back together. Before they had broken jagged and uneven, a repair that would take far too long to fix on her own. Now they were pristine and clean, broken but easily mended. They could be refitted in a matter of days, of loving words and gentle touch, whereas the old break would have taken weeks, months, ages.
With this knowledge Belladonna began to cry. It did not matter that not even a minute ago she'd said they needed to go inside because they were here now. They were standing under this tree, they were splashed golden from the full moon that peeked out for this lovers' exchange, and they were together. Belladonna pulled Mort close as she sobbed, sure this would not be the last time this evening.

"I missed you so much." Sobs choked her already muffled voice, but it didn't matter. It felt important to tell him that, to let him know that he was wanted. To make it obvious that no matter what had happened, there would always be someone to come back to. That Mort would always have Belladonna to greet him.
A small laugh broke from the witch, but so wracked with tears it sounded only like a stilted expulsion of mingled air and note. Though the witch did not lift her head from its place against her zombie's chest, Belladonna did turn her face so that her cheek rested against him, to better breath in the scent that had been slowly edging away from her for the past two weeks.
"You came back to me." A moment hung where it wasn't sure if this was all of the statement or not, but the tiniest smile tugged up at her lips as she asked, "Real, or not real?"

There seemed an eternity between when the witch grabbed him and when she was finally folded closer. Time had already slowed down since eyes had been laid on the zombie, but it was a heart achingly slow pace set now. But patience was always rewarded, so this instance was no exception. Glad to feel a simple action so longed for, so missed, it made Belladonna cry all the harder. Now was not the time for such, now was the time to be strong for her broken lover, but Belladonna could not help herself. It had become so commonplace to weep, that there was no way she could even bother trying to stop. It was always best to just let it all out.
Perhaps curbed by the fact that he was here, the witch found that her cry was ending quickly, was not the long, drawn out thing she was sure it would be. Instead she only breathed a deep sigh as she felt her tears slow, as she realized she could breath easier without worrying about whether she would choke on a sob or not. The night air could better filter through her nose, could be easier realized at how cold it had gotten. Belladonna took another breath, savored the familiar scent she'd so missed, and inclined her head backwards just in time to find his own face much closer to her own. Momentarily her heart leapt forward, misinterpreted what was happening as a potential kiss but realized Mort was speaking instead.

It was... Cyclical to say the least.
"You have come back missing something before. But that's ok, it happens. Y-you don't have to come back whole for me to--" Still love you "To still be here waiting for you, to still want you!" Belladonna told him in a soft voice, one hand pulled back to his front so that she could reach up and press it against his jaw. It was a sensation that was familiar, comfortable, but that felt suddenly new again. Was two weeks really all it took for everything to feel odd and ill fitting for them? Or was there something else going on, something that lurked beneath the surface and waited for them to lay their guard down? Hopefully it would show itself soon, as the witch was tired, wanted everything out now so that they could better deal with this whole situation.

Still, the witch kept her hand against his cheek, though she tilted her head in a motion that meant they should vacate backwards, should leave this place.
"Come on, let's go inside. Its cold. Do you want to return to your own room, or mine?" The sentence felt nauseatingly normal, an echo of their former relationship that seemed hellbent on its refusal to return. Unsure of what else to offer, Belladonna tried to give him a smile, a token of light in this darkness he'd returned from but never truly left. It wasn't much, streaked with tears and red cheeks rubbing raw from the cold wind, but it was still something meant just for him.

Standing right underneath him, her face angled up, gave Belladonna the perfect view in which to watch these emotions flitter across his features. It was small, not the open display of feelings she surely exhibited time and time again, but it was still there. And she had still seen them. The little sheen of red could be spied blazoned across the dark and green of his eyes, a tell-tale sign of something deeply upsetting. Yet it was all over in the blink of eyelids, a few shuts then gone. A melancholy acceptance took its place, a weariness expressed in both emotion and physical standing.
The hand pressed to his face moved with the motion, but it only made the little smile on Belladonna's mouth grow just a tiny bit more, for it was a simple action that meant acceptance. Acceptance of her help, acceptance of her offer, acceptance of her.
"Of course, love." She told him in an echo of their former selves. It would be good to return to her room, where it would be empty of intrusions, warm and sheltering. She could care for him better, could make this whole night go as it should go instead of its current course. The thing to do now seemed to be to reached up on tip toes and close the distance between them, so bestow upon him a healing kiss. But was that... Was that once more going to be a push? Had they come all this way, confessed their love and still the witch could not contain her wantonness?
When she realized it was a push, the witch had already brought herself closer, had only a little space left more before she would have collided with him, but hesitation stopped her. Close enough to kiss him she stopped and instead only managed a smile for him. It would have been perfect with the picturesque setting of the forest behind them and beautiful lighting from the moon, but it would have been a push.

Then she was back on even footing, shifted herself so that she could sling one of his arms across her shoulders while she placed one hand on his back, the other on his front.
"I'll have you carry me tomorrow." Belladonna told him with a soft laugh, as she essentially burdened herself with carrying him. Too weak to actually pick him up, all the witch could do was tuck herself against his side under one arm and let him lean on her. It was better that way, for then it became a joined effort to make it back. They became a team.
Maybe now, after this separation they could reverse their roles, stop being an occasional help or burden to the other, but stand on equal footing. Perhaps now they could fully count on the other without worry of rejection. For what else could they suffer through that would assure them of the others commitment but this?

A curse, it surely was, that the witch was too fast to action, too quick to lean forward and pull back and miss the return gesture. It had to be a failing of her's, for the moment she realized Mort had dropped his own face she was already pulled back and could not recant the motion. But where normal panic would have bubbled within her, only a tired calm resided. This night would not end so suddenly, or so soon. Whereas before this encounter the witch had assumed she would merely sit a while before she retired to bed, now she could see herself up for the remainder of the night, curled up with her lover. It was an image so longed for that tears rose unbidden into Belladonna's gaze and she had to press her nose to the side of Mort's chest to make sure this was real.
There was time enough for everything they wanted, time enough to reunite probably. First they had one last little journey to make.
"I always will." The witch told him after she extracted her face from him and turned to face the path before them. The momentary delay where he fetched his discarded jacket gave her a quick second in which to wipe away what water still remained on her face before he was back. Back over her where he belonged, back within her grasp, back by her side. It was all she had wished for and more, so it was a blessing. Even the odd feeling that something might be wrong, that this was too good to be wholly true was suppressed in favor of happiness. Like everything else, there would time enough for worries and fear, for the unveiling of such negative emotions and circumstances. Right now it was one small step forward.

For whatever reason that first step together felt monumental, but habitual action took over and foot found ground seamlessly and easily. Muscle memory took over, dulled its usual pace to something more slow, and they were off, carefully making their way up the small slope, across the golden, moon frosted grass and back toward the Reaper dorms.
"I am guessing this means you got all my messages..." Belladonna began, a little sheepishly, embarrassed by her need to talk but also how very many she had sent. "I... Apologize? I... I did not realize how many I'd written to you... I'm..."
Not one bit sorry.
The witch could only let a sigh fall as she shrugged underneath him, hands splayed across him. How many times in the past two weeks had she imagined their reunion? How many times had she dared to let herself drift to sleep with the hopeful imaginings that he'd pick her up and swing her around and crush her to his chest because he'd missed her so much too? It wasn't that this was not what she wanted, but it was odd to say the least.
Yet Belladonna just could not find fault in it. Surely there was awe at the sheer fact that with one simple reversal she was the one who had to stand strong, but it was with joy that she shouldered his very being. What other action so clearly demonstrated her unending devotion as nearly carrying him home?
Home, bah. What a silly concept.
Two weeks ago they'd fought the other cruelly in attempt to bring each other Home. Why was it only now that Belladonna was realizing this was home? That Mort was where she felt safe and secure, where she could rest her head, be at peace and be loved? Together they formed Home.
It was a precious realization.