he’s existed for centuries, watching the ebb and flow of time. there’s nothing constant in this world; the words that flow from their wretched mouths are so malleable as to mean nothing.
three betrayals he’s suffered. three betrayals that etch their marks into his skin and rattle about in the hollow cavity of his chest.
he wonders what it’s like, to bleed. to fear. to die. can a puppet die?
he doesn’t want to think of himself as human, but he knows he is not a god. not yet, at least. so what does that make him?
“i can love you,” she whispers, and her voice is soft and sweet.
he shuts his eyes and tries to block it out, but he sees the imprint of her gold hair even behind his eyelids.
“liar,” he mutters. “liar, you’re just a filthy liar.”
humans are bad, but the abyss is worse. he knows that after clawing into the depths of his mother’s memory.
the gnosis sees and knows all.
“you’re better than them.” her fingers rest on his shoulder, a touch so gentle it hurts. “you deserve everything. you deserve the world.”
“and you can give me that?” he lifts his head to look at her; she’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
that brings him some modicum of comfort. she is like him, in a way. forced. artificial. the product of a twisted fate that works tirelessly against them.
“i will try,” she says, and the words fall easy and careless from her mouth. “i do not make promises that i cannot keep.”
“you want me to follow your whims with nothing more than a suggestion?” he asks.
“it is all you will get from me.” her gaze flits past him to the wreck of the machine, fragments left scattered in the wake of her brother’s fury.
the traveller is a storm. a tempest, cruel and violent in his kindness, while the abyss princess is the cold, unfathomable sea. calm and lovely, with an ice that bites past his skin and threatens to freeze his hard-earned heart.
there is nothing more for him to pursue here.
she offers him a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, he takes it. “i will not forgive you if you retract your word.”
she laughs, and it’s the tinkle of glass. “if it’s forgiveness we sought, then we would no longer be here.”
“are you going to destroy teyvat?” he asks.
she pauses, looks at him with a considering eye. when she next speaks he thinks of the murmur of the ocean; of gentle, guileless waves closing over his head, pulling him under.
“tell me, kunikuzushi.” she smiles. “do you think the stars can bleed?”
- fin.
• • •
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her back faces him, a shadow silhouetted against the darker velvet of night—she’s so still that he wouldn’t have noticed her if he weren’t looking.
“traveller,” he says. he sees her head turn, just slightly.
but she doesn’t otherwise acknowledge him.
he steps forward, reaching towards the window. moonlight streams through the glass pane, and it turns his hand silver—transient and ethereal, a ghost walking among the living.
a description he finds a little more apt than he’d like.
“what are you doing awake?” she asks. her voice is soft, low, a whisper that blends into the night.
“couldn’t sleep,” he answers, glancing at her face. her features are shrouded in shadow, her golden eyes just barely visible.