STRENGTH [P]

[Lyric Shikov]

Outside, he watched the world decay. In the wake of the storm autumn seemed even more bedraggled, a season of listlessness and death. The vibrant hues of summer faded into mottles yellows, browns, and auburns. He found no beauty in the trees that shed their leaves; they were dying, or at least going dormant, until warmer weather arrived in future months. He felt the winter in the brittle bones of his knuckles, a rhythmic throb that had him constantly rubbing his fingers against his palms and along the old fracture in his wrist. He felt older than he ever had in the past and he was upset to discover that his age did not immediately come to mind. How long had he been in the Menagerie? He did not know, but it felt like everything outside of the glass walls became fainter and fainter, more of a dream and less of a reality. He focused on the faint reflection of his face in the window, angular and forlorn. His bright eyes were the same color as the dying gold leaves. 

He drew back from the window at the sound of Aurora entering the room. It was the uppermost in the studio; more of an attic, actually. He had sought it out because very few came there, and it offered them temporary sanctuary. It was drafty and cold but drier than many options in the Menagerie, and hundreds of half-finished paintings were thrown haphazardly under tarps and into corners. He drew the blanket around his shoulders, fighting off the urge to shudder at the draft billowing in Aurora's wake.  

"Hi." He smiled at her, but he remained short of words and had been relatively silent for the past few days. They had escaped Nakoma territory without disturbance and had been staying in the studio since. Lyric feared that they would need to move soon, in case they were being pursued. He just did not know if he was strong enough; that single, unutterable fact was what drove him to madness. His eyes shifted from her face, to the floor, to the spectacular painting of a matador by the door, back to her face. 

Aurora's quiet companionship meant the world to him; it built up his fragile strength until he began to speak more and more. What had happened weighed upon him, a leaden burden larger than Atlas's, but he had yet to broach the topic of his disappearance. Lyric gazed at Aurora fondly, struggling with a thousand confessions. He did not feel like himself; his audacity and strength remained absent, replaced by shadows and dreams that had him awaken screaming at night. He was only placated when Aurora embraced him in her slender arms, their places so completely reversed from the norm that Lyric often found himself taken aback by it. 

He gestured for her to come sit beside him on the cot. She was beautiful in the burnt light of the autumn sunset. He noted that their time apart had been kind to her. There was a new flush of color to her skin and her her frame was lined with slender muscles previously absent. He had asked about her constantly, rather than talk about himself, and he was pleased to hear that she had done well without him... Likewise, the knowledge that she had been self-sufficient made him somewhat bitter and jealous, because it meant that she did not need him as much as he had always thought. He was forced to realize this with each passing day.

In contrast to her new-found strength, Lyric exhibited ailment. His skin, typically olive toned, was now pallor and often shone with cold sweat. His eyes were bloodshot, prone to wandering restlessly or staring without seeing. He often began a sentence only to fall again into silence, leaving a thought half-finished. His hands shook so badly that, at times, he had trouble drinking. He had lost weight and muscle both, so that his frame was much rangier than it had been prior being taken into the compound. There was something famished about his expression, as well, as though he were now one of those neglected Rogues he had seen often enough on the edges of territories, with their eyes too-large for their faces and their bones straining against the confines of their skin. Desperate, decaying. He did not look that bad, no, but he had the same expression in the gold of his irises. 

His psyche fared no better than his body. He waited until she came to sit beside him before he leaned his weight into her tentatively, his face against her shoulder. Lyric's eyes flit closed--he had never imagined that she would be the strong one or that he would be able to come to terms with it. He was doing a surprisingly good job thus far, however. He remained quiet, listening to her breath and his, with nothing to say or at least no way to say it. 

In the silence, he remembered. 


"He associates his shift with power and control. He identifies with it more than almost any other shapeshifter I have seen; it is... how should I say it? A coping mechanism. His history is intriguing. A private psychologist helped him with emotional issues in his early childhood, say seven or eight, and most of the records say that what he hated most in life was being out of control. He was insecure, emotional, impulsive, and self-destructive. When he was first taken into the Menagerie he was described as confident, independent, and apathetic. The change between his childhood and his adulthood is the fact that he discovered his ability to shapeshift."

"This has nothing to do with the procedure." 

"He associates being a mountain lion with being in control of himself. It is the basis of his confidence and his ability to fight; without it, he is weak." 

"So what do you propose?"

"That we take away his control." 

He jolted, sitting erect. The muscles in his abdomen had begun to spasm. He waited for the episode to pass, clenching and unclenching his fists against his thighs. His voice was dark when he finally spoke--dark and utterly, irrevocably broken. "I cannot shift anymore, moy golubushka." 

It was so much deeper than that, however. Lyric's ability to shapeshift was his salvation. The fact he said it meant that he had placed faith in Rory; without his shift, he was weak. He looked at her, desperately hoping that she had an answer. He knew that she would not. This was what the days of silence had been leading up to; a holocaust. 

He was inexplicably reminded of being Lesta, saying, "You have all the power in the world. Do you not see that?"

Going from powerless, to powerful, to powerless. It was destroying him. He looked at her with wide eyes, tears bright in them. "I do not know what they did--but when I try to shift I... I..." What could he say? I turn into a bird. 

A useless falcon, a falcon that did not know how to fly. He had never been taught. He had not been born a bird. How should he know such things when, instead of talons, he expected teeth and claws? They were there. He knew they were still there. But he could not reach them; it lurked just beyond his reach, in some dark and fathomless corner of his own mind. 

[AURORA]

The detrimental change in Lyric caused so much worry in Aurora that sometimes it was all she could to not to simply cry. She knew that the Keepers had taken him, and that he could not, would not, go back to the Carna. The rest she did not ask him. She spent her days making sure he was warm, getting him to drink all the water she could haul up to the attic, and eat. The first two days she thought he might die. So frail he was, and at night he awoke from such terrors he was rendered to speechless chills that lasted an hour or more until pure exhaustion took him again. None of this scared her or inspired malice.

Aurora cared for him, soothed him, loved him, and would not leave him. The third day a bit of color and clarity and touched him and she had smiled when he at least began to look around. Getting them here had taken three times longer than usual - and though he was mostly quiet she did not hesitate when he asked about her.

He had mentioned with a scratchy cough that might have been an ironic laugh that she had seemed to do better without him and her brow had furrowed in worry. It was not the way if it, but soon after he had fallen asleep once more and she had let it go.

Now as she returned she set the water she had fetched down, and came to him - wrapping her arms about him and pulling him close. Even in his skeletal state he still was much larger than she was. Her wings outstretched to shield the cold from them as they huddled together.

The look in his tawny eyes, his trembles, his spirit, his face - one might have thought it was no longer Lyric, that he wasn’t the same man. Aurora knew better and the only thing that had changed in Aurora’s eyes was a new protective air that she had taken over him. He was sick, he needed rest, love, and patience but he had to allow that.

A quelling hand lifted to his face and she kissed his lips sweetly. She scrunched her nose and smiled as she shook her head. No. You do not have to tell me now. I love you anyway and refuse to think less of you. For his benefit she said aloud, ”There is time. We are safe love,” her thumb caressed his jaw line. ”You will be okay. We will be okay. Just now? You have to be patient with yourself as I am,” she said in her simple - matter of fact way.

Kissing him again, she leaned over the to small make-shift fire they had gotten going where scraggly carrots, small potatoes, and an onion had been boiling. Now that his stomach was taking food, Aurora was careful to make sure he ate regularly.

Filling a tin cup, she handed him the broth with floating veggies and nodded. ”Eat. It will help your strength.” She kissed his temple and stroked his hair as he obeyed as much as he could. When he set the cup down a few minutes later it was almost all gone. Better than yesterday.

”When you were gone …” she began then paused. ”I was not okay. I am never okay when you are away.” The bravery that she had been somehow maintaining vanished in that moment, and her large black eyes glossed over with tears. ”Every day I told myself how mad you would be at me if I did not eat. How you would feel bad that I had not slept. I took care of me for you. Now I will take care of you for you. All you have to do, is let me and get better.”

Her forehead touched his. ”So when the snow comes back we can have another snow ball fight.” She tempted. She knew it was easier for him to talk of lighter things, and in the past days she had found she talked more than she ever had in her life. Aurora did not mind, however … and a thought came to her from his last half-admittance.

”I know something terrible happened. Whatever you face now, we face together. Okay?”

[Lyric Shikov]

Lyric Shikov did not believe in safety. It was all relative to time, place, and people. Safety to him had always been the ability to defend oneself; when he possessed the strength to defeat (or at least take on) any adversary... he was safe. Now nothing was safe. Now everything was a risk, every moment allotted by cruel Fate. The promise that he would be "okay" seemed amusing, more of a joke than actual solace, although he knew that in Aurora's heart she believed it. He did nothing to sway this faith; merely rested his head against her and struggled to find a semblance of peace in the quiet. His mind was so empty, filled only by her words, and it was a relief. The moment he stopped to think was the moment that his mind became flooded by things better left forgotten. 

So Lyric allowed her to sooth him; until she offered the tin of hard-earned food. He offered a thankful smile, one that was reluctant to meet his eyes, and warmed his cold hands on the tin. He held it, stomach churning, only willing to take food to please her. 

"Flush his stomach. Food can interfere with the testing processes." 

Memories of retching and, when there was nothing left, dry heaving for an hour or more. He sipped at the broth, grimacing. He managed more than previous days, although no immediate effect could be felt. It was an effort to keep even the light food down. He had been kept on an IV for the majority of the time in the compound, something made obvious from the bruises still present in the crook of his arms and the backs of his hands. He glanced at them now, bitter of the fact he had been unable to wrench them free--

"Contain the subject!" A siren was wailing, a piercing shriek that made his ears ring. He had twisted off of the table when they had believed him to be heavily sedated; in reality the sedative had not yet taken effect. He drowsily found his way onto his feet, dripping blood where the needles had been pulled from his arms. He stumbled toward the first open doorway he saw--directly into a security guard.

He was kicked efficiently under the chin and he dropped, dead weight with stars in his eyes. 

"I would have been mad." He agreed, glancing at her in a way that was almost humorous. It did little to disguise the hurt in his eyes. 

If he had come back and her health had been affected due to his absence... Lyric would have certainly blamed himself and all his faults. He was still not pleased with her new independence, her new strength, especially when it accented his new weaknesses. He was also very grateful for it and the combination of emotions he typically suppressed was overwhelming. Everything lately, it seemed, was overwhelming. The enigma of his feelings was more than he could possibly decode in his current state, so he dismissed them as quickly as they arose. 

"Sure, Rory." Even the prospect of winter seemed unfathomable. Lyric met her eyes briefly before glancing quickly away, the gesture deer-like, something that Lyric had never been. ”I know something terrible happened. Whatever you face now, we face together. Okay?” The sentiment was appreciated; but it evoked an irrational anger inside of him. Lyric did not know how she could possibly face this thing with him. She did not know what it was like to shift; nor could he accurately describe what a huge part of him his ability had become. The look he gave her was hopeless and frustrated but also nonverbal. He could not tell her what had happened; he could only show her. 

"They took away a piece of me," Lyric confessed. It was an understatement. He rose suddenly, stumbling with the effort, and took a few steps away from Aurora. He turned to face her, the blanket having fallen from his shoulders. His shirt hung loosely over one shoulder and his collarbone where the buttons had been broken--it showed the ghastly paleness of his skin beneath, and the bruises that blossomed in tangles of thick purple, blue, and green flowers. He stood at a loss, struggling with the grief he bore the weight of, his eyes glassy with subdued tears. He wanted to shift. He wanted to show her what they had given him in exchange to his mountain lion. 

"Serum 667049, used to force a shapeshifter to transform. Experimental." 

He was bound too tightly to struggle against his confines. He felt the painful prick of the needle into his lower back and then--and then that pain was overshadowed by something monstrous, by shattered glass and fire rushing through his veins. Lyric heard himself screaming somehow, somewhere, as his body broke apart. It was worse than any broken bone, than any cut. It was worse than falling from the evergreen tree in his backyard as a child. It was worse than overdosing with Leena. It was worse than recovery. It was worse than his father striking him. It was worse than Lesta wrenching his arm behind his back, pinching nerves. 

It was every pain he had ever experienced tenfold. And what made it worse was the fact that he was changing; he was becoming the thing that he loved and all he could feel was hurt, hurt, hurt--

He gasped for breath, the memory too raw a wound to rediscover. He crumbled onto his knees, face in his hands, and felt a shudder traverse the length of his spine. He was so helpless, so worthless. It hurt to remember; they had taken from him even that freedom, the freedom of remembering what it was like to be able to transform effortlessly, naturally. He felt the rage bubble up, irrational and cruel, and he wanted to lash out at whatever was near. Aurora. Lyric once would have, but he could not now. What would the Carna do if they saw him in such a feeble state? 

It was the feeling of resent that drove him over the brink; one second he was a man and the next he was a falcon, wings outspread but useless against the floor, talons scraping the wooden boards as though seeking purchase. Lyric had not even been aware of the transition until he looked up, toward Aurora, only to discover that she was shockingly clear in image, clearer than he had ever seen with his human eyes. 

He said nothing. The silence spoke enough for him, however. This is what they did. It was not one of the most horrible things, perhaps, but cats were not meant to be birds... especially when he could not even fly. He had not been born with this body. Nothing came instinctively to him when he knew only his human fists and his feline's claws. 

[AURORA]

Without knowing it, Lyric was reaching Aurora’s end. She had done everything she could think of, and still there was a sense that it was not enough. She was not enough. He didn’t believe her, had no confidence in her. The months that he’d spent away had been so hard on her. She’d studied to be less ignorant, socialized to be less sheltered, worked her hands to the bone to be stronger and … her breath caught. Was he less satisfied that she’d done so?

The only reason she’d had to better herself, was because of him.

Everything that they’d been through, every time he had saved her she had felt weak and insufficient and now? When she had the chance to do her part she felt that he … begrudged. Was that the right word? Grudge. He felt that he could hold no confidence in her. A different, more normal person might feel retribution, anger, or betrayal - Aurora simply felt insufficient.

Of course he couldn’t depend on her. The soup was terrible, she could only haul so much water … if someone came they had only her to protect them. Realization hit her. He was right. She was funny. No matter what she thought she could do … no matter how hard she tried she would always leave them vulnerable.

She knew him well enough now. Sure, Rory. It wasn’t enough. When he rose she looked down to the floorboards. There was a part of her that ended. Knowledge of what to do or what to say simply ended. If he had decided that there was no hope, that she could not help, that he was broken … what could she do? Logically, it was a problem she could not solve for him, but her heart broke at the simple idea that he seemed utterly unable to trust her.

Distractedly, her memory when to that night that he made her promise to remain his forever. Her skin had burned - their lips and bodies melding together in the darkness …

When he shifted, her heart leapt. A bird? The instant she recognized the shift a tremor of fear for the first time hit her. Falcons … they … preyed on other birds. Blackbirds, but the fear melted the moment it came. She was tired - so tired. She’d had less sleep than Lyric and she didn’t know how to fix this for him. She didn’t understand. What was so terrible about being a bird? She was a bird.

She loved him in whatever form he was in. Across the floor he flopped, his legs unsteady and his wings weak. Of course he could not fly. He was unaccustomed to his shift and the new way of looking at the world, and, he was still too frail. It took great strength in a bird to fly. It took motor skills and health and birds were fragile creatures.

The second time he flopped across the floor she moved forward smoothly with the blanket. Carefully she ‘caught’ him, folding his wings with expertise and covering his eyes with the material. Birds calmed automatically in the darkness. She took a deep breath and lay him on the cot so that when he shifted he had room.

Wiggling under the blankets with her arm keeping him still she broke a little. The unwavering strength she had shown in the last few days was running out.

”I do not know what to do, Lyric,” she admitted against the covers that kept him immobile as a bird. She did not have the answers, all she had was herself and that was a poor support for someone like Lyric.

He was the only reason she had done so well. The idea that he would be unhappy with her for not taking care of herself made him laugh. Was she that weak? She was, and she knew it now. Aurora was a fool.

[Lyric Shikov]

It was only the sight of her exhaustion viewed through avian eyes that stilled his tremulous thoughts. He paused to merely gaze upon her, silent, trying to name the sudden emotion he had witnessed. Lyric remained still as she moved seamlessly toward him, blanket outreached, and he soon found solace in the darkness he now often feared. He was surrounded by the warmth of her arms and once again marveled at how much stronger they had become. Could she have held him so steady when they had first met? Lyric did not believe so and he involuntarily rested against her until she settled him against the cot. His emotions, which had flared mere seconds prior, now became much more subdued. It was in this calmness that he returned to his human form, reaching out weakly to pull her toward him, his arms around her waist.

He kept his eyes closed. It was easy to pretend that nothing was wrong like that, at least for the moment that memories remained kept at bay. I do not know what to do, Lyric. 

Was that the confession he had pushed for? He realized what he had broken in her. Her optimism. Did she look at him and see weakness, as he did in himself? Had she seen his second shift and realized just what it meant, for someone like him? He had no place in Carna without a way to protect himself and stake his claim. If one shift remained blocked psychologically, impossible to access out of deeply seated fear of agony, what assistance could a flightless bird possibly give? Lyric's thoughts turned bitterly over and over themselves until he remembered that Aurora rarely, if ever, thought in such a fashion.

He remained quiet, wrenched from his self-pity due to her change in demeanor. Aurora was, possibly, the only thing capable of returning him to a different mindset. Lyric drew himself into a sitting position before he dragged her closer, onto the cot beside him. He settled them side-by-side as he lay down, facing her so as to better gauge her expression. He stared at her wordlessly, the fingertips of his left hand tracing the lines of her face. He saw an older Aurora, a more capable Aurora, and he was so fiercely proud of her in that second. It brought the realization that he was so, so selfish. He possessed a constant inability to look beyond his own pain and see someone else's--what kind of toll did this take on her? 

"Thank you for all your strength, moy golubushka." He spoke softly, eyes half-lidded. He had stayed alive for her, Lyric thought. Not just this once but also in the Speakeasy where he had waited for days. She had proved that he could trust her then and Lyric did not doubt that he could trust her now, the only person in his life that had ever showed complete and reoccurring faithfulness. He leaned forward to kiss her, warm lips against warm lips, and he remembered that perhaps he would find a way to make this life work. It was difficult to relinquish control and accept the fact that someone else now had the strength to take care of him; if he could not be independent, than at least he was dependent upon his Aurora and no one else. "I am sorry I am such a broken man."

He was. Lyric constantly wished that she could see him at his best, whatever that was, rather than a thousand variants of his worst. He rested his forehead against her own, drawing her close so that he could rest his face against her shoulder, finding comfort in her embrace. "If I am strong enough, we can even build a snowman, come wintertime." He kissed her collarbone, his face wet from the stubborn tears escaping from the edges of his eyes. 

[AURORA]

Aurora listened to the wind, to his breathing. Over his shoulder she watched the breeze push countless years of dust across the floor and she took a deep breath to steady herself. She was not so melancholy, not naturally. She had to be taught the meaning of despair, even in a place like this. So many days, so many months away she had not given up faith in him.

When he thanked her, her head tilted to one side. He was thanking her for strength? The corners of her mouth fluttered, and when he kissed her much of her earlier worries went away. This was what mattered, this was what was important. Him, her, them. She’d had to learn that too.

He apologized for what he called being a broken man and it hit her hard. Her head shook, refusing to take his apology. His forehead to hers made her smile, and when he mentioned the snowman and kissed her collarbone she sighed. Her eyes squeezed shut.

There was a secret part of her that was holding on to who she used to be, and in her mind she created a path to that part of herself built on the simple and beautiful memories that made her the happiest. That first day in the forest when she had seen the beautiful golden cat, when he had returned for her that first time and she had fallen in the snow and she was greeted by his whiskers, when she had been able to play in the snow that first time, when they had shared secrets, when they danced … all of her favorite moments in life were with Lyric.

A part of him was gone now, forever? Maybe. The beautiful golden cat was part of who Lyric was, even Aurora knew that. It was in that form that he had begun to allow himself to be caring with her, it was in that form he had protected her so many times and now? It was taken from him.

The arms she had around him squeezed a bit harder. She was beginning to understand. It wasn’t that he was a bird. Her lips brushed his hair, and she pulled back a bit – using her hands to guide him so she might see his face. The hurt in his eyes was almost too much, but she kissed his mouth and took each side of his face with small white hands.

”Lyric, I …” what could she say? What they had been through together, how much they cared for one another…. The worried look on her face softened and her mouth closed. Tentatively she rose up to her knees, brushing her lips to his collarbone. Her tongue tasted his skin before working her way up his neck to his ear and feathering across his jawline. He had frozen under her touch, his breathing shallow. Her fingers pushed through his dark hair and she kissed his lips lightly, then more ardently. Her mouth worked against his, her breath catching when suddenly his hands seized her. I want you. I will always want you. In whatever shape you are in, you are mine.

[Lyric Shikov]

Lyric would never deserve her; deserve this. It was a thought that leeched his love for her. A vexing, constant, unavoidable concern that plagued his every breath. He did not deserve her and she would forever be better without him in her life. The majority of his touches were cruel and would always remain such. Even now he saw what he did to her. He saw the way she built resolve with each second and he remembered, abruptly and without reason, when she had slapped him. It had been something so unalike her but, at the time, he had seen it only as a betrayal. The fact that he could drive even Aurora to such extremes was just an example of his influence upon her as an individual... He could not believe her capable of such an action prior to meeting him. She was still there regardless, having endured everything he was able to deal out unfairly. She had seen him at his cruelest. She had seen him at his best. She had seen him at his most broken.

Aurora continued to offer him love. It fractured him further; it also amazed him. Lyric could not fathom her compassion. He could not fathom her willingness to respond to him and all his flaws. His apology was met with a wordless acceptance. The mere utterance of his name was enough to encourage him, igniting a fire that had previously been absent in the gold of his eyes. He regained an older portion of himself for a moment; it was the span of one breath and then the next as he kissed her, long and leisurely and with all the passion that he could express. His body crushed to her in the same fashion that waves broke against the shore of a rocky beach; he molded to her, seeking the warmth that she offered as an insect would, forever dependent upon what she could give. It became apparent as he tasted her mouth that she had always been the strong one, never him. He was a fool for believing otherwise. 

Again, there were no words. The things they shared sometimes stretched beyond such confines, indefinite and unspeakable. Aurora was always what he needed. She was his drug and she was the only addiction Lyric had ever suffered from that happened to prove beneficial for his health. Their clothes fell away piece by piece and he reclaimed her... But, for the first time, the word "reclaim" was not adequate. Lyric shuddered internally at the thought. He loved her. He, the epitome of broken, accomplished something new for the first time. He did not try and take. He did not wish to stake some claim upon her. He merely wished to give what remained. His warmth, his presence, the steady beat of his heart and the gentle caress of his hands. 

Once they lay together in a tangle of limbs he could scarcely speak. Lyric had been left wordless often the past few days but, primarily, for different reasons. Perhaps a minute passed. Perhaps an hour. To him it would have been the same. Lyric at last broke the silence with a shuddering sigh, hand flat against her stomach. His head remained nestled beneath her chin, his lips at the nook of her collarbone. "I cannot go back to the Carna." 

All that he had accomplished was void of meaning. What did it amount to? He did not possess the strength to maintain his position. He thought only of Aurora and what he could do for her; he worried for her, lusted for her, missed her. The torture he had endured for the past years seemed avoidable now. Petty, even. If he loved her why not follow her rather than a maniac of a leader? Why not follow something he believed in? He felt himself breaking regardless; his fragile strength had been built hastily in a matter of months. He had become a fighter, a killer, and for what? "I cannot waste my time without you anymore, Aurora." He did not know if he was the same man; the words out of his mouth belonged to another. It was a moment of foreign hopefulness, belonging to a younger and less seasoned Lyric. He lifted his face and his eyes sought her own, steadfast with an unspoken promise.

He would not leave her again. 

[AURORA]

The nature of their time together was different than the experience before, but the sweetness, the love could never be changed. Lyric had opened up a world beyond anything she had known before and without him she would have been lost. Despite this knowledge, Aurora’s mind could never linger on troubles long. She was a creature of the moment, though even she could not deny that her innocence had been slowly washed away. Ignorance was not bliss. Ignorance was a cage, and Lyric had freed her.

Aurora allowed herself to be lost in him, her Lyric, and as their clothes were shed she marveled at how he could make her feel. A time later once they had settled, he cuddled up to her in a way he never had before, but in the absence of judgment she simply held him against her lovingly.

She lay on her side, her wings unable to take more than her weight alone and with a shoulder canted beneath Lyric’s head her arms were around him. As short as she was, somehow their legs twined together molding until every part of their bodies possible were tangled or crossed. Her top wing rested across them, both in protection against the outside world and the cold. Her fingers played through his hair as she stared at the ceiling almost vacantly, a small smile on her lips as if keeping a secret.

His voice broke the silence, and he told her he could not go back to Carna. She had known this. Something about this time, about this trip … she knew it would be different for him. Whatever the Keepers had done to him it had taken his Strength and in the Carna – Strength was Life. Without it you died. She bit her lip. Lyric would have to go away again. Where would he go instead? Would he be safe? How long would be it before she could see him again? Her mouth opened to ask him these things, to bastion herself against the onslaught of the sadness that would overwhelm her when he left.

Instead, Lyric suddenly said something that she had never thought she would hear. Her large black eyes blinked rapidly, her eyelashes fluttering as her brow furrowed with worry. She rolled his words around her mind until they had meaning, and the fear that she was misunderstanding as she always seemed to was quieted by his steady gaze.

“You …” she began quietly, slowly, but stopped … pressing her lips together - too afraid to say. Too afraid that if she believed it, and she was wrong – it would hurt too much. She closed her eyes and took a breath. No, she had to be brave.

“You will stay?” The hope in the depths of her voice was heartbreaking; soft, and small as if more than a whisper would shatter something inside.

[Lyric Shikov]

You will stay?

How was he, of all people, capable of such a severe promise? To keep it would change his life; but if he did not stay, what would he do? 

His future seemed very clear to him. One path led to complete desolation. He would return to Carna a weaker man and he would masquerade as a strong one. The mask would retain its shape only for a little while prior to crumbling; he would either discover a means to keep his position of power or he would be defeated by someone more deserving. He would either become a monster or common rabble, with nothing in between. 

But if he were to stay... he would learn to regain his strength, for once accepting the help of another. This thought was terrifying to him; perhaps even more so than the Carna's brutal system of punishments. He could not take care of Aurora in his current state--but he could remain with her, steadfast for once in his loyalty. Lyric felt a thrill of terror inside of him; who was he to lay his past plans to waste in favor for a woman? It is my life.

She made him so happy, sometimes, that it hurt him. It only hurt because he knew that it could not last. 

"Yes," Lyric said at long last. He had laid quietly for too long, so that his muscles had gone static. He felt the sleep of his limbs, a tingling pinprick in his fingertips. He could smell nothing but her. He could feel nothing but her. He could want nothing but her, even in his brokenness. "Da, moy golubushka. I will stay." 

It was too much for him. The evening had exhausted a sick man. His eyes had already struggled to remain open and now his lids began to droop, made heavier by confessions and promises. "I need to sleep, moy golubushka." He would regain his strength, somehow, despite the fact that he still felt a resounding emptiness where a piece of himself had once been. He hurt in a way that he thought himself incapable of hurting. 

Lyric did not believe that time could heal all wounds; but, perhaps, it could help in numbing them. 

[AURORA]

The idea that Lyric might make a promise he could not keep would never have occurred to Aurora. He said he would stay, and so he would. As Lyric began to fall asleep, Aurora's lips lowered to his forehead and she kissed him sweetly before settling in to sleep herself. Unconsciously, a small smile played across her lips as she slipped into a dreamless doze.

END THREAD