I will breathe for the both of us.

In the end, there would be nothing left. A shroud of black would envelope the landscape, devouring the little light the world had mustered. The two bodies would lay, forever trapped in time, juxtaposed; the same red life draining from them. A set of eyes would look on into eternity, seemingly helpless as he watched on. In the end, nothing would remain in the ashes to be reborn; no saviour in the midst of a dying world. There would be nothing more to know, nothing more to read, and nothing more to save.
In the end, this story would be a tragedy.

But this was not the end.

The soft pattering of footsteps came to fill the vacancy of silence, and a new figure stood at the end of the deserted hall. She looked upon Tic and his captor with silver eyes, which were suddenly altered to a shade of green. Tic started to raise himself, gradually, eyes upon the girl. She began to approach them, and Tic saw the way her expression changed, the way her features modeled a piercing glare towards the woman who held him; he understood. His hand was placed upon the floor, fingers testing its cold, as he noticed the arms around him had not yet taken a hold. The girl looked to him, and a whisper came across her lips.

"Go."

His stare lingered for a moment on the girl's face, but before the arm had a chance to return its grip, Tic had pushed himself to his feet and sprinted. He ran out past the girl, who suddenly stood her ground before the woman, as one would before a fight. Thanking her silently, he lead himself into the ballroom, returning to the holy mess that had been caused, caused all by him.

But as he came to the entrance, he could be taken no further. He stood still, thoughts dissipating into a blank canvas, dabbed slowly with paint as he began to see. His eyes moved over every scene; the mangled bodies, the faceless corpses, the dumb mouths of wounds speaking their silence. The bodies of governors lied all about the room, dripping and bleeding; macabre decorations to a party that had gone awry. The few that were left were fleeing to the great doors that hung open ahead, the sheets of rain entering the hall. A massacre had taken place that night, one the gods seemed to have overlooked, as they always do. His hands moved slowly downwards, uncertainly, as he surveyed the sights, breathing in as his mind registered.

And then he saw them.

Lightning struck and the shadows dispersed, flooded by the blinding light; two bodies lay, each the result of their own hatred, holes cut within their skin so deep that the pools of blood had spread, that the blood of enemies had mingled. The light disappeared, and in the dark puddles they laid; a man of power and deception, broken by the blood-stained sword in his chest, his eyes threatening to close upon him..

.. and a girl, the empty shell of a murderer; a stained white cherub, without a breath left in her tiny body.

There was no longer a need to breathe, no longer a need for the moons to shine a light into the darkness; not into this land, nevermore. The world had suddenly become very small, revolving around her alone, all else had simply faded. A single vision remained clear in sight, a final painting drawn out in his mind by some heavenly power. He knew what needed to be done; a path he could not stray from any further.

He made his way silently forward, towards the bloody display, stepping over the bodies that strewed his way. He walked, indifferent to the death around him, as the rain poured down; the only music that could be played for such a bloody ballet. White shoes stepped lightly into a pool of ebony, adulterated as they were soaked up in the liquid. Thin, draped arms lowered themselves to the girl's body, and he kneeled, the blood tainting him further. It was still warm as he passed his fingers through it, as he slid his hands carefully beneath her lifeless form. And the girl was lifted, frail arms cradling the body of a lacerated dove.

He began to move forward, but something had taken a hold of him; weakening fingers that closed around his foot. Slowly, he turned his face to look, to see an orange gaze, its blazing fires fading into the flames of dying candles. There was a single slice in the man's chest, streaming blood forth as he gasped in pain. For a moment, they stared, the violet gaze free of compassion, free of any pity for the man who had tried to break him. Tic turned his glance away, looking defiantly ahead, and pulled himself free -- free of Larkin's grasp, once and for all.

There was an unearthly aura about him as he continued to walk, as his eyes had changed; no longer a frightened, helpless violet. Forward, he carried her through the destruction, through the scarlet-stained walls and floor, through the calamity of her own rage. Forward, he advanced the entrance, to leave them all to rest in peace. When the guards began shouting, he broke into a run, and flew with her out of the castle, out into the cleansing rain.

They were welcomed into the world by the darkness, by the water washing over the land in whispers, roars and hums. The clear, clean rain spilled onto them, dripping across their faces in all its purity. Tic raced down the staircase, the body of Miraye huddled softly in his hold, a sleeping child. Lightning struck, and the two were but a silhouette; the bold outline of a figure holding another in his arms, chased, carried from the castle with invisible wings.

His legs took him forever forward, even as the ground beneath him started to incline -- the drawbridge being raised in an attempt to stop his course. He could hear the hollow sound of his feet against the wood, the pounding of his heart inside him. A dark forest lied ahead, and he kept his gaze fixed upon on it, knowing it would be the final destination. He approached the end of the bridge as it was lifted ever higher, never slowing himself -- and leapt, flying across the gap between bridge and ground. He landed with a soft splash, his hair coming down across his eyes, and he continued running.

The forest came into view, its dark and haunting trees shining with wet, more welcoming now than the castle that he had been kept. Distant yells were shouting behind him, muffled by the high-pitched ringing in his ears, by the thunder. He looked determinedly ahead to the trees, not wanting to turn back, not wanting to see the world that he could be thrown into once again.

And the shelter of trees finally surrounded them, embracing them with its terrene protection. The rain splashed over their heads, falling from the leaves, lighter than before. He ran through the darkness, leaping over fallen trunks, evading the trees that stood in his path. And he didn't stop running, not until they were safe. Not until he knew they would not be found, until the yells had become nothing more than the whispers of the rain.

The wind roared about them; the air was sharp, and for the first time, he became aware of how cold it had become. But it did not matter; not the aching in his legs, not the pain of a wire that encircled his heart, its thorns piercing and bleeding him. He allowed his legs to slow as they came upon a clearing, and as he did, they became heavy. He walked, until they entered the center of the clearing, where he let himself drop to his knees.

Gently, he placed the girl down, a precious porcelain figurine laid to rest in a bed of leaves. His hands slid out from beneath, still stained in scarlet. A hand held her head, the wet pinks and reds like silk through his fingers. The rain had begun to cleanse the blood from her, and her face was returning to the white, to the innocence he had once seen. Her silent eyes stared up to the thunderous sky above, and he moved a hand across them, closing them. The blood was seeping from her chest, through the broken white glass of her body. He placed a hand there, upon the bleeding hole, and lowered his head. He breathed in, letting his eyelids fall, listening to the silence of the lifeless organ. And he knew that she was gone, tears replaced by the sad descent of raindrops.

For moments, he laid against her, chest heaving, his breathing -- the only sound other than the dying of the storm. Her blood touched his face, but he was not aware. He was lost as a silence came once again, louder now than the fury of any thunder. It was for eternity that he laid there, listening to the quiet of a noise that had no sound. A noise that had no shape, no form --

A noise that was no longer something that he could hear, but suddenly a feeling. From a former life, it came to him; a liquid warmth that grew deep within, small and white. Pure. It spread from a flame around his heart, the sacred heart; a heat that cast away the frigid touches of the pouring rain. It coursed through his veins, reaching out to every part of him, wrapping him up in the warmest of blankets. The fingers upon her chest spread, and the warmth gathered there; it pulsated with the heat, and Tic opened his eyes, lifting his head.

He looked up to the sky, the rain falling upon his face, his hand pressed softly against her breast. And the divine touch passed through him, breathing itself into her dead limbs; the pure medium of His will.

The blood receded into the gown, dissipating until no more stains were left. A tired hand, bathed clean of blood, was placed at her cheek; he could feel the warmth in her skin now. He looked upon her with deepened eyes, watching as her snowwhite lids began to stir, as his own heart began to tire with every beat. Slowly, the eyes opened, their vision blurred by the rain, auburn orbs focusing on the sad amethyst, shining in his light. He saw, understood; the darkness of her world had been lifted. No longer would she feel the pain.

He smiled down at the face, and surrendered, falling silently into the bed of leaves.