I can come down like the rain

The days passed in a blur. It was mechanical. She knew what she needed to do, what her duties were, especially now. The end of the war had earned her a promotion, but it had fallen on mostly deaf ears. She vaguely recalled the ceremony, the slight incline of her head in acceptance, the applauds that did nothing to lift her spirits. A polite smile had been forced when it was necessary, otherwise she remained as stoic as ever. But that was a life time ago, back when the loss of Nassar had been fresh.

She was tired. Her nights were restless at best, the woman often plagued by dreams reminding her of the horrors of her past. The overwhelming weight of grief pressed down on her, threatening to drown her. Baby blues lingered on the empty space beside her, his impression still there in the bed. But her husband was dead. It was in vain to hope that he’d walk through the door one night. He would never walk through the door again. Ahkoris was gone.

With a sigh, she sat in one of the gardens of the Tiamat manse. The sun barely kissed the horizon, just enough to lighten the sky as a new day started. Another day without her friend, without her husband. It wasn't as if they had spent every waking moment together, they all were often busy and caught up in their lives. But the option was always there. She always had the ability to knock of Nassars door, peeking in with wine glasses in hand and a smirk hanging of her lips. At the end of a long day, she could always curl up in Ahkoris’ arms. Not anymore.

One of her and Nassars favorite bottles sat beside her, mostly empty now. The air was still, as if the earth itself knew better. A gentle fog gathered at her paws, lingering just above the grass and plants that grew wildly. "Oh Nassar." She breathed the words, her voice barely audible even in the silence. Dark lips trembled but she couldn’t bring herself to cry anymore, mostly because she had no tears left. Sybil was a mess to say the least. Her normally well kept coat was in disarray, someone had helped clean most of the blood off her, but is still stained her white fur. Poultices matted hairs surrounding the injuries she sustained. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

Reaching for her cup again, she let the alcohol burn a slow path down her throat, the only thing she really felt anymore. Sybil still was speaking to no one, she had all but locked herself in her room, snarling at any servant brave enough to crack the door open. When she did leave her room, it was to seek solitude in the places she frequented with Nassar or Ahkoris, just as she did now

"Speech."

Image by Ashon

(old thread made when ghost threads were still viable and just posting late rip)

It was supposed to be a worthy sacrifice.

Nassar felt anger wash over her, melding with desperation as she was torn from dreamless sleep and once more set among the living. Only, she could not be certain if this would be a moment in which she could talk and speak to her loved ones or if it would be simply a fragment of time that she witnessed. Whether or not it was real, Nassar could not say. She liked to think it was—most times. Yet, as of late, all she felt was sorrow when she slipped back into consciousness.

Deep, profound sorrow.

Snow blanketed a walled-in expanse that looked familiar and yet she could not say how. Guided by fog, she drifted by, never feeling the cold, her paws never leaving an impression. It was only when she heard a name that she stopped, orange eyes widening as recognition hit her sharply. Turning her head, she saw Sybil sitting alone. She looked markedly unwell as if she was being held up by sheer force of will alone.

And she was—there was no one else to help hold her up. Ahkoris was...

Nassar's ears flicked back and she looked down at the ground, eyes momentarily swimming with tears before she shook them away. The fear of death was for the living. That, and sorrows would not change the fact of life—even if that life had been stolen away far too young. And with him, all the children he might have had. The life he would have built.

"Sybil," she said softly, unsure if the woman would hear her as she settled into a seat a pace away. "It'll get better." But when she spoke the promise, it was mostly murmured to herself.

It all had to get better, otherwise, what did they all keep living for?

In the warm embrace of booze, she sighed. Unshed tears blurred her vision that she stubbornly refused to let fall. Her stiff lip trembled with emotion. Sybil. She was even hearing things now. Alone, she let out a harsh bark of laughter. It was a bitter sound that grated against her soul. It'll get better. "How very cliché of you." She grumbled, answering the voice in her own head that sounded an awful lot like Nassar. If her expression hadn't already been dark, it certainly was now. Even her own mind was painfully accurate in manufacturing her friend.

It dawned on her then and her body stilled, stiffening with recognition. The timber of the matriarchs voice was far too accurate to be of her own creation. Her head whipped around, finding the transparent figure of her friend. With her mouth ajar, Sybil could do nothing but stare for a moment. Baby blues were wide before her brow furrowed and she rubbed her eyes with a paw. "How old is this bottle?" She murmured to herself, looking down at the bottle of wine beside her. It hadn't tasted like it was sour, but it had also never made her hallucinate so vividly before.

"I suppose its better that its you." She mused, fully convinced she was losing her mind. Surely this was a side effect from the grief mixed with a heavy dose of alcohol. Shaking her head, she took another careless drink, finding comfort in the burn as she let it fill her mouth. Seeing Nassar's ghost wasn't as brutal a blow as seeing her late husband, at least thats what she told herself. Only Nassar would manage to find a way back from the grave to impart some tidbit of knowledge that was both soothing and maddeningly unhelpful. Had it been Ahkoris, well, she wasn't entirely sure she'd survive him vanishing from her life for a third time. Something told her it was better he stayed gone, that he stayed a memory."speech"

code // art