Emberwood [m] I want to be known for my hits, not just my misses

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For @Akavir!

The girl in the reverie, the girl who had spent her whole life running;
Reverie wasn't a girl anymore but a woman, and felt now that her ability to run had been stunted, metaphorical legs shattered when the earth had churned out from under her. There was nowhere to run now, when the sun had rolled away from the cracked terrain of her heart for the last time. There was no escaping the shadow that had fallen over her.
So she went to the Emberwood, where she'd once met the woman Sadey and tried to help her. The last time she had been here, she'd still been in love; she'd still had hope. The woods were beautiful, all splashed in the colors of autumn, yet Reverie saw only ash among the trees. Ash and shadows and so much grief.
Again she broke, and wildly she wondered why it was always her, always her, always breaking. All she had wanted was to be loved, but Reverie was alone with her grief. Maybe that was her fault; maybe it was a failing of hers, that her sorrow was not beautiful, that there was nothing profound in her suffering. Everyone loved a beautiful girl.
For girls such as Reverie, there was only pity.

He needed a moment to himself.

Never before had he felt the creek was suffocating, and yet, each direction his gaze fell to seemed to remind him of somehow of Riverclan’s Sharptooth, and with lingering guilt, heartache and exhaustion, the man turned away form his proclaimed kingdom and to somewhere that held neutrality.

Fate had a strange moment when it presented a proverbial middle finger to him, and when he had come upon the serene forests of the Emberwood, never would he have thought that he would find within its depths Reverie—so close to figment of his imagination, he feared, the wisp of the girl she once was, and to the woman she had become. Doe-eyed and innocent appearance, he could not help the darkening storm of his features with the knowledge that a viper rest within her very breast—surely, his mind was playing tricks on him.

Surely, she would not dare come within such proximity to the creek? And so the Mayfair stood—the brush of the breeze ruffling his fur, his pale gold eyes cast with open weariness upon her.

She tried to dry her tears. She tried to collect herself, to put on a smile and return to Blossom and Boone. But suddenly Reverie sensed that she was not alone. Her heart leapt into her throat, perhaps sensing what was to come when she lifted her eyes.
Akavir.
Reverie sucked in a breath, immediately trembling with a thousand emotions. Fear, guilt, regret — some lingering shred of remembered affection —
Akavir, She managed after a moment, and found she could say no more. He'd been her leader, once; protector; family. Arric's words came to her then, and she couldn't keep herself from crying. She'd abandoned them all, scorned them. What was she doing here?

She spoke his name—familiar, as a whisper upon her breath, and a frown began to pull at him, recalling the details of their last interaction.

There was a lot to unpack there—there always would be. He had a lot of feelings regarding both her and Lestan, and what they had done—but he couldn’t pretend he had been innocent in the entire events that had unfolded. He could have handled it all much better—could have communicated so much better.

“Reverie,” he began, his voice a scratch before he cleared his throat, an ear giving a flick in response. “Didn’t think I’d see you around here again…”

She'd expected anger — and maybe it lurked somewhere beneath the surface, but Akavir had always been more adept at controlling his emotions than she ever was. Reverie sucked in a breath as he spoke, letting his words linger in the air between them. For a moment she didn't know what to say.
And then the words just started to pour from her.
I - I want to see - where she's buried, She couldn't bring herself to say the name, not to him. And I know - I know I have no right. I hurt her - and you - all of you - but I - I - The hysteria of grief was rising in her, but she fought it, even as her voice cracked and stumbled over her last words: I never told her that I'm sorry.
Reverie took a shaking step back from Akavir and abruptly sat, trying to still her shaking paws. I loved her, She confessed, feeling as if she might vomit. And she had, truly. It just hadn't been enough. It never would have been, because she was not Lestan; because no one could ever be enough after he'd abandoned her, not even the man who had returned to her in wasting madness.

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A proclamation came tumbling from the ghost’s lips—a request to know where the fallen soldier of the creek lay to rest, and he felt a flame of indignation stir him then. The reminder of everything she had done came to the forefront of his mind—the way Moss had become almost despondent when Reverie had left only added a credibility to the words that she spoke now of love, but he could not help the snort of disdain that escaped him now.

Could Reverie truly love anyone? She only seemed to love herself—in this moment, it became the thought he focused on now.

“Don’t,” he hushed, his tone holding an admonishment. He, Arric and Moss had worn themselves thin trying to help Reverie in whatever ways they could—from consoling her, to hunting down some witch with a vendetta against her, to trying to help her thrive with a surprise little one. None of it had ever been good enough for her.

“You don't get to make her death about you.” His eyes narrowed—he should just walk away. Save a sliver of his sanity from what was likely to transpire between them, but he couldn’t. Not until he said his piece. “And save your act—I don’t give a shit about your tears.”

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It felt — it felt right; had anyone ever spoken so harshly to her? And Reverie knew she deserved it, she knew that Moss would have agreed, that Arric should have, that Lestan should have. Maybe if he had, he would still be at Swiftcurrent Creek. He would still be happy. And if Moss had never loved her, maybe she would still be alive.
She couldn't stop crying, but she did make an earnest effort to quiet her hysteria. I don't expect you to, Reverie managed after a moment, quieter now. I just - want to see her. She deserved an apology. She deserved - better. And surely Akavir could agree with that, at least. Suddenly Reverie was certain that he would not tell her, and the sense of loss seemed to bloom ever larger in her chest.
She should never have come back here; she should never have left the coast. If she could have gone back just then, she would have. She would leave Blossom with Everett, and she would simply walk into the sea. It would be peaceful there — and she would never hurt anyone again.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Just... in case. Death, etc. He's also being helluva mean.

His eyes were hard on her—Reverie, trying to stifle her crying, and somehow, it unmoved him. When had he become such a cold bastard? Cynical? Hardened?

Perhaps, a part of him had also died with Moss. And with Ibis. And the countless others who had seen fit to simply just vanish.

“She deserved a lot more than what you offered her,” he countered, his tone clipped. Moss had deserved so much more than Reverie—than what life she had led at the creek. A silent guardian, who had tried to set the world right, and now…

Now she was dead in a swamp.

But there was nothing to hide for Moss’s whereabouts. If Reverie wanted the gruesome details of it, he would not withhold the information. His time of trying to protect her was long gone—she had made it quite clear what she thought of him. “Her body is in the marsh. We couldn’t recover her for a proper burial.” Because the marsh and muck had been sucking her down… in its depths. And their members had been wounded and stretched thin.

Instead, she lived on in Cygnet, now… A precious part of the woman who would be treasured in the creek. And who’s existence was not any of Reverie’s business—at least not from his lips.

He meant to hurt her with it — but it was nothing she didn't already know, nothing she hadn't already said to herself. Moss had deserved more; Lestan had deserved more; all of Swiftcurrent Creek had, but Reverie had never made that promise. She'd been honest all along, she felt.
It wasn't her fault that none of them had believed her until it was too late.
Her tears continued to fall silently, but Reverie only nodded. Thank you, She said softly, and turned to leave. There was nothing more to say. Akavir would not want her apologies, and she found that she no longer wanted to give them, if only because she knew that he would not find them genuine. What was the point, then? The best thing she could do was leave, and if she ever saw him again, she would turn and walk in the opposite direction. That much, he'd made clear.
For now, she would find Moss. She would hunt through the mud and flies until her gilded coat was soaked and stained dark. And when she found her, she would apologize; tuck herself against the rotting remnants of what had once been love; weep openly; tell her that she loved her, words she'd never said while Moss had been alive to hear them. She would stay there for a time.
Then she would gather up what bones she could salvage from the muck, and find a place to lay them to rest. Somewhere beautiful. She knew that Moss had loved beautiful things, though she'd never admitted it aloud. And she deserved that much, at least: to rest somewhere beautiful for eternity.