The Heartwood I don't feel the rain or the sun

He has little to say; truly he does. Yet he screams back at her. “No! I don’t want you to be with someone else! I knew you wouldn’t want me after that anyhow.” He quiets down as the words come out. He doesn’t even dare move as she threatens him. He doesn’t even dare rationalize or make excuses. He knows what he did and now she does. 

For a moment he thinks of Sasha, the foul woman appeared to care about him back then. Accepted him and all of his disgusting, horribleness. Yet it was all a lie. This is what he deserves after all, to never find love. He won’t let himself. Though sadly, Simmik was the closest thing he’s gotten to that since he’s been here. He was genuinely happy when they first prances about each other. Sparing, hunting, spending the night together and making love in the pale moonlight. Is that what being happy is like? Or perhaps he should rephrase that. Is that what having a stable, healthy, relationship is like? Perhaps. Sasha was never that — or she was on the surface, but on the inside, such a fantasy is impossible.

So he watches tears spill from her face and streak down her smooth, pale cheeks. He’s going to miss her. Though he knows she won’t miss him. Even with the thread of death, he would still risk seeing her once more. Guess this means goodbye — for now at least.

So he stands there, ashamed, but accepting. His next words are low, a light crack in his usually unwavering voice. “Goodbye, Simmik.” He hums to her, the glassy orbs that shine bright like the stars stealing one last look to her. He turns his back and begins padding back to his Saints. Already working on shoving the memory to the back of his skull, not to be uncovered until he meets the silvery woman again.

Goodbye Simmik — for now.