Aure'd been hauling to his feet - wing hanging limp and uncomfortable at his side and breaths shallow - when the shadows descended upon him and sent a searing pain like no other. It blew freshly-made memories of suffering clean out of the water. He felt like his flesh was being blown and peeled clean from his bones, blood roaring in his ears and...
Tired, breaking, what's... that? Dancing out of reach like his thoughts. Deliberately pushed away by his stone and its efforts to soothe him enough to just lie down and fall into that gentle restful slumber of reformation.
But, but, but - his darling.
The Bone King knew he must've looked like hell, feathers slicked down with inky-black intermingled with his own blood, one wing crumpled miserably; but he would drag himself to see Damask, assure her in that crackling, hoarse voice of his, "hey, darling. I'm... going to sleep for a bit, okay?" He was already settling, just outside the cavern's maw and staring dully into quicksilver eyes. "I'll be alright, I'll be back, don't... worry too much. We'll... talk again, soon."
It was... somewhat aimless murmuring, assurances he had no conscious clue of actually saying or not - but so genuine. His eyes were glazed over with pain, but they remained molten and gooey, "go tell Grandma that I'm here, okay? She'll... take care of you and the Bonebound while I'm asleep."
and at the exact moment it looked like he'd lose — the exact moment she almost had to look away — a flower of blood. not in his body, but the beast's, fired out from fungus in bloom. damask recoiled and yanked back her magic, and the far end of the room shuttered briefly back into shade. did he do that ... ? she stood frozen, even as light settled into place and news of his triumph sounded like trumpets in her ears. he'd ... he'd won. at a cost, but he'd won. and for what?
she spared emuh a dip of her chin, nothing more, before giving all of herself to auré: eyes and ears, mind and heart. dripping, bleeding, falling-down auré. damask's face opened wide in abject dismay — (oh, he's a wreck, he's an absolute wreck) — and yet, he staggered on, yielding only when he reached the mouth of the hallway. she hovered beside him, staticky with nerves. please be all right, stay with me, talk to me —"hey, darling. i'm ... going to sleep for a bit, okay?"to sleep. she lowered her head level-by-level in synch with his. what kind of sleep, dad? what kind of sleep?"don't worry," he said, and if only it were that easy. if only. if only. but: "okay," she mustered, mouth gone dry. her eyes jerked back and forth. he wasn't safe here. too open, too exposed; he'd be an advertisement for the caves' newest attraction. the wall of polaris wasn't far off, but ... look at him. he's not going anywhere. something dark crawled in her chest. dread. this is for real. sinking in now?
she cleared away his request with an absent, impatient nod — (tell grandma, yeah, right, that'll be fun) — and then parted her lips, picking her father's features apart, trying hard to see past his pain. past his exhaustion. he's fading.
"you killed it," damask whispered, as in: you crushed it. you hammered it. you knocked 'em dead.
and then amended, "you made it." as in: you're alive, and you did so, so good.
she went in for a nuzzle, aimed at his jawline, just a little bump — but stopped a single inch short, as if by an electric fence. damask shrunk away with a hiss of frustration, drawn sharply through her teeth. none of that. not right now. take it easy. a heavy sigh, and she sunk to the floor opposite her father, as close as she could go without contact. enough to feel his breath on her feathers.
"good night, all right? i'll wait for you. i'll be right here."
A talon slipped underneath himself, but he managed to lower himself carefully enough, chin resting on the floor, glassy-eyed - remarkably like a dying animal's.
But, even without his lucidity to fully parse that what? she was saying, he smiled softly. Damask's mouth opened and closed, and sound certainly emerged, but words in their barest, rawest state? So simple and encouraging? He didn't know what they meant. He didn't know where he was. He didn't - oh, sleep sounded so good, but - she's still speaking, wait, (no time, his stone urged) I need to listen.
"Good night, all right?"
A rattling gasp escaped him, head tilted forty-five degrees on its side on the floor, eyes staring unseeing towards his darling (darling, darling, don't forget that. she's here, and you'll be back for her -) Aure blinked slowly, exhaling a simple, slow, "good night..." and... he was gone.
But, not gone in the way that those Lessers might have been, lifeblood drained from them by curved fangs and elastic jaws; not in the way Vincenzo had his stone crushed and strewn into the sands of Hydra; not in the way the old King'd been meeting cruel earth and his own self. No, no, he - being cradled in jasper - would emerge again with another chance.
Just... his closing hopes were that Damask would know this.
her father's eyes — always so bright — looked the way aza'zel's ribs had felt.
can he hear me? does he even know that i'm still with him? damask stiffened as an agonal breath shivered into her ears. needlepoint pupils jittered in place, struggling to focus where auré's could not. she leaned onto her wing-claws, towards his drooping beak.
"good night ..."
"wait, i —" but those final words caught in the snare of her throat, strangled away by the burst of sanguine stone beneath her. damask hurried back in a scrabble of talons and winnowing wings; crystal swarmed inexorably around auré's tattered frame, raw red facets spiking from the floor, leaving not a feather in sight. a crown of jasper tapered into jagged points where his head had laid. this was the very stone from which hers was cut: the genesis of the knife in her chest, the petaled shell of her birth, the cage that had almost been the death of her. she panted in and out, shaking at the sight of what had once been her father, now faceless and motionless.
this much she knew: auré had meant what he'd said. this was not death — more like the opposite. he'd alluded to it before, when he told her about the war with mother; the bonebound had "been defending someone," an assassin had "put him in a chrysalis," and when he was inside, it had kept him ... "safe." but how long will he be gone? and is he hurting in there? and will he come back the same — ?
damask inhaled and approached the jasper shell. ran a claw over its edges, its bands and inclusions. touched it with her nose.
it's warm.
and all at once, she fell to pieces. her head pushed tip-to-crest against the surface, neck arched, jaw tight — ("i ..."... love you, i love you, even to a rock, she still couldn't say it) — and slid against the grit as she crumbled to the ground. for once, it's objectively not your fault. thump, thump, thump; an echoing throb between her ears. oh, come on, it's fine. saltwater burning. what's wrong with you?
"sh-shhhit," she ground out, the word a dirty stranger on her tongue. that ... helped, somehow. her eyes squeezed shut, and when they reopened, the sting was gone. hey. it's all good. he's kicking back on vacation, that's all. just keep tabs, and be there when he wakes up. damask nodded roughly into the chrysalis. going forward: you cannot be getting this emotional. but yeah, take a sec, whatever.
oh, and don't forget — you've gotta talk to giggle.
a high groan ached in her throat. later. i'll do it later. minutes passed. then, she rose shakily to her feet and fluttered onto the uppermost spur of the chrysalis. it'd be her roost for the next ... however long it took. she shifted from side to side on uneven toes, sighing, nowhere near comfortable. but here's the thing about pain: take enough of it, and it'll quit hurting. you know this. remember it.
one last time ... "good night." and she tucked her face beneath a parted wing.
