2 - 5

“If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?”

—Jodi Picoolt, Nineteen Minutes

Hey guys! I have officially finished this books and edited almost everything. I absolutely love how it ends and, not to spoil anything, I won't say much, but it's so sweet.

I'm really glad I decided to focus on family/platonic dynamics (for now), especially in a fantasy world. I don't think that gets explored enough.

Part Two - Chapter Five

"The Dragon's Sunlit Witch"

Marigold agrees without pushing to know what the purpose of their trip is for.

She goes over the inventory with Ozzy, gets shown the routine by Ras, and discusses the little things she has to look out for with the big dragon during their shared lunch break. With Stray, she’s shown the best hiding spots, and they spend the whole time laughing to themselves at his old perch next to the herb’s shelf.

Given a six day notice, the witch also prepares her familiar to watch their own shop. Blaise’s used to doing it, just not alone, but everyone agrees that it’ll probably go smoothly.

At the very least, they’re sure the shops will at least be standing when they return.

At the very most, the cookies are going to be edible, albeit a little burnt.

-——-——-

Five days left and Stray spends the time talking over his worries with his dad.

Athanasius isn’t the best with emotions, or conversation, but he’s good at picking apart the youngling’s thoughts and getting to the real issue. He asks the right questions and never leaves his son without comfort.

They talk more about what happened to him with his old abusers.

It feels nice to get it off his chest.

He didn’t notice how much it weighed him down to hold onto all of that alone until there was someone else to help hold it up.

It’s a little scary to think that his witch has more to hold on their shoulders than he can even imagine. They remember it all, he’s just left with the scraps but even those hurt. What kind of pain are they holding onto?

What have they had to deal with all alone?

-——-——-

They’re back in front of the window, sunshine pouring over them.

It stings his eyes, the warmth fuzzy, not quite real. In the memory, he’s too busy trying to memorize what the witch looks like more than he is staring at the sky.

In the dream, though, their face is always blurry.

The clouds are better to look at, now, when everything feels so tilted to the side. It’s better than seeing an old friend he can’t remember.

It’s better than feeling a love he doesn’t understand—that, though, never really can be ignored. It’s omnipresent, sticking to his heart like spilled honey, golden and sweet. If he cannot remember anything else, he at least will always have this love.

His voidwalker is looking at him, their positions flipped.

Stray doesn’t know what they see, what they make of him.

Is he still that small, broken dragon locked into a cage? Is he the young boy they had to save from open wounds and an empty stomach, or is he how he is now? Cheeks full and hair golden, scars fading with all the years that have passed by?

Do they see the youngling how they remember him or how he actually is?

Do they wish, like him, that it could all be different?

“You’re crying,” they say, hand reaching up towards his face. He leans into the touch, knowing he can’t feel it but needing something—anything—to let himself believe they’re together. “Did something happen, star?”

“No,” Stray moves closer, hugging a body he cannot feel the warmth of. “I’m just sad tonight, I think. You seem so far away.”

They pause. “I’m right here.”

“But you won’t be when I wake up.”

“It’s better that way.”

“But why?” He whispers—pleads, really.

“I’d just ruin you,” they say, voice harsh like the words themselves are a sin. “And you’ve been ruined enough in one lifetime. There’s no need for more pain.”

“Being away from you is painful.”

“Being away from me has saved you.”

“For how long?” He wonders. “How long do I need to be saved for? How long are you going to call a dead man’s hate dangerous? How long are you going to pretend a dead wolf can still bite?”

Stray remembers then, suddenly, how they used to talk in metaphors to each other, the words having slipped past his lips without consideration.

Truth wrapped in truth, pain made into silliness. Whispers in a time where everything around them was screams.

That was them. Leftovers. A secret.

“For as long as they still have teeth,” his voidwalker hisses, pulling him closer. “And trust me when I say I’m still picking some out from my bones.”

“You’re letting them haunt you,” Stray says. He looks up, their face there one second and gone the next; it feels like he can never hold onto them tight enough.

He can never get close.

“Let them,” they say. “Let them haunt me, it keeps them away from you.”

“It keeps you away from me, too.”

His voidwalker inhales sharply and turns away. Stray knows they’re looking out the window even without seeing their eyes.

“Can we just enjoy the sun?” They ask, hand falling back to his.

“Is this all we will ever enjoy together?”

They have no answer.

Both stand there, sunlight over their skin, neither feeling the warmth of it.

When he wakes up, there’s tears still streaming down his face. He wipes them away, stands, and walks to the biggest window he has—the one over the kitchen table.

Stray moves the curtains away, frowning. It’s still night.

He waits there until dawn, until the sun is over the trees. He doesn’t sleep.

The sun looks different from before, he doesn’t know how he never noticed.

-——-——-

“Hey, mate,” Ras leans against the porch right next to him, the moon illuminating her face.

Stray hums in reply as he’s joined in looking up at the sky, breathing in and out evenly. The night isn’t warm but it’s far from chilly—the moon glows above them, showing rustling leaves and thick trees surrounding a thriving garden. The flowers and vegetables his coven had planned are all starting to ripen or bloom the most they are even going to.

It feels strange knowing that something so alive, so beautiful, is only going to die.

Once it gets colder than it is now, the petals will fall or the crops will be harvested.

No more full garden, no more string. No more nights like these.

The two of them stand like that, shoulder to shoulder, for a while.

The youngling isn’t really sure how much time passes but birdsong feels the air between them by the time either of them speaks. Mourning doves, he thinks. He’s not very sure.

“Can’t sleep?” Ras finally asks, head tilting down towards the golden dragon. He nods and leans further into the other’s warmth. “Me either. But it’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Stray doesn’t reply but he knows the phoenix understands why.

Some mornings are just meant for silence. They watch the sun come up together, not saying a single word.

He’s glad he’s not watching it alone.

There’s been too much in his life that he’s missed when solitude has been at his side.

-——-——-

“Why can’t I see your face?” Stray asks. “You see mine, we should be even, I reckon.”

“Star,” they sigh back. “It’s part of the memory curse, we’ve been over this, man.”

The youngling just sighs, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back against the closest door. “I know, it’s still shit though. I keep waiting for the answers to change and they never do.”

“...why then?”

“What?”

“Why do you still wait for me?”

“The fuck you mean?” Stray gives them a glance, brows pinched together. “I said I always would—that I’d always come back to you.”

His voidwalker is silent for a moment. “I thought you didn’t remember that.”

“I remember enough,” he shrugged. “Why do you think I want to find you so bad?”

“Because you’re stubborn.” He can’t see them but he swears that they’re smiling.

“Oi!” The golden dragon knocks his head into their chest, the only thing he could really do in the cramped storage space.

“Just because it’s true, doesn’t mean you have to say it, prick.”

“You’re getting bold,” they note, voice all soft and wistful.

He tilts his head, hand reaching up to hold onto an always cold wrist. “Is that a bad thing? I know I can be, uh, loud sometimes.”

It’s taken a long time to believe that that was okay.

“It’s wonderful,” they correct, brushing his hair away from his eyes, cold fingertips tracing his eyebrow. “You deserve to be as loud as you’d like, I’m… I’m happy you have that. I’m happy you’re safe. That’s all I ever wanted, y’know?”

“You’re not being fair again,” Stray whispers, leaning into the touch he couldn’t feel.

“How?” His voidwalker asks.

“You’re saying all this but you’re so far away. I’d rather you be happy right next to me.”

“The distance is what keeps you safe.”

They’ve had this conversation before. It’s probably the thing they talk about most.

“It’s driving me crazy, it’s like I’m losing my fucking mind. Nothing feels real anymore, all my memories are off. There’s pieces missing and I can’t get them back. You’re missing and I can’t get you back, either.”

“I don’t know how to make it better, starlight.”

“Yes you do,” Stray scoffs. “You’re just scared but—I can protect myself. I can protect myself, it should be my decision. I want you to be next to me. I want you, here, with me. I just…”

“Star…”

“I want you,” he says. “You’re so far away.”

“I want you too,” they reply.

And that should be enough.

That should be enough—because here they are and here’s this love, but they’re lost. They can’t seem to find a way to come back together. He’s too hurt and they’re too scared and it’s a mess.

This is his voidwalker, his witch, his. And he’s theirs, their dragon, their familiar, theirs.

It should be enough. It should be.

So why doesn’t it feel that way? Why isn’t their love enough?