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“I’ll be Prometheus, you be Cleopatra?”
————
Rowan Damisch and Citra Terranova sat in the middle of what was once the Hall of Relics and Futures, covered in the robes of the thirteen founding Scythes. If it had been any other time, they would have been dragged in front of the world Grandslayers for their disrespect, but now, facing the empty embrace of being deadish, possibly forever, disrespect was the last thing on their minds.
Rowan looked over at Citra. She was running her fingers over the feathers of Scythe Cleopatra’s robe. Her own robe was wrapped around her body to keep out the growing cold. She looks beautiful in teal, he thought. The color was understated, elegant almost. Not like the robes of many of the new order which felt like an affront to the eyes. Their haughty colors and flashy decorations were a plea for attention, far from the humble presence a Scythe should project. Goddard’s “New Order” regime was all glitter and no gold. A corruption of a sacred duty.
In his time under Goddard, as both apprentice and captive, he’d learned to associate the sparkles of diamonds with danger. Goddard’s smiles always hid malice, a firm hand on the shoulder left finger-shaped bruises, his words always dripped with threats. It had been months since Rowan had simply existed in a room with someone like this. Without the fear of being recognized, and hunted, and hurt. Even when he originally met up with Citra in Endura, Scythe Curie seemed more than happy to finish where Goddard had started and, in a twisted way, she had.
The sense of calm felt so foreign to Rowan. Every moment after Citra had been ordained a Scythe was spent looking over his shoulder, praying that the Thundercloud or a well-meaning civilian didn’t report him to the Blade Guard. The weeks spent as Goddard’s captive were infinitely worse. Scythe Rand turned off his pain nanites after he pounded Tyger a little too hard in a sparring match, and Goddard wasn’t in a hurry to turn them back on once he took over his former best friend.
Rowan gave in involuntary shiver. He didn’t know if it was from the ocean leaching warmth from the room or his own memories. Rowan shifted his gaze back to Citra. How many times had he wished that he was with her in his months of solitude? How many restless nights spent dreaming of her rescuing him from Goddard? He should be over the moon with joy!
Then why did it feel so empty?
Rowan felt cold. Not the chill of the seawater ebbing through the concrete ground, but the bone-deep chill of loneliness and he didn’t know why. Citra was so close he could have leaned over and tapped her shoulder . So why did he feel further from her than ever?
Suddenly, the silence of the room became overwhelming.
Say something damnit, he thought, though he wasn’t sure if he meant himself or Citra. Which was worse? Citra thinking that something was wrong, that despite all his efforts, Rowan had broken ? Or that Citra either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. No. Citra had risked everything for him, but what if she was gone? What if all that remained under that teal hood was Scythe Anastasia?
Rowan began to shake harder. Don’t you dare cry. Crying only made things worse. Goddard had taken great pleasure in beating that into Rowan’s head. He felt the walls pressing in on him, the silence reverberating in his skull like a tonist bell or tuning fork– or whatever the hell they used– and Citra was right there and-
“Penny for your thoughts?” Citra asked, eyes still on Scythe Cleopatra’s robe.
Rowan jumped.
Citra looked up and gave a small chuckle, “Spit it out, I can feel your eyes on me.”
“Umm,” Rowan shot his gaze down from her eyes, not wanting her to see the tears brimming in them. “Your hands are shaking,” he pointed out dumbly. Way to go, idiot.
She blinked at him and looked down at her hands. “Yes,” she said slowly, “They are.”
“So…you’re cold?”
Citra just blinked at him a moment.
Rowan felt his stomach twist. Please don’t hate me, please make it stop, please-
Rowan’s thoughts were interrupted by laughter. He looked back up again and Citra was covering her mouth with one hand, eyes filled with amusement.
“What-”
“Rowan,” Citra started, trying to quell her laughter, “If you wanted to sit next to me you could have just asked. ”
Rowan felt the heat rise up in his cheeks.
Citra gave a final laugh before grabbing all the robes she was bundled up in, and plopping herself down right next to Rowan so that their shoulders were touching. She opened her mouth to say something, but he didn’t hear a word. All he could focus on was Citra’s arm against his. Was she sick? Her arm felt like it was made of hot embers, burning into his own skin. The feeling was even more encompassing than the silence that had preceded it. Scythe Goddard himself could have appeared and declared himself Head Grandslayer, and Rowan wouldn’t have noticed.
He leaned slightly into Citra’s warmth, hoping she wouldn’t mind, he’d been so cold in the months prior. He could have stayed like that until he breathed his final breath and turned deadish in what was essentially cold storage, until the warmth at his side abruptly vanished.
Rowan gave a gasp of what almost sounded like pain. He thought he could hear someone, but the sound was far off and muddled.
Leave me alone
come back please, I need you
They sounded concerned, almost on the verge of panic.
Let me die in peace
don’t let me wither away alone
“-wen, Rowen, Rowen! Can you hear me?” Citra .
Rowan tried to open his heavy eyelids, but he could only squint in the light. When did he close his eyes?
“Hmm?” He looked over at Citra, her expression was one of worry and alarm.
“Rowan, you’re crying, are you alright?”
Huh, he hadn’t felt the tears start, but now that she mentioned them he could feel the tracks roll down his face.
“I’m sorry for sitting next to you if that’s what it is. I should have asked first, I can move-” Citra started to move away more, but he caught her sleeve.
“It’s fine,” he said hurriedly, “I mean, if you’re fine, I’m fine-”
Citra took his hands into her own. “Rowen, you need to breathe.”
Her hands feel nice, he thought through the haze that covered his senses. Rowan let his heavy eyelids slip shut again, his body still shaking with silent tears.
“Rowan, please ,” Citra was pleading with him now.
I’ll be fine in a minute,
I’ll never be whole
Suddenly, there was warmth on his cheek. Rowan fought to open his eyes and saw Citra wiping streams of tears from his face. Her hands were rough and covered in calluses, like his own. He imagined that every Scythe worth their salt hand’s were.
Goddard’s hands- when he was still whole instead of parading around in Tyger’s body- had been hardened by years of gleaning hundreds of souls. Now that he had Tyger’s body, the calluses weren’t as developed. It was an odd thing to notice, but he supposed that after being beaten to a pulp and made deadish every single day for weeks on end, one grew familiar with their attacker.
Rowan could feel himself slipping back into the waking nightmare of his own memories. Hearing the news of Faraday’s self-gleaning, his apprenticeship under Goddard, breaking Citra’s neck at Conclave and the praise Goddard gave him for it, months of lonely wandering, and the considerably worse weeks under Rand and Goddard’s “care”. Was he destined to live the rest of his life in misery? Even sitting next to the person he loved most, Rowan was alone.
His breathing was picking up again, it had all but stopped when Citra touched his face, but now it felt like his lungs could never hold enough oxygen. Were they going to suffocate because Rowan couldn’t pull his shit together? That would suck.
“Rowan,” her voice was firm, pulling him from his thoughts as if dragging him from a freezing pond.
“ Breathe .”
Citra pulled Rowan closer. So close, he could feel her chest rising and falling. The burning, fiery sensation filled him, as Citra was practically on top of him. Her breaths were deep and controlled. He tried to match her, but all that came out where stuttering wheezes.
He was suddenly seized with a new panic. Rowan had been made deadish many, many times before, but something about not being able to pull in enough air made the experience feel a lot more final .
“I don’t want to die.” he blurted. It was a stupid thing to say, and he knew it. Scythe Curie had specifically locked them in here so they could die.
“Not like this,” Citra assured, “Ready? Copy me, in,”
Rowan pulled in a half-shudder.
“ Out ,” Citra’s breath was warm on his neck.
“ In ,” The tips of her curls tickled his shoulder.
“ Out ,” Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he died in Citra’s arms, it was more than Rowan had ever dreamed of when Goddard had dragged him to Endura.
“ In ,” Although, he probably wanted to survive the next couple of minutes, if only to thank Citra.
————
Rowan Damisch and Citra Terranova sat in the middle of what was once the Hall of Relics and Futures, three feet closer than they were when they started.
Rowan still clung to Citra like a lifeline and, in a way, perhaps she was. He was in her arms, still shaking slightly. She was running her fingers through his hair. It felt nice. He didn’t know how long it had been, nor how long they had left.
“So,” he began.
“So,” Citra echoed back.
“This weather we’ve been getting is pretty great, right?”
Citra looked at his blank face and burst out into laughter. Rowan cracked a smile. Her laugh was beautiful, like wind chimes clinking in the breeze.
“What can I say? I’m a master of comedy!”
“No you are not you little-“
“-you know, I was thinking of pursuing a career in stand-up before Scythe Faraday showed up.”
“Oh please, does anybody actually go to see stand up anymore? You’d be living off the Thundercloud-“
“-Well maybe I would have brought it back. People from all over the world would flock to see it!”
“But then you wouldn’t have me ,” Citra teased
“Well, I’ve heard that professional partiers are pretty into comedy, if you know what I mean.” He gave her a sly smile as she stifled a giggle with her hand.
Citra took a moment to regain her composure before looking him dead in the eye. “Rowan Damisch, you are the most unfunny person I’ve ever met, and I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said to you.”
He gave an exaggerated gasp, not unlike the ones Citra was trying to get him to copy not that long ago. “What about when you told me you loved me?” He placed his hand over his chest and threw his head back in mock-anguish.
Please say you meant it, please say you meant it, pleasesayyoumeantit
Citra placed a finger to her chin and let out a fake sigh. “Well I suppose I meant that.” She grinned and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead.
Rowan blinked in surprise. He knew there was no one watching them and they could be as affectionate as they wanted, but it still took him off-guard.
Now it was Citra’s turn to smirk, “Oh no, did I give you cooties?” she leaned over and kissed him again. He looked up at her and smiled before leaning up and kissing her. Their lips met and Rowan briefly wondered if this was what mortal-age people meant when they described heaven. Perfect, untainted bliss.
When they finally pulled apart, Citra raised an eyebrow at him. “You know, we still have to talk about,” she gestured to the few remaining dried tears on Rowan’s face,”all that.”
Rowan shot her a wink, “Yeah, we’ll have all the time in the world for that after they revive us.”
Citra rolled her eyes and a grin worked its way onto her face. “You know, I’ve heard suffocation is a terrible way to go.”
“Oh?”
“Hypothermia feels just like falling asleep, or so I’m told.” Citra’s eyes twinkled as she shrugged her Scythe robe off
Rowan returned her grin, letting his own, borrowed, robe fall to the floor. “Ah, but wouldn’t that be a violation, Scythe Anastasia?” he teased.
“From what I’ve heard, everything we do is a violation.”