blood must shed for time to reset

chapter 10

( what if we are what we are because of our history. And what if all we will become is our cruel future. Our fated demise, printed in the blood and your stars. )

DEAR... MARAUDERS?,

    Remus: I appreciate you not thinking any differently of me. In truth, I wouldn't blame you if you did. I feel I am constantly changing, better or worse, and I suppose that if I am, everyone else must be too. We're just a product of our enviroment, mixed with emotions and flesh, and I think that is beautiful. To be partly made up of our lifes experiences. We hold the bad as we hold the good, and I can only hope that with it I can, someday, create something worthy. I'd really like that.

   Both me and Regulus are safe! We'll see about the freedom, I've never had much of it so I'm not sure how I'll cope.

   James: Regulus and I will, still, be attending your party for you're right, an assassin does need a break. As long as you smother the place in protection spells, we should be good. If not.... eh, let's not dwell on the negatives.

   Sirius: I don't know what me and Regulus are. I don't think I ever have. Whatever we hold between us isn't ordinary, but nor is it anything different to the rest of the 'love stories' out there. I was able to decipher your words, and I must say — impressive F! It's incredible, I want to frame it on my wall. Who knew such a renagade could write to perfection!

   Peter: I, personally, trust divination alot — i've been surrounded by seers, banshees, fortune tellers, etc my whole life. I even encountered a gorgon once. But you can wing the subject without studying. Research the basic techniques, always predict something will happen with your given results and, mostly, link it to what you see infront of you. It's faint and dilute: the colours foresee lightness. Dark with obsidian: you're a bad omen.

   You and Mary are well-suited, you're both sarcastic and head-strong which gives for an intense relationship. Fuck whoever says opposites attract, you attract whoever you want.

   — Circe.

☀︎

   —FOR THE WEEK AFTER,
Circe was a monsoon. Her salty tears of rain drowned the home, causing an internal flood of emotions and heartbreak. It was poignant to Regulus, who could only watch her break and then fix, merely to break again. Seven days he spent swimming through the channels of her grief, and Circe, well she just tried to keep afloat — to not drown in the sorrow.

  Something had changed between them, a slight shift only the most vigilant could pinpoint. It wasn't bad, it wasn't good, it was just adaptation. Their souls had moved, Circe's more empty than ever before, and whilst the pair were quiet... sombre with each other, their souls couldn't of been any closer.

   Clawing and sinking and burning and crying, and any word out there that conveyed a desperate approach, into the other. They were becoming one, statically.

   Regulus' didn't mind how empty his counterpart was. He had enough in him to substitute the slice that Mateo had purloined.

     Remus had been right in the letter; Circe was no longer an assassin, and Regulus was no longer a dead man. Yeah, it seemed his demise had been put on hold. But that was a miniscule change, because really, the Black was never going to die. Not by Circe's undoing at least, they were far too deep within the others heart to ever call upon decease.

     It deemed scary to look in the mirror and face someone new, not a stranger, just a fresh face full of hope and tranquility. The future was no longer a desire, a daydream as the sun woke, it was reality. They weren't running on borrowed time, they were weaving time with their bare hands, creating pottery out of their future and framing it for the world inside their home to see.