𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 [𝚐.𝚒 𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚡 𝚐𝚗!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛]

X

Being dragged along a jagged dirt path by someone significantly shorter than you was strange, especially since that person was a god in disguise who spent his days drinking away the bad memories. He wasn't as eager as when he fist slipped his arm through the crook of your elbow to walk side by side the way lovers do, but his energy was still a great match for you, who had just got done crying an embarrassing amount and was holding a heavy, delicate parcel.

He babbled incessantly about how nice the wind was today, ironic since he was the one doing it, and how excited he was to get back to his home city after so long away. You were tempted to call him out on his bullshit but saw no need too and instead nodded with a customer service smile on your face until the two of you lapped into silence.

Truly you weren't annoyed by him, you just didn't have the energy to deal with his brighter personality. He was one of your favorites, his story being compelling and his ideals being something you could get behind. But right now you wanted to crash on your new bed and think about how you were going to arrange the beautiful frames that you received, even though you didn't have any pictures.

The quietness of the walk now that Venti had calmed down and stopped pulling on your arm, seemingly no longer in a hurry, was nice.

And it was gone in two seconds.

"So," the bard piped up, his voice no less peppy than it was a few minutes ago. "Has there been any good poetry since I've been? Have the bards been holding up Mond's good name?"

You smirked. "I don't know, how long have you been gone?" You glanced at his face to see a twinkle in his eyes, once you couldn't discern the meaning of. "Kidding. I don't follow many of the performances."

"No love for poetry or song?" He bumped his hip against yours, a teasing look on his face.

"No I do, I've just been focused on other things recently."

"So what do you enjoy?"

Though poetry was never your 'thing', you did have a few poets you liked back on Earth. Venti was gonna push if you were vague, and as one who's probably been keeping up with all forms of art for the past 4000 years or so, 'oh just a couple authors here and there' was not gonna cut it.

"Oh I- well I like this one poem that I'm really fond of, it's one of my favorites."

Venti giggled, squeezing your arm. "Well don't just leave me hanging! What is it?"

"It's called uh- Death of a Young Woman."

"Hm." Venti hummed. He tapped his chin with his pointer finger, deep in thought. "I haven't heard that one. Will you tell it to me?"

Yeah because it's by someone who doesn't fucking exist here. You think, but out loud you say, "Yeah my mom wrote it." No she didn't. "She liked writing poetry but she never published anything, liked to keep it to herself ya know?. It goes-

She died on a hot day. In a way

Nothing was different. The stretched white

Sheet of her skin tightened no further.

She was fragile as a yacht before,

Floating so still on the blue day's length,

That one would not know when the breath

Blew out and the sail finally slackened.

Our conversations were silent.

The difference was that I'm her house

The people were broken by her loss.

He wept for her and for the hard tasks

He had lovingly done, for the short,