Palimpsest

Part VI

There were, as there always are, bad days.

The worst of them were the result of dreams.

The little puppet slept often under her care, easily worn out by the day's stresses. Buer didn't know if it should have been possible; he didn't need the maintenance required by an organic being. She met his need for sleep with apprehension, unsure if it was the symptom of a greater issue that could detrimentally affect his physical health or something more benign. Physical health notwithstanding, with sleep came nightmares. His memories were insignificant in comparison to his dreams, obscenely vivid as they were in comparison to a fleeting moment of recollection.

The connection he held with Irminsul only served to magnify their strength. In moments when Buer traveled into his dreams, she was met with the crushing weight of betrayals that could fell lesser gods, forcing her to withdraw or awaken him lest she be lost to his buried emotions.

So deep was the depth of his despair that, when he woke, he was apparently unable to discern that she had entered his dreams at all despite her prompting. He didn't respond in words—he hadn't spoken once since waking—but the few times his expression fell into that terrible tapestry of remembrance told her all she needed to know. She stopped asking details about his dreams not long after that.

One night, after a long period of searching Irminsul for news of the Traveler's sister, she opened her eyes to find him standing before her. She could make out the line of his shoulders against the tiles of the Sanctuary of Surasthana, pointed upwards at the ends, telling her more than his barren gaze ever would. If it wasn't for his ruffled hair and half-lidded eyes, she would have never guessed he'd fallen asleep, probably stirred into consciousness by yet another nightmare.

She was briefly delighted by the sight, pleased by the idea that, even filled with fear, he thought of her and sought her comforting presence. Her elation was quickly quashed, pursued by the guilt that came from wanting him to depend on her.

"Bad dream?" she forced herself to ask.

That phrase seemed to shake him. His fixed stare trailed down to her feet, fingers seizing at his sides. The dream had been one of the harrowing ones, she guessed. When those came along, he could never meet her eyes for long. It didn't help, of course, that his eyelids dipped with exhaustion.

"I thought as much. I'll be back in just a moment." Buer walked past him, focus already directed toward finding something soft for him to lay on.

She was struck by his sudden vice-like grasp at her shoulder, yanked back with such force that she gasped. It was a sharp sound, shocking even against the low whistle of the Sanctuary. Spurred on by her confusion, she spun around to face the little puppet.

The horror on his face was palpable. He wrenched his hand away from her, shuddering as tears built in his eyes. Buer winced at the sudden motion, regretting it when she saw his shoulders sink, his mouth widening in fear.

In that moment, with a certainty she wasn't sure she could possess, she knew that tomorrow they would never again share the closeness she'd been permitted for the past few months.

It was hard, keeping the sorrow from showing as she forced herself to smile.

"It's alright," she promised. "You're alright."

Smoothing down her dress, Buer took a seat at the edge of the raised platform centered in the Sanctuary.

She patted the spot beside her.

He settled next to Buer, head limp and leaning on his own shoulder, careful not to touch her. Eyes closing, an oasis buried in sand, his hand sat a hair's breadth from hers.

Words fell from his lips as he drifted, strained and quivering.

"Don't... Leave..."

And Buer cried.

The little puppet fell asleep by her side, lulled into slumber by silent tears.

The next morning, Kunikuzushi awoke.