Immortals and Empires

Chapter 12: Subsequently

Error realises his mind hasn't been entirely his for some while. He does not receive this news kindly.

Dream's slowly seeing what he'd missed. He's getting closer to finding out the truth.

A/N I might stop with the A/Ns every chapter lol; I'm rly tired with formating everything in the chapter for each site bec of them working differently and the A/Ns make it worse since I have to copy from several places so, sorry, but I'll keep the summaries and trigger warnings. 

- - - - -

Error was watching Ink sleep. He wanted to think Ink was sleeping. It made it easier to swallow.

Ink lay comatose, chains locked around his limbs. Error kept glancing back to Ink's fingers. They remained still, unmoving.

His strings didn't twitch.

Is this what you wanted? Error had the answer in the blink of an eye; no. He would never want this.

Is this what you did?

Error was... less certain about answering that. His phalanges rose to adjust the rose slid behind his ear. Something settled over him, flickering weak yet undeniably there. Sharp, dull, and painful yet relief at acknowledgement all the same. Regret? Remorse? Grief? Past and present. If grief was the present, and love the root of grief, would that not make love the past?

Do I love him? Did I ever love him?

What does love mean?

A slightly stronger emotion began to stir, like a beast awaking from its cursed slumber. This was easier to name, hate. He let his hatred swirl, filling every crevice ever so sweetly.

But to whom, was this hate betrothed to? Who was the catalyst of this agonising comfort? Tahitian? No, it didn't feel right, much as he wanted it to. How cleanly the puzzle pieces would fit together! But unfortunately, no matter how much he wanted it to be true, he could not lie to himself. This hate was calling for someone else... Ink?

No, it wasn't Ink either. But then who? There was no one else...

Error realised who.

Past and present. In the past, Ink had betrayed him, or had come close anyway. In the present, Error had betrayed him.

The hate began to growl. His strings twitched.

This loathing he felt was not for Tahitian, nor was it for Ink. It was for himself.

Emotions clashed, somehow mirror images yet distinct opposites. One mourning, one loathing. One fueled by love, the other by hate.

His mind felt like syrup. Thick, heavy. His thoughts, cloudy, as his emotions fought.

He adjusted the rose.

His mind clouded even further, like glasses fogging up. Clarity gone, lost to the tides.

The question re-emerged. He still didn't have an answer. His jacket fell over Ink's unmoving form, like a blanket.

We did kiss, that night.

That meant nothing. That kiss was nothing, meant nothing. He shivered, itching for destruction. How delightful it would be—

(was it the right choice?)

His strings twitched in time with his fingers.

A long breath left him. Before he could rein them in, he lost control and the strings impulsively shot forward.

(his mind fought itself, a chaos indeed)

The strings flew and for a moment the movement was great relief to the Destroyer. Shredded, black petals fell to the ground.