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PART ONE: THE MINOR FALL
laura lee dies and she takes your heart with her.
she burns up quicker than you can process it. she burns up like a solar flare. (you always did compare her to the sun, but you meant it in terms of radiance, in terms of warmth. you didn't mean it like this .) instinctually, you stagger into the chilly waters of the lake, a scream tearing its way out of your throat. take me with you , you think, like you could make her hear you by sheer force of will alone, like you could follow her into the sky and the fire. you can't say it, though, you can't form any words at all. all you can do is scream and scream, until your throat is raw and red and someone has to come and pull you out of the water. (you can't remember who it is, later on. you also don't care, and you didn't back then, either. all you remember is you didn't want to go with whichever teammate was sent to fetch you, you didn't want to leave laura lee.)
everything feels so empty without her. each breath you take feels shaky and hollow. she was the one who supported you, who believed in you, who gave you something worth devoting your twisted soul to. and now she's gone and its like you're going through the motions, its like you're a broken wind-up toy staggering through its last cycle. except you have a feeling it won't be so simple, because nothing is, out here in the wild. because the future is pressing itself against the back of your mind like a dog with a bird carcass whining at your door, and you know this world is not done with you yet. if you have nothing left to give it, it will simply take control of your shattered husk and carry on like that. (you wonder, briefly, if it would let you go even if you were to die. would it leave you be or would it animate your corpse, make you the vessel for all its distorted divinity? you push the thought aside, and refuse to give it any more time, at least during waking hours. it still creeps into your sleep-addled, depraved musings.)
you never asked to be chosen by the wilderness, but then again, when it comes to godhood, choice has little to do with it.
doomcoming reignites your adrenaline - its not enough to resurrect your shattered heart, but it's something, at least. you wear one of laura lee's dresses, cocoon yourself in the soft white fabric and try to pretend its one of her fierce hugs. she would have looked so pretty in it, you know, and now she'll never get the chance to. so you wear it for her, and you propose a toast in her name. you will not let her memory fade, not ever. you will not leave the love you have for her unspoken.
drunk on berry wine and power, and the terrible promise of sustenance and sacrifice (they will always go hand in hand, won't they?) to come, you don a crown of antlers. it fits so right on you, but it doesn't change the ache in the hollow of your ribs. it doesn't change the fact that you're half a set of twin flames and your match has been extinguished. you don the crown of antlers, but you cannot stop thinking about the fact that there should be a matching set perched halo-like atop laura lee's pretty blonde head. you cannot stop thinking about the fact that a prophet should not be without her preacher.
