𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 | 𝐔.

𝐕𝐈𝐈|𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

"And I know it's true."

"Visions are seldom what they seem."
___________________

"My sweet." Kind, pastel blue eyes cried, hands clad in white satin stained with blood.

"When you think of me, do you think of Heaven?" Her voice, soft—tender, even when wavering as her cracked lips parted with each syllable.

The man in her arms breathed raggedly, taking in uneven intakes of breath as his head rested on her chest—his face bloodied and injured, his hands weakly grasping the woman, as if holding onto a thread; his thread of life.

The woman was making an attempt to distract him from the pain, her hands holding him close to her bloodied dress.

"My pastor told me this morning, 'When one leaves, all they take is their memories.' So, my darling, I want to take mine.. of you.. with me." She softly smiled, though it faltered when the man let out a strangled whine of pain when he attempted to shift on her lap.

She was the only woman who embraced his eccentricity, the only being who protected him from the maltreatment of polite society.

The only woman who truly loved him.

With dull eyes, he weakly gazed up at her face. She was the epitome of beauty, a rare gem—and she loved him, an outcast. He softened, melting in her embrace, her warmth.

His arms remained snaked around her lithe waist, tugging her closer whilst he kept his cheek pressed against her chest—his cold breath tickling the small bits of revealed skin.

With a weak, raspy voice, he mustered, "Darling," He murmured endearingly as quietly as a prayer—as a mantra. "heaven be damned. When— If you are to leave, you'll be taking a part of my heart with you too. Regardless of or no memory."

Her damp lashes fluttered as her eyes flickered across the injuries littered on his body, watching the lacerations slowly close, his skin regenerating.

She was aware that after his disappearance of three years, he returned with that of immortal blood. Yet she loved him all the same.

"Pardon me, my sweet.." She cradled his face, leaning her head down to press a light kiss on his eyelid after his eyes fluttered shut—her warm breath contrasting his, a breath full of life.

"I'm afraid, that someday.. when you leave once more, you will be taking my entire heart." Her hand raised from his previously injured shoulder, stained with his blood.

Her eyes continued to cry, her beating heart aching at the notion of her darling's cries of pain when he was assaulted.

"Do not speak of that." His voice came out tight with a thread of emotion. The thought of her inevitable departure, her mortality compared to his immortal existence, was like acid in his gut.

He nuzzled against her chest, seeking a proximity that seemed like he wanted—no, needed—to merge with her very being, his breath cold against her skin, uneven and ragged.

"Do not speak of that, my darling," He repeated, his hands gaining their strength while his body healed, his grip on her tightening. ".. Not right now."