Epilogue | Part One
The gentle pattering of rain is the only sound in the too quiet, too empty study of my palace as I stare out of the window.
The hollowness in my chest is an all-pervading, all-consuming thing.
I haven’t moved from this spot in... days.
As though the depth of my centuries-long mourning has finally halted all natural processes.
A fine layer of dust has collected on my face by the time a servant—a disembodied shadow with a kind face—finally dares to coax me from my malaise.
I forget this one’s particular name. Violette would admonish me for such a transgression.
The realization cracks a whip of searing pain through my heart.
“Your Eminence..."
Unmoving, I continue to stare out at the rain.
A few moments pass before she steps into my line of vision, bowing and lowering her gaze. “Majesty?”
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
Followed by distant screams.
“Leave me.”
She lowers herself further, hesitating. “There’s an uprising…”
The word is dry with boredom. “Another?”
With her face directed at the floor I watch her brows knit together in confusion. “... Sire, the last uprising was twelve thousand years ago.”
Was it?
Other than the fact that Violette and Levi were still at mine and Azrael’s sides, in my current state, my mind can only recall a few details, and nothing remarkable.
At my silence, she continues to hover and I feel a tiny pinprick of annoyance.
“You may leave..." My words drift because I still can’t recall her name.
And fuck me, still she lingers.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but... the palace is under siege.”
I heave a long suffering sigh. “Very well.”
When I say nothing more and she finally realizes her efforts are an exercise in futility, she briefly dips lower before gliding away and disappearing through a bookcase.
Alone at?—
“I heard you were back... I almost didn’t believe it.”
My eyes shut at the sound of Azrael’s voice.
Fuck.
The padding sound of boots on carpet taunts my ears until he rounds the armchair with which I have become one.
He gives me a pitying look. “How the tables have turned.”
Despite the words, my voice holds no ire. “Fuck off.”
He gives me a flat look. “No.”
The only reply I can muster is a sigh.
The sounds of battle grow closer.
“Do you remember, before you bargained with Persephone to give you a body, how you returned to Akash’s womb?”
My mind drifts, drawn to the memory like smoke through a vent.
I remember it with perfect clarity.
“Vaguely.”
Tilting his head, he smirks, knowingly.
“Remind me again how you ended up coming back to the physical realms..."
The remembrance summons the burning herald of my tears.
For the first time since the apathetic phase of mourning began within the last...
however many dozens of anguish-filled years it’s been since Violette passed, shortly followed by Levi.
When neither of them were to be found in Ourinessa, Azrael and I showed up at the doorsteps of Mors’ temple in Avernus, demanding entry...
Only to discover, they’d already reincarnated.
Azrael’s expression softens as he watches two fat tears, one, swiftly followed by the other, leap from the lids of my eyes to plummet to their end.
When I don’t respond, he kneels in front of me, drawing my hand into his, thumb stroking encouragingly as he stares up at my face.
My mouth trembles.
His voice drops to a gentle murmur. “Tell me, brother..."
My throat works repeatedly to suppress the sob trying to crawl up it, hot with long-stifled emotion.
“Their souls?—”
My voice cracks and I have to take a deep breath to quell the rising tide in my chest.
Azrael smiles in anticipation as his own eyes glisten. “Go on, darling. Say it.”
My tongue slides against dry, cracked lips as I finally draw in a full breath for what feels like the first time. The tiniest fraction of strength begins to trickle back in as the memory replays in my mind’s eye. “... Called me back to them.”
A victorious tear streaks down Azrael’s cheek as his grin widens and the grip on my hand tightens. “They’re going to come back, Lazarus..."
He stands, willing Violette’s pin into his hand—the one she had Tempus give me. Us.
“Remember?”
My bones and muscles ache from disuse as I reach for it. Rotating the delicate thing until I can make out the fine script engraving its length.
Even in death...