08-27-2018, 02:09 PM
[size=9pt]The reality was that it was fucking impossible to love what death doesn't touch. You could run from it all you want. You could shelter your loved ones against the ruthless, hideous inevitablity of it all in hopes they'd be the one exception, but the Grim Reaper, or the Angel of Death, or Hades, or whoever the fuck it was you worshipped in the name of flat-lining hearts-- they don't care. They're not gonna' reconsider once they hear your sobs. They're not gonna' hold back, no matter how hard you beg. And Moon's begged, before. Hasn't everyone? It doesn't work.
He's angry when he sees Margaery. He's seen corpses before and he's loved corpses before, but a foolish part of him thought that, here, in the land of endless plains and relentless fields of flowers, he'd escaped it. No one here died. Except they did. There was a dead one in front of him, now, and the same fucking flowers were all around her. He was an idiot to think it'd end in any other way. That it'd all last.
Harland's voice is what snaps him out of it all. He sees the kitten curl up at her side, and with his broken, coarse pleads comes a surge of something that's drives up Moon's throat and wraps its ugly fingers around his windpipe -- and he doesn't know why Margaery mattered to him, why the short space of time they spent together made him feel like he was somehow loved, but it had, and he doesn't know what to do about it-- so he sobs. A quiet, sharp noise from his mouth before he clamps his jaws shut and reaches out to Har, one paw shaky as he touches the kittens shoulder, a silent invitation to come to him, instead of the cooling vessel he lies beside. He doesn't know what to say, and he wracks his brain for something, but when he finally does, the words that come out are more warm than anything. No longer does he feel angry and frustrated and cheated. Instead, a teary laugh comes from his throat when he wipes his paw across his eyes, and he thinks, she deserves the well earned rest she'll get, up on cloud nine. "Stay sparkly, Fangs."
He's angry when he sees Margaery. He's seen corpses before and he's loved corpses before, but a foolish part of him thought that, here, in the land of endless plains and relentless fields of flowers, he'd escaped it. No one here died. Except they did. There was a dead one in front of him, now, and the same fucking flowers were all around her. He was an idiot to think it'd end in any other way. That it'd all last.
Harland's voice is what snaps him out of it all. He sees the kitten curl up at her side, and with his broken, coarse pleads comes a surge of something that's drives up Moon's throat and wraps its ugly fingers around his windpipe -- and he doesn't know why Margaery mattered to him, why the short space of time they spent together made him feel like he was somehow loved, but it had, and he doesn't know what to do about it-- so he sobs. A quiet, sharp noise from his mouth before he clamps his jaws shut and reaches out to Har, one paw shaky as he touches the kittens shoulder, a silent invitation to come to him, instead of the cooling vessel he lies beside. He doesn't know what to say, and he wracks his brain for something, but when he finally does, the words that come out are more warm than anything. No longer does he feel angry and frustrated and cheated. Instead, a teary laugh comes from his throat when he wipes his paw across his eyes, and he thinks, she deserves the well earned rest she'll get, up on cloud nine. "Stay sparkly, Fangs."
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; height: auto; text-align: center; font-family: ; font-size: 9pt; color: COLOR; letter-spacing: -.5px;"][i][b]and die like a hero going home.[glow=black,2,300]