revival ,*

[heather eiríksson]

Silence. It drove her wild, the wind whipping about her but no sound to be heard. It should have been screaming out here, but there was nothing. Nothing but the crunch of the ice between her boots, the burning of a tear on her cheek, the glove rustling in her pocket. Another sob forced it's way out her throat, her legs shaking and sore as she gazed upward for a moment. Why on earth was god being so cruel to her? After all they had, there was still something more he would have been to her, and it killed her to not be able to have that.

A familiar sign guided her down the lanes. Though covered in snow she knew this way by heart. She could probably walk here in her sleep if she had to. Quint Reed's house was only a few streets away, but Heather was already frightened of the fact that she might not make it. She was overwhelmed, too much regret and sorrow flickering in her system to be able to think clearly. She knew her vision was clouded as well, tears streaking down her cheek at an alarming rate. If someone passed her she knew she would be in for it the next day. "Did you see the heritage girl yesterday? She's been unraveling for way too long. Maybe she finally snapped? How long do you think she'll last before she..." The thoughts rolled effortlessly in her head, driving her to hysterics.

She tossed her glove to the ground and pressed her cool fingers against her face, a gasp flying from her lips as the frozen tips brushed against her skin. She needed the pain. As much as it hurt, she at least she knew she was alive. And though she didn't feel it at this moment, she was still there, still breathing, living, and completely wounded. But she still stood in Eventide. And that was really all that seemed to matter anymore.

---

Another leaf perched on her shoulder as she glared up the ladder. He knew she wasn't the biggest fan of leaves, but that had never stopped him. As long as he apologized, she forgave him....for anything. Her eyes flew to his, her tongue sticking out as if she were a child again. A sheepish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth and she felt herself grin in response. She gazed as he jumped back to the ground, his arms encircling her waist as he pulled her to him. She laughed aloud her lips pressing briefly against his before she met his eyes. There was something there, something calculating. And before she knew it he had pulled her in to the pile of leaves they had spent all morning creating.

When she finally managed to surface she was ready to yell at him, her hair covered in dirt and leaves sticking to her everywhere. But he was howling off to the side, rolling back and forth as he took in her expression, her reactions. And she forgot anything she was going to say to him. Because of him, she didn't care. Nothing else mattered...

---

The big oak door was in front of her when she finally came back in to focus. She had made it. Somehow, through her painful awakening and even more painful memories, she had ended up at his house. Her frozen fingers curled in to a fist as she knocked on the door, desperate to see him, to have him comfort her. She knew that her cousin and him couldn't bear to look at each other, that they would probably never get along, but she still loved him...in her own way. She could never love again, but Quint was as close as she could get. He was her best friend, and she knew that without him she would be off the edge, just as everyone would have predicted.

Quint's mother answered the door, the look on her face warm, but worry colored her features as she took Heather in. Her streaming tears, the way she had to lean against the doorway as a sob passed through her body, she knew she was a mess. She had always somehow gotten along with his mom, even with the rivalry between herself and her daughter. There was some understanding between them, his mother knowing the full extent of how deep their friendship ran. Though she always seemed a bit on edge, Heather was always welcomed. And right now, she needed to be welcomed.

Her eyes darted to the hallway, searching for him. "Quint," she managed to stutter, her words as shaky as her frame. She couldn't bear this for much longer.

"I need Quint."

TAGGED FOR QUINT.

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[quint reed]

Quint tossed the ball into the air, watching listlessly as it fell back into the cusp of his palm. Lying on his bed, he stared pensively at the bleak ceiling. Tucking his left arm behind his head, he sighed. He threw the ball again, listening for the soft hush of air as it fell down again. This time he kept it still and curled his fingers tightly around its encasing. With knuckles white, he turned over to face the austere landscape outside his window. It had started snowing again – the soft flurries whirling against his window in ire. He had always regarded his bedroom window as the best view in the house. It framed a picturesque view of the edge of the Kvöld Valley - those hills now lay blanketed in a frozen sheet of white. But during late spring and summer, they bloomed alive in vibrant hues of emerald, rouge, and saffron. The glow from his desk lamp warmed the frosty panes of glass. But as he stared at his dim reflection within the warmth of his room, he felt only an icy sting pluck his bones as one word fled to his mind.

Hanna.

Of course it would be Hanna. He had so desperately tried to rid her from his mind, she was bound to escape his confines and reach to him again. Bitterness ran rank in his aching limbs. How many times had he watched her gaze out that window, to the wild expanse of the valley? Her ice green eyes dancing in the excitement of the idea of what secrets lay out there. Personally, Quint never cared about whatever else might be out there. He always viewed it as some myth the Heritage families had made up to not only explain their abilities, but also to give their families another boost up the power ladder. But how its magic worked on Hanna – he had always loved that delight in her eyes, and the curve of her lilting smile. Sometimes though, he had worried how much she had loved those stories. Some days – like the blustery one today, Quint believed perhaps more than the people in her life. More than him.

He gripped his fingers around the ball tighter, as the seams squeaked in protest. Hanna's face suddenly flashed before his eyes. The soft curves of her cheekbones, the brilliant shade of green reflecting in her eyes, the rosy flush of her lips, and the honeyed complexion of her smooth skin. Her delicate mouth lifted in a slow, soft smile and then it became too much for Quint. Fluidly, he lifted himself up and threw the ball in his open desk drawer with impending furor. The force of the ball drove the drawer closed and rocked the desk back against the wall. A container of pencils fell and scattered to the floor. His desk lamp flickered for a moment but then remained steady.

Leaning his body back against the wall, his arms crossed angrily across his chest, he breathed heavily through his nose. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He saw nothing beneath his eyelids, only a black vastness. His breathing slowed as he was relieved that the bitter memories of Hanna had sunk back to where Quint believed they belonged. Into that black vastness.

He remained there for a few more moments until he heard his mother's voice resounding past his closed door. "Quint! She's here!" With a confused brow, he hesitantly opened his door. Walking down the short corridor to the living room, he began to wonder. She's here. It nearly sounded prophetic. Without meaning to, his mind raced to the possibilities. His sister? There definitely wouldn't have been this sort of entrance if she had come home. Who had he been expecting? He thought of all the girls he knew – the few that would ever visit him at his home rather. Finley? He gritted his teeth – he hoped not. If Finley Eiríksson was standing in the room when he got there, he would turn right back around. If she was here, there was something very wrong with the world. And then his heart began pumping beneath his chest. Pulsating and pounding in his veins, resounding in deep echoes of his ears. His nerves were sent afire, and his hands trembled in the vast trepidation of a possibility.

Of the possibility that it could be Hanna.

Rounding the corner to the living room, he realized what failed hope it had been to ever think it would be her. It was instead, Heather Eiríksson standing before him, her countenance awry from her typical confident demeanor. It hadn't been who he had thought, or who he had so strongly longed for.

But it had been the first time that Quint ever truly noticed the color of her eyes.

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[heather eiríksson]

Too much time. Every second that passed by she grew a little more frantic, a little less rational. She didn't know how she had lasted so long, how she had made it from the frosty snow to the doorway. She didn't even remember the painful cold. All she could recall were the leaves, the ladder, the warmth their parted mouths created. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned against the doorway. Jeremy had somehow kept her alive again, his memory still strong enough for her to carry on. Even if it killed her, he kept her going. It was for her best, it had to be. But right now, she didn't know what the best was anymore.

A shallow breath blew from her lips as a deadly chill ran through her body. The cool air still caused her fingertips to pulse, and her eyes still ran steadily with tears, some from the cold and many from her emotional state. Her mind reeled, attempting to find the thought process that had led her here. There wasn't one. Just the fact that she had to get out of her home and that she had to find someone to save her from the shattering state she had been reduced to. She could have easily walked the few houses to her cousin's house, all of them automatically at her side and calming her down. But she hadn't even attempted to see them. Her blank mind had sent her across icy roads, billowing snow piles and even chillier winds. For her, there had only been one place to go. And as another sob blew through her she knew she had little time left. She lifted her eyelids and focused on the silent room. Seconds left if she was lucky.

Footsteps sounded from the hallway, her focus shifting to it and leaving everything else behind. If she could just not allow herself to think, if the constant buzzing inside her head would stop, she would stay alive. She wondered for one brief second if it was possible to die because of this much internal pain. No, she thought, her eyes wavering to the hall again. She couldn't think. It was the only way. Again the clock started counting down. Her mind filled with thoughts again. It was all too much...too much. Her knees buckled and her back fell against the door, a moan escaping her lips as tears slipped mercilessly down her cheeks. She was so far gone. A few inches more and she was history.

Again, someone was there to save her life.

Quint rounded the corner, a look of pure curiosity and hope coloring his features. His eyes dulled when he saw her, and she could feel a sorrow so powerful that it tore through her, destroyed her more than she ever thought possible. He had saved her for that split second, but now she was losing it again. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. She just stared wide-eyed and terrified at him as he gazed at her. It was as if he were studying her, the way she was acting, her crumpled form, her tear streaked eyes. She realized that he had never seen her like this before. Not even something remotely close. She had always been so good at keeping her calm and steely disposition around others that weren't her family, but she knew that was over now. Around him, she was as safe as she was with her family.

She pushed herself away from the wall, her steps slow and measured as she made sure she could hold herself up and make it across the floor. She hadn't been this unpredictable since....she couldn't even think it. She knew what it would do to her. She was vulnerable enough already, anything else would surely drown her even more. Her fingers laced with his as she continued down the hallway, pulling him softly along as she headed toward his room. She didn't say a word in fear of another sob passing through her. She just wanted comfort and someone to tell her that everything was alright. That she was going to get through this. That she would be fine someday. And though she knew he would never promise her this, he could at least promise that he would always be there. That would be enough.

She pulled him in, turning around to press the door shut with a soft click. When she was finally able to meet his eyes, she internally collapsed. Everything calm about her broke, shattered in her heart as tears cascaded down her cheeks. Her arms drew around his neck, her head buried in his shoulder as sobs passed again and again. She closed her eyes and with each shaky breath she broke down. Through all of this mess a realization somehow made its way to her.

Her mind had gone perfectly silent.

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[quint reed]

An unsettling hush had settled over the entirety of the room. He could hear the faint sound of dishes clinking from the closed kitchen door, where his mother was. He stared back at the strange form of Heather's, his entire frame beheld by bewilderment. She was slouched against the door, her entire appearance limp and broken down. Slowly, she gazed up to him through her dark lashes and Quint felt his own breath stagger along the contours of his parted mouth. The gallant confidence that was usually reflected in her eyes - was gone. An immense sadness was kept there now, devouring her entire being.

It was only another moment until Heather had grabbed his hand, and was pulling him to his bedroom door once more. That intrepid action gave him hope alone that she wasn't gone from him yet. That she could still be brought back.

Before his mind could wrap around any thought, he was pulled into his bedroom with Heather's back suddenly facing him. As the door closed with a quiet click, he immediately felt everything closing in around him. He watched with an erratically beating heart, the slender curves of Heather's shoulders rise and fall with each torn gasp. Her breath scraped against her throat as she struggled to remain composed. But Quint could readily see that the thread that was keeping her whole was continuing to unravel against all her efforts. Finally, she turned to face him. When their eyes connected, the seam was tugged open at last. And the tears that he had never seen shed once on her smooth face were falling in gentle streams down her flushed, undefiled cheeks. Instantly, she had her arms thrown around his neck and her head buried in the curve of his shoulder as each sob wracked her frail frame.

Quint's mind was reeling. He didn't know who this girl was, draped with defeating sobs against his body. Heather Eiríksson would have reached his door before he could have even gotten to the doorknob, and demanded that he come with her on some excursion that would have no doubt had him in trouble with the local officials. But as he hesitantly smoothed her hair back, he began to realize that who he was holding really wasn't that girl. She was a stranger in his arms.

"Heather…Heather…" he cooed, tangling his fingers through her golden-blonde hair. He wasn't really sure how to act around her. This was a completely new experience – for both of them it seemed. And somehow, Quint didn't mind. He felt a warmth spread through his body at the thought of taking care of someone besides himself for a change. He had also forgotten how nice it felt to have another person's body pressed against his own. The weight of their frame, and their emotions mingling against his own. But the cold feel of Heather's tears soaking into his shirt reminded him that something was amiss. He tilted his head down towards her, and reached beneath to cup her face against his warm palm. He gently lifted her face towards his, but she averted her eyes. "Heather, it's going to be alright. Whatever it is. It'll be alright." Even now, with so many things gone wrong in his life, Quint couldn't help but express a blind hope for others. He found no point in his own life's outlook, but he would keep that undying and unyielding promise for everyone else.

He gently steered her towards his bed, and set them both down softly on the thick comforter. She still kept her head down, her hair creating a curtain to hide her face. Peeking underneath, he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and asked in a hushed murmur, "What happened Heather? What has happened to you?"

He had feared so many answers in his life. From the truth to Hanna's disappearance, to so many of Finley's decisions and actions, he hadn't been sure he had wanted to know the answer. But somehow, in some disconcerting way – ]he feared this one the most.

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[heather eiríksson]

The pain threatened to suffocate her. Every breath she drew in was sharp, unstable. She couldn't feel, couldn't speak, couldn't even look up. She had been taught to stay emotionless, to keep silent and still and evade questions so people would never know. But it was different now. The emotions no longer existed. She was void of anything but tears and the searing pain every time air choked up her throat. She'd been hollowed out, left for complete destruction. But the only one that could destroy her would be herself. And it seemed like that time had come.

"I love you, Heather Eiríksson. And I don't think anyone could change that."

Her gaze wandered aimlessly, settling first on Quint's wall, on the cabinets, on his floor. Words streamed through her head, memories of what had been, and what could never be again. She still hadn't given up on the hope that she would be rescued, somehow saved from this misery. But now, as another course of tears streamed down her cheeks, she knew the hope was dimming. She couldn't grasp what to live for now. She had been so set on surviving the years past the funeral, past her breakdown, that there had just been the blind hope that things would somehow go back to normal. But love had cost her so much more than she had ever thought, and it was doing her in. She had held on to love, but now she was sure she would die because of it.

"We've got all the time in the world for change. I just want to be right here, with you. That's all I need."

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She didn't notice that she was sitting down until her eyes focused. Her head was still nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her hair still shielding her eyes from his. She couldn't bear to look at anyone right now. She knew it would only cause her to hurt more. And that couldn't be an option. Not when she was so close to breaking she couldn't find anything to save her anymore. Nothing but the boy sitting beside her, attempting to find a reason to why she was like this. She knew the reason, of course she did, but if she told him it would be the end. The secrets she had kept for so long resulting in her quick demise. It was all too easy to give up.

" Why can't you see it, Heather? You're the most important person to me right now. Without you, I don't know where I'd be. Please, just listen."

She wished she had listened. That she hadn't taken everything for granted like she always did. If she didn't, if she had just changed one thing...he could have still been alive. She would be happy, be completely content with everything and anything. But she hadn't, and he was gone.

"Heather, it's going to be alright. Whatever it is. It'll be alright."

She hadn’t registered Quint’s words before, but they surfaced in her mind, passed the memories that she had been living in for the past few minutes. A mirthless laugh rose from her lips. ”Nothing’s been alright for a while now, Quint…a year. That’s how long it’s been.” Her voice cracked with the last word, her lips refusing to say anything else. She knew she was going to spill something, a word or two that would shatter whatever barrier her parents had attempted to protect her. She didn’t need protection now. She just needed someone that would be there for her, no matter her past.

” I don’t see a future without you, Heather…”[/I]

She turned to face Quint, her eyes still downcast but her mind intent on telling the truth…as much of it as she could. ”A year…since the funeral, since I’ve been happy. You can see I’m falling apart. I’d been hoping things would get better…”

Her eyes finally rose to meet his.

”It’s been a year since I killed him, and nothing’s gotten better.”

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[quint reed]

Six years. For six years he had known, and been friends with Heather Eiríksson. For six years, he had been tugged along like a worn teddy-bear by her. Six years, she had always exuded strength. For six years, he had never seen her fall – until now.

He had always seen her confidant, and self-assured in her demeanor and position in life. She held no regard for the consequences of her actions – she looked to those later. She had never faltered, never found a trip in her step. It was what he had always valued in her – a rock in the increasing tides that swelled around him. Although at times, he wanted to possibly choke her – he still never let go of her. And her hold on him had never waned.

She had loved once – he remembered that now. Jeremy had been his name. Quint had been preoccupied with his own heart then to really follow closely to that relationship. He did remember Finley remarking to him that she had never seen her cousin quite so taken by someone. Thinking back, he wished he could have seen Heather like that. Just to have been able to see her with her defenses down, but without pain engulfing her. He hadn't realized how blinded from the world he had been by Hanna. A brief frown crossed his features – he had never thought of Hanna in that way. She had always been bathed in innocence and light in his mind, not malice.

And then – a deep, tangible sorrow sunk deep within his bones, crushing them beneath its weight. She, too, had lost her love. The boy had died – he couldn't remember on what premises, the details were hazy and vague in his mind. But he could see the image of Heather at his funeral, walking away from the church dressed in solemn black with her cousins linked on both arms and her eyes staring ahead with a deadened glare. That image had been burned ruthlessly into his mind.

These thoughts had all collided within mere moments of each other, only a single breath escaping in between. Heather's eyes still burned fervently into his. The various shades of pale green emblazoned in each fleck caught by the amber light of his room. How much they reminded him of Hanna's, and how he had never noticed. But that thought was brushed away with the swiftest of gestures. He could see that agony was ripping inside of her, tearing her supple flesh with its unforgiving claws. Her words rang soft echoes across his mind again, reverberating their wrenching impact into his quaking form. "A year…since the funeral, since I’ve been happy. You can see I’m falling apart. I’d been hoping things would get better…It’s been a year since I killed him, and nothing’s gotten better."

"Since I killed him."

He had been practicing keeping his ability in check that he hadn't even wondered why it hadn't stirred in the presence of such convoluting emotions. But with those words and the deafening crack of encased emotions that broke in the air – his ability was unleashed unwillingly. Each sensation was like a delicate unraveled thread that he unconsciously plucked and began to weave whole again. Or at least replace it with something that looked and felt like the real thing. It wasn't until Heather's rigid shoulders softened slightly did he finally recognize what was taking place. He stopped almost immediately. The waves of content that had been rolling slowly off Heather's figure, suddenly halted and shattered into pieces on the floor. She did not move, but her eyes widened in an unknown fear and despair as the full force of her pains began to engulf her. Realizing she would soon drown, Quint hastily picked up the pieces and smoothed them over as he placed a blanket of ease over her. She lulled quietly and serenely into peace. But still tears rolled gently down her face, her true emotions revealing themselves through each streak that staggered down each curve of her face.

This vulnerability, previously unseen to Quint, tenderly stroked the delicate strings of his heart. To see Heather, so exposed to the world – how great the longing to comfort her grew in him. Her dark lashes wet, she gazed to him waiting for an answer. This fragile creature he could not see capable of murder. Even the sure-hearted friend he had always known - no. For if Heather Eiríksson had committed murder Quint would lose his hold on her.

His brow knitted with deep concern, he raised his hand to cup the soft arch of her cheek in comfort. "No. You'll be alright. It will get better." He rubbed his thumb tenderly over the hollow of her cheek, as he took in her face – delicately breaking as time wore on. "I'll be here, I promise."

Then, without thinking of his actions but only understanding the powerful longing to hold her in his arms he pressed himself closer. He couldn't see the Heather he had been friends with for the past six years, only a girl who was broken.

Like a whispered touch on skin, he brushed his mouth against hers. And as they both so desperately clung to a fading hope, their lips pressed with sanguine promises to each other.

Promises to be broken.

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[heather eiríksson]

It would all be over in moments. She knew that much. The torturous pain, igniting in her heart, in her soul, burned brighter and brighter, incinerating everything and anything in its path. It was pointless to try to fight it, for she would be destroyed in the end. So she sat still, silently losing herself to the waves of unbearable misery. Only a matter of time before she lost her grip on who she was and lost herself to what she would become...if she survived this.

The past wavered in her gaze, spelled out every sentence, every tender moment spent with the one she loved. They were all being torn apart now, the sorrowful memories replacing them. The funeral, the draining days after. She remembered staring at the clock, watching a day waste away second by second as life passed without her. It wasn't like it needed her anymore anyway; she was dead.

Death, the committed promise to ending every feeling. The option danced briefly in her head, mingled with the other emotions to create the most potent answer. Die, and everything would be solved. Die, and she would be with him. If she did die, all of this would be over. No more sorrow, no pain. Everything would be numb and peaceful and just what she wanted.

But just like that, the idea vanished within the shift of a gaze.

And for seconds, she was blissfully comfortable. Not happy or miserable, but content. As if she was feeling what she should be instead of being stuck in the past. Then, a deafening shatter sounded in her head, a product of her imagination as the powerful emotions unleashed themselves one more, the terror wide in her eyes and the sobs continuing to fall into the air, louder with every second. But it was only for a second.

Again, she was calm. The tears still stroked down her cheeks, lingering there until the pads of her fingers wiped them away, but the emotion behind them was muted, controlled. Her curious eyes darted to Quint, the hint of a smile on her lips as a silent thank you. It was all she could manage. She didn't know what would happen if she attempted to speak. It would all probably crumble then, the emotions she tried so hard to suppress unleashed just for her own personal hell. She wouldn't last long at all until she was nothing more than a person with a dead soul. Or a person that was just dead...

Quint's fingers would lightly around her cheek, her eyes reaching to meet his. "No. You'll be alright. It will get better." He seemed so set on the fact that she couldn't argue it, her gaze instead lowering to her hands, clasped together tightly on her lap. She unwound her fingers, focusing on them as his thumb stroked against the arc of her cheekbone. "I'll be here, I promise."A blush settled lightly on her complexion then, her vision blurred for a second before her focus returned. Heather blinked a few times, the reaction puzzling her. That had never happened before, and she had known Quint for six years. Six years in which he had never seen her fall, or let her emotions take the best of her.

Without warning, sparks built in her hand, her fingers flaring as she stared with ease. It was simple now, creating electricity out of nothing and being able to control it. Absolutely nothing. Her gaze remained trained on her hand, a sigh building in her throat and passing through her lips as she began to speak. " It was an accident. Too fast, impossible to stop. He's gone, Quint. He's gone. It's still all my fault. It always wi-"

Her words came to an abrupt halt, for Quint's lips hovered dangerously close to her own. Her gaze darted to him, the space that lingered between them closing by the second. The second their lips brushed, a sudden flare of desperation shot through her veins, feeling returning to her being as she wanted more, needed more.

Her arms wound tightly around him, desperate to feel more, to want more. Her lips pressed harder and harder against his, everything fading away as she lost herself. Time lost any meaning, the room frozen and her heart beating wildly in her chest, remembering what it had felt like. The passion, thought to be completely gone, had reignited within Quint's touch. And she couldn't get enough.

When she finally pulled away she was dazed, a lazy smirk tracing across her features as she kept herself close. Resting her head against his chest, she listened as his heart continued to beat just as rapidly as hers.

"I love you," she murmured into him.
And she meant it as much as she could.

ooc: this fails soo soo hard it makes me want to cry.

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[quint reed]

Fragile words sliced into the heavy air. The soft flesh of his lips still tingled from their kiss. ”I love you,” she had said. A breath passed laboriously across his teeth. ”I love you,” she had whispered. Her dark, wet lashes brushed against the arc of her cheekbones. ”I love you,” she had longed. His heart pounded a fist against the weave of his rib bones. He flicked his gaze up to hers. In the fragment of a moment’s pause, he tried to gauge to what she said as true. But the immense hope that swathed around her very figure was wrapping its tight embrace around his frame and he found he could not release its hold. Lithely, his lips found hers again. He closed his eyes tightly, as he pressed himself against her, their kiss deepening. He reached up and slipped his fingers through her flaxen hair. Her fingers pressed lightly into the skin of his arms. He held her closer as he sought to protect her. At last, their numb lips pulled away from each other. He gazed into her ice-green eyes with a softness in his own blue ones. Moving his hands to her shoulders, he felt himself press his lips against her forehead. From his mouth, he whispered the words “I love you,” in a tone so soft, it may have been lost even in the stillness of the room. He hadn’t been there for Hanna. He couldn’t be there for Finley. He would be there for Heather, even if it meant speaking words that bled.

A soft smile traced his lips, until he found he could no longer keep his gaze with Heather. Turning away, he rose and leaned against the frame of his window. What had he done? There she had been, tearful and scared, and all he had wanted was to help her. But emotions had gotten the best of him. They had engulfed him and he had ended up with his lips against hers. He had thought it would have somehow helped, being there for her. But she had needed a friend, not whatever this had become. He raised his arm against the frame and leaned his forehead against his forearm. A violet crocus bloomed against the wall outside his window. A rough wind tore at its delicate petals, and yet it refused to submit. Sighing, he turned away from the glass to look towards Heather. With her hair draped over one shoulder, she looked up to him, a strange battered look to her eyes. How far they had come, how far they had fallen.

He sat down next to her, his bed springs emitting out a groan as he settled. The room was silent except for their breathing. Heather had always been the stronger one in their friendship. But now he would carry her burden along with his own – so they would both stay above the rising tide.

Sitting there, side-by-side, with his left arm brushed against her right held a tenderness that their kiss hadn’t. The two of them, waiting for the future to come as the past continued to ensnare them both. “I’m here,” he promised softly into the placid air. Taking her hand into his, he felt her pulse against his palm. And as a friend, he lied – to save both of them.

“Everything will be alright.”

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[heather eiríksson]

There hadn't been enough. Enough time, enough memories, enough of fate to pull her through. Gone were the tender moments of caresses, the rolling tumble of everyday thoughts. In their wake lay something so devastatingly destructive she hated it, longed for the pain and wild abandon to take her away once and for all, do her in to what she had deserved long ago. Murder, she had wrote...and murder she would receive. One year had shattered her senseless, and she clung to what she knew to survive. Her friends, raw feeling....anything capable of pulling her forward. But now, as her bruised lips drew away from his own, she realized another crushing mistake. She had faltered, fallen in to emotional greed and the constant feel of being wanted. And suddenly, the relationship with her closest friend was even in the air.

Trembling lips sought her forehead, her eyes fluttering closed as he moved against her skin. "I love you," she felt, and that was enough. Relief flooded her body, released the vice grip held on her heart for so long. She hadn't felt this way in a long time, not through manipulation or on her own or in memories too far out of reach. The flicker of happiness existed for that brief moment, and the color in her eyes burst into life, the heat of her skin ignited. She was alive again....he had done it. Manipulative or not she had no clue, but the feelings woven across her skin, a coated drug against her senses, was intoxicating. Heather reveled in it for a few moments, drinking it in before it ebbed away. Ankles, wrists, the palm of her hand...it drew away slowly, her eyes catching his movement away from her, the blatant frustration in his stance. Her fingers brushed against her lips slowly. What had happened here? Did this mean anything, was it sympathy, was it more? She didn't know, sighing heavily and rocking against the bed as he caught her gaze by the window. His shadow reflected in the moonlight, the silvery light bathing her in even more confusion. Where did they go from here?

As he drew near she pulled her legs away from her chest, allowing them to touch gently against the hollow floors just as his skin touched her hollow soul. Their proximity was understandable, the sense of connection not so much. It was easier to be near him, touching him, relying on him, than it was to crush their lips together in a kiss. Maybe they were simply destined to save each other, kiss away the pain when no other option was available or the situation was dire. Her fingers shook delicately in his, her head falling against his shoulder once more. Like old friends, like forever, something to never be separated. "Everything will be alright" he whispered, and she broke in two to believe him. It took everything to believe a lie, even if she lived one.

"I know" Heather returned, gaze filtering to the moon-drenched landscapes outside. She'd lie too, to save them both. It was what they both needed, an escape from the past they had lived in for too long. Temporary, but still in existence. She gaze his palm a light squeeze, other hand tracing the tears off her face to hide what had transpired moments ago. Falling so far had its consequences, and she was thanking whatever God still existed that Quint was still with her, still breathing and surviving as best as he could. Just as she was. Heather slowly raised her head from his shoulder, gaze hesitant under hooded lashes. She didn't know what to say suddenly, words caught on her tongue before finally spilling over on impulse.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered. It's not enough.
She couldn't bear to finish speaking in fear of it all falling apart again. Just as it always had.

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[quint reed]

He stared at their entwined hands. Pale light painted the ridges of their knuckles, like some strange mountain range. The folds and creases of their stubborn fingers, unexplored. The blue bruises of veins that mapped across her hand flowed the same streams on his. They had followed the same path, and knew each bend in the road. And somehow they were here.

To love Heather was not something he could easily retrieve within himself. But he could learn. He could. If it meant feeling something other than the furled, knotted sadness that tightened his chest every day, then he would love her. He felt her weight against him. He rubbed circles onto her hand as they held onto one another.

- - - - -

He watched the indigo petals unfold like clasping hands. As if the bluebell had been a flickering flame, they released light into the night sky. It ebbed and flowed like some strange current of water. Fuchsia dripped into persimmon, and gave way to the swath of viridian. ”Isn’t it beautiful, Quint?”

He looked back down to the girl beside him, her long blonde hair falling down her back. The light of the sky allowed him to see just the brush of ice-green in her eyes.

“It really is, Hanna,”

[/color] Their hands still wavered around the bluebell she had bloomed. She never looked away from the sky though, her smile soft. This boundless wonder she held - that he could hardly contain within his grasp of Empathy, made his bones feel weightless.

”Do you think it’s true, what they say? About Leande?” He gazed at her for a moment longer before steering his eyes to the lights. ”Maybe. But I just enjoy the lights for itself. I don't think they need to be any more mysterious, and beautiful than they already are.” He took the flower in his one hand, and softly took Hanna’s pale hand between the thread of his fingers. She turned her head slightly, her eyes still transfixed, until she finally looked back at him.

Her gaze connecting with his, he felt a leap in the space between his chest and stomach. He felt as if his fingertips were on fire, as he became consciously aware of every beat of his heart, and every intake of breath. His emotions soon became a blanket that covered both of them. Her gaze widened, as she took notice of the sudden influx of a quivering atmosphere. “Quint? Is this you?” He nodded. ”Why are you so nervous?” He opened his mouth, only to swallow hard. ”This is how, how I feel when, when—“ he said, wondering why his tongue was suddenly as thick as rope. She smiled, the swell of lights playing over her figure. He leaned in, and pressed his lips to her soft mouth. Quint felt himself rise in such rapid feeling -- he hardly could remember how to gather all the threads of emotions back to him again.

She pulled back, opening her eyes as if waking from a slumbering dream. The words fell from her mouth in a sigh, ”I love you.”

- - - - -

"I’m sorry,”

The room was stagnant, heavy and stale on his skin. He watched Heather brush away tears. The soft lines of her face were burrowing holes into the thin weave of content he had tried to place over them. Her hand in his held only the cold, undeniable grief they shared. He knew he didn’t love her, as she didn’t love him. But there were no other roads for her, or for him.

”I know, I know,” He had never believed in Leande until Hanna disappeared. And although he tried to fervently deny it with every thought, Leande was a consolation for the thought that Hanna was truly gone – from any world. He hoped she was happy there, wherever she was. While he was wasn’t hell, every day Eventide shifted more into the unsteady limbo it seemed it always had been in the stories Hanna had clung to.

He rubbed the lines of her palm, as if retracing the path that had led her here. He sighed, and said in a calm voice, “But what else can we do?” [/blockquote]

ooc:: TWO YEARS LATER!! ....literally >____< but wooo!! i love them![/blockquote][/size]