[Nectarine Sunset]

    I can't compare you to a season's day.
    Maybe once - but your warmth is that of home
    with a look so comforting that it hurts
    and a smile that makes me want to drown.

    You are the autumn and the summer and
    the winter and spring, every ounce of blood
    that flows through my veins into your own heart.
    I know I'm young, but I love you so much-

    ah. I was stupid then, wasn't I, to think
    that all the words I could say would get through
    to such a heart as pure as yours? Alright.
    I suppose that now it lays asunder.

    Did you not see me or choose to not see?
    You say you love them all. Would you love me?

i want to wear your skin like a suit so    

his hands can intertwine with mine like yours    

your hair a wig upon my head, antlers    

lopped off so he'd never know that it's me    

you have so much light in your life and i    

have so little, you need him less than me    

i gave him all i could, why is his heart    

not in my hands but instead within yours    

these words aren't enough to replace him    

i know that i don't have much time, but it    

won't be enough - and it would break him to    

shatter you exactly how you deserve    

do you feel love, or is it a whim-    

or is it selfish concern stealing him?    

When I was younger, I knew not of light.

It's silly, right?

The concept that I didn't know of heroes - besides what I had read in plays, that is.

They were always gallant, always radiant, never resorted to action first. They talked.

It worked most times- sometimes it didn't, and then they would win.

They would always win.

I loved those heroes.

You came to Delphina once to get an injury treated.

You were brave and kind and a light that I had needed, and I followed it like a moth burning itself to get closer to the light that it loved.

Maybe I should have just kept writing these stories instead of participating in them.

It would be a lot less painful.

There's a half-finished letter to you in a drawer.

I'll never finish it, I think.

It was meant to tell you how I felt about you.

There's a half-finished play in your name now, already something I regret writing.

I want to chuck it in the fireplace.

I won't. I can't. It helps me feel closer to you, even this early on.

I love you.

I love you so, I love you so, I sing to myself as I fish.

I love you so, I love you so, I sing to myself as I travel on.

I love you so, I sing, knowing that I'll never hear it back in the way that I want to hear it from you.

I love you so much I cannot say how.

The stage is yours, not mine-

at least for now.

[Nectarine Sunset]

He's changed. He suits you much better than I.

Hand in hand intertwined, you two unite.

And yet I'd never bothered to ask why-

At least up 'til that rather bloody fight.

Hearing bones snap was music to my heart

considering I'd held that grudge for years;

in a moment, it tore itself apart

as I watched your sobbing and all your tears.

You begged. In that moment, I forgave you.

I think that you'll understand it one day.

Just like now, I did what I had to do;

it couldn't have been any other way.

Now that the grudge is settled, let it be;

I'd like to know you for the sake of me.

Do you remember when you looked so weak?

I do - and it was quite the sight to see.

Moments before, things had been awfully bleak,

and then it was you and Varrach and me.

That collar was quite cute, but it's gone now;

although that was the point of debt incurred.

I thought payback would be slow, but somehow

your presence led action which had then stirred.

And now we're here, your name upon my tongue

A recommendation to those in charge

of services rendered by those still young

who happen to seek names and stories large.

Do you still think of it? I wonder still.

Yet I won't ask - perhaps I never will.

Shall I compare thee to a winter's day?

Or perhaps a deal would suit you more-

Cards across the table, players astray

As they realize their game's become a bore.

Down the rabbit hole, an eternal dive

Was what you claimed to me upon that night.

But really, did you think I wouldn't thrive?

Your eyes upon me are a great delight.

Make your offers better, I pray you try;

We both know it'll never be enough,

For that would mean I'd have to say goodbye

To all I know in favor of the rough.

Your story pales when I look at mine.

Now listen close and hear just how I shine.

Am I not a beauty to behold now?

With wings upon the wind so fancy free-

my words are heeded, hearkened through the bough,

and with their rustle, I may truly be.

At eighteen, I sit amidst legends old,

yet talked to more than any of their kind;

my counsel taken straight into their fold,

I know that I'm the closest to their mind.

How many words dost thou must sling at me?

How many words until you tire still?

How many instances of giving up

will you find trying to shatter my will?

I will be glorious, I declare so-

and since I have, the world cannot say no.

I know my entrance down to the second.

[Nectarine Sunset]

Once upon a time, there was a playwright.

She was beloved and-

that's not how this goes.

You know that very well, dear Vacerayne.

You knew it as well as one could ever.

So how does it feel being dead, then?

It feels just like how I expected it.

Do you regret not listening to them?

A bit - but that was never my dear fate.

Where do you think you'll go when you leave here?

I don't know! It doesn't really matter.

... you were fallible. You weren't strong at all.

Yes, and? I did a lot more than others.

But your work is going to be erased.

No, it won't! I've made sure of that myself.

Now let me take a turn writing this down...

Once upon a time, there was a playwright. She was hated by most people, of course- but some people loved her very, very much.

It was overbearing, all the options, none of which had her making her own choice. Slowly, she began to slip into insanity.

Some part of her regretted never selling out her soul to the coven that had inquired; other parts wondered about necromancy.

In another universe, perhaps she would've been a towering ice queen, a living deity, a psionic tyrant.

Instead, she lies dead in her own bedroom, laid to rest by the one who killed her there.

Perhaps it's a mercy, dying to care. Perhaps it's a mercy being laid to rest, yes?

. . .

Will I get to rest?

Is that truly sure?

And, better yet-

Does it truly matter?

You won't forget me anyway, Meranthe!

Goodbye for now - maybe we'll meet again!