CAUSE I CAN FEEL THE RAIN
WASH AWAY MY SINS. AND I CAN FEEL THE PAIN
SEEPING OFF MY SKIN
cause every single time i'm searching for a way i'm always lost and never found
It'd been half an hour into the morning sunrise when Oswald looks on, enchanted and uncertain, at an early Sunday sun that filters through the highest panels of his bedroom window. Each individual line of pale gold illuminates things scattered atop his work desk from one of his late night reads, casting lazy shadows on items of the mundane nature up until they'd converge against a pocketwatch that hung from the curve of a lacrima lamp - the one he'd forgotten to deposit in his coat pocket the night before.
The glow that surrounds the object fills his chest with a heaviness he knows well, where his mind betrays him another time so that She may resurface from the depths of his psyche - a haunting beauty, one that torments him as much as it tempted; luring, and tragic. She smiles at him from behind the overcast shine of the watch, with words of Her own sweetness and damnation slipping through ruby lips until the barest of tears come to line her cheeks. And there She weeps, yet even in Her sorrow She appears immaculate; the very ground beneath Her mourns for Her also, and a dull ache corners him into recalling that there are never enough tears to spare, not even through seven lifetimes.
'Forgive me, please!' he tells Her, but only in memory.
She responds in kind - 'I hAtE yOu!' She screamed, over and over and over and-
There's a knock on his door, one that resounds with intentions lovely enough to have everything evil yield to a stop with old ghosts fading into white light and tear streams thinning, slowly, but surely. Oswald proceeds to wipe what remained of his despairs with the sharp of his wrist, fixing the knot in his tie for the 4th time that hour before walking to the door.
Antarcticite eyes him carefully from beyond the door frame, "O-oh...master..should I not have-?"
"No." he said, despondent and tired, unable to strain the weight of his heart any further, "I'm fine...and late if I shan't arrive at the square in an hour. Are Lapis and Padparadscha just as appropriately dressed?"
His assistant fidgets from one heel to another at the notion, their fingers digging into the ruffles that made the hem of their dress. "Y-yes, master Oz."
"Excellent."
They're departure from the estate are bid farewell by the sound of the doors to his chambers closing shut, as if in silent reminder that all he'd return to late into the night are his sins and those who've perished as a result.
Between the shadows of two oak trees and a pleated blanket was a tiny pocket of tranquility that Oswald hadn't dared to encounter in this lifetime until that very moment; it was nothing short of a miracle, if he were given the liberty to exaggerate at the most basic level. Would it be a stretch to take to the improvement with a hope for a release from his curse? The alchemist mulled over the thought in his head several times, pausing only when he'd been referred to by the other guests present at their little Sunday gathering.
"Oz? Does the potato salad not cater to your taste?" asked a kindly old woman in the wheelchair beside him, "Perhaps Maria was a bit too daring on the leeks this time..."
Oswald huffed, the sound directed at the foolish nature of his thoughts at times. He shakes his head towards the woman with the pastel pink shawl. "Of course not Lady Eunice." he said, "I've just been daydreaming, is all."
The former Saint jarred to a pause in her handiwork concerning Lapis' hair to better angle her focus at her strange new friend, finding it tragically easy to realize the depth of the scars he carried, both physical and not, from his expression alone. Ever the mothering type, Eunice familiarizes with the emotion as if it were her own child before putting everything into words.
"And here I thought young folk only fantasize about good things." she said, her hands resuming to layer the brilliant indigo strands in her fingers, one over the next in muted strokes, "Why so solemn, Oswald? The sun today is a spirited one yet you still count the rain clouds."
Oz spares her a single diffident chuckle. "Mrs. Mayne, has anyone told you your metaphors are ridiculously archaic?"
"That's awfully big coming from a man who is more of an old lady than I could ever be."
"Why I never-!"
The shared laughter that split from their lips, while hearty, are hushed and careful. Both in respect to the atmosphere of a mid-afternoon Sunday and to the slumbering figures that littered the picnic blanket - except for one, of whom currently rested across Eunice's knees. An idle corner of his mind doesn't hesitate to proclaim his decision to dress them in girlish attire as a wise choice, now that all the frills and soft curls of their sun dresses further softens their rough edges, making it easy to pretend that the homunculi were born with normal flesh and bone all along.
They'd been his greatest achievement as a lofty, self-taught alchemist, if he were to truly wonder over the subject. Try as he might, Oswald may never replicate the feeling of seeing the three of them awaken for the first time on his workshop table. The gems, alongside the presence of lady Eunice, appeared to momentarily disperse whatever spell that currently afflicted him so, allowing him to release a long, strangled breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
'Haha...'
He smiled. And so did the woman next to him. Suddenly everything was decidedly perfect in an agreement that for a moment seemed to go beyond words, sorrows and the universe itself.
'...Maybe this time won't be so bad.' he thought.
The glow that surrounds the object fills his chest with a heaviness he knows well, where his mind betrays him another time so that She may resurface from the depths of his psyche - a haunting beauty, one that torments him as much as it tempted; luring, and tragic. She smiles at him from behind the overcast shine of the watch, with words of Her own sweetness and damnation slipping through ruby lips until the barest of tears come to line her cheeks. And there She weeps, yet even in Her sorrow She appears immaculate; the very ground beneath Her mourns for Her also, and a dull ache corners him into recalling that there are never enough tears to spare, not even through seven lifetimes.
'Forgive me, please!' he tells Her, but only in memory.
She responds in kind - 'I hAtE yOu!' She screamed, over and over and over and-
There's a knock on his door, one that resounds with intentions lovely enough to have everything evil yield to a stop with old ghosts fading into white light and tear streams thinning, slowly, but surely. Oswald proceeds to wipe what remained of his despairs with the sharp of his wrist, fixing the knot in his tie for the 4th time that hour before walking to the door.
Antarcticite eyes him carefully from beyond the door frame, "O-oh...master..should I not have-?"
"No." he said, despondent and tired, unable to strain the weight of his heart any further, "I'm fine...and late if I shan't arrive at the square in an hour. Are Lapis and Padparadscha just as appropriately dressed?"
His assistant fidgets from one heel to another at the notion, their fingers digging into the ruffles that made the hem of their dress. "Y-yes, master Oz."
"Excellent."
They're departure from the estate are bid farewell by the sound of the doors to his chambers closing shut, as if in silent reminder that all he'd return to late into the night are his sins and those who've perished as a result.
◆◆◆
Between the shadows of two oak trees and a pleated blanket was a tiny pocket of tranquility that Oswald hadn't dared to encounter in this lifetime until that very moment; it was nothing short of a miracle, if he were given the liberty to exaggerate at the most basic level. Would it be a stretch to take to the improvement with a hope for a release from his curse? The alchemist mulled over the thought in his head several times, pausing only when he'd been referred to by the other guests present at their little Sunday gathering.
"Oz? Does the potato salad not cater to your taste?" asked a kindly old woman in the wheelchair beside him, "Perhaps Maria was a bit too daring on the leeks this time..."
Oswald huffed, the sound directed at the foolish nature of his thoughts at times. He shakes his head towards the woman with the pastel pink shawl. "Of course not Lady Eunice." he said, "I've just been daydreaming, is all."
The former Saint jarred to a pause in her handiwork concerning Lapis' hair to better angle her focus at her strange new friend, finding it tragically easy to realize the depth of the scars he carried, both physical and not, from his expression alone. Ever the mothering type, Eunice familiarizes with the emotion as if it were her own child before putting everything into words.
"And here I thought young folk only fantasize about good things." she said, her hands resuming to layer the brilliant indigo strands in her fingers, one over the next in muted strokes, "Why so solemn, Oswald? The sun today is a spirited one yet you still count the rain clouds."
Oz spares her a single diffident chuckle. "Mrs. Mayne, has anyone told you your metaphors are ridiculously archaic?"
"That's awfully big coming from a man who is more of an old lady than I could ever be."
"Why I never-!"
The shared laughter that split from their lips, while hearty, are hushed and careful. Both in respect to the atmosphere of a mid-afternoon Sunday and to the slumbering figures that littered the picnic blanket - except for one, of whom currently rested across Eunice's knees. An idle corner of his mind doesn't hesitate to proclaim his decision to dress them in girlish attire as a wise choice, now that all the frills and soft curls of their sun dresses further softens their rough edges, making it easy to pretend that the homunculi were born with normal flesh and bone all along.
They'd been his greatest achievement as a lofty, self-taught alchemist, if he were to truly wonder over the subject. Try as he might, Oswald may never replicate the feeling of seeing the three of them awaken for the first time on his workshop table. The gems, alongside the presence of lady Eunice, appeared to momentarily disperse whatever spell that currently afflicted him so, allowing him to release a long, strangled breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
'Haha...'
He smiled. And so did the woman next to him. Suddenly everything was decidedly perfect in an agreement that for a moment seemed to go beyond words, sorrows and the universe itself.
'...Maybe this time won't be so bad.' he thought.
