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An Angel's Respite (Chapter Twenty-Six)
Alexander stayed there. Too stunned to move or talk, or look away from the place he had once been.
Traitor.
They chimed in unison screeching the word like a curse, or a celebration, or maybe both.
«»«»«»«»«»
Traitor, traitor, traitor.
«»«»«»«»«»
Alexander slowly got up from the floor—then fell to his knees, but continued to try after the third he put as much weight as he could on the table next to him. The monsters, ignoring him completely, continued to protest and conspire. He didn't know how to stop them from being so Godsdamned loud, he wished he did—but still after everything he was back to where he started. After a moment most settled down again, tired themselves out—as they always did in the end.
Alexander looked down to the table he rested on, blood smeared the edge of it where he placed his hand Hester's blood. Your fault the monsters chimed venomous joy dripping from their echoing voices.
«»«»«»«»«»
Did you think you could block out the inevitable? Run away from your fate?
«»«»«»«»«»
It rang in his head making the world spin for a moment, "I thought you would be kind, and let me live in the delusion for once." Alexander snapped at them, holding back the urge to throw something out the window.
In response the monsters laughter hysterically rings in Alexander's mind, giving him a headache of stress as he picks up a page ripped from the book he and Hester broke in their tussle.
It was the book Alexander was reading for Wilbur that night before. . . everything, Alexander wanted to rip it apart and toss it in the fire, that—after everything was roaring with flames. Though Alexander still felt cold, cold and fragile, like if he fell his legs would shatter into a million different bits and pieces.
He was just so cold.
Too cold to ignore it or to think, it was painful in a way that made his lungs hurt with ever new breath. Like a rope around his torso getting tighter and tighter every time he breathed in and trying to restrain him after every breath out.
He tightened his grip on the page, and turned to see the room for the first time, looking at every corner and floorboard, every broken piece of furniture and pages ripped on every surface imaginable.
He was so lost, and confused—he felt stupid and childish. Why couldn't this just work? Why did there always have to be a catch, a glimpse of the peace after the war, then it's lost all over again.
He signed, long and drawn out. Then began picking item after item cleaning the whole room, the monsters whined from the tedious effort. The ringing silence began filled with soft chatter from them, then one asked restless and loudly.
«»«»«»«»«»
What are we going to do, now?
«»«»«»«»«»
Alexander heard the question while picking up another sheet of paper—and couldn't keep his mouth shut. "I do not know." He said truthfully, probably one of the most truthful things he's said in a very long time. The monsters didn't seem to care all that much—more talking about the fight, the blood on Alexander's hand and Wilbur's 'disappearance' they saw what Alexander saw, and it looked like Hester took him—he knows that's not true but the feeling nagged at the back of his mind, stubborn and rebellious to what he was doing, what he was trying to reveal, understand what truly happened.
He took a step back from his work, not really sure what to do now, surveyed it.
The room was polished, the room was spotless. The room was destroyed.
Of all the things to pull on his heart strings the ringing silence of loneliness was the thing that had to kill him the most. Hester was gone, Wilbur was gone—and he was left all alone, again.
He wanted to destroy something, his rage was so damn close to its breaking point and Alexander was nearly done with the wrenching weight that he was carrying around with him.
After so long of being alone, of keeping away from people and their problems, it was quite ironic for Alexander—someone who has created and destroyed kingdoms, joined armies doomed to fail and dragged them to the light of victory—to miss someone so obnoxious.
So childish and idiotic, so immature and stupid. Maybe that was why he liked them so much. He sat on the floor back propped up against the ladder and pulled his knees up to his chest and heaved a sigh. It ached and stung his chest from the effort and said oh-so quietly.
"I do not know how to fix this."
Hester wasn't looking at where he was going, until his uncharted path led him into the middle of the plateau indicated by the dip in the middle revealing the pine forest below. He continued to track through the snow unbothered by the chill of the snow. He had calmed down since he started walking. He slid down and proceeded walking into the forest going past cut down stumps of Hester's or Alexander's own handy work.
He made it to a clearing somewhere in there, he stared absentmindedly at the stars, his thought a jumbled mess in his head. Shrugging off the snow built up on his wings and stretching them, he longed for more warmth but would rather freeze—or get a sword to the back before he saw Alexander again.
Then he didn't need to long anymore for warmth—or for being stabbed, because it came. Practically radiating and filled Hester's chest with grim anticipation to feel the sharp pain of a dagger being dragged across his back and a neurotic excuse for the reason. Maybe even an apology, but that was going over the top a little.
Instead he waited, and waited, and waited until finally he said. "Why are you taking your sweet damn time? Do you have nothing better to do?" He jabbed the question still looking up at the stars then huffed and turned away.
"Hello, my Angel."
Death said with the utmost patience this world has ever seen.
Hester rolled his eyes and said boldly and stupidly.
"I hate you,"
"I know." Death replied calmly, Hester continued, his mouth losing the function to lie and said.
"And I love you,"
"I know," Death repeated, and Hester wanted to stab her just for her narcissistic way of thinking, clouded and manipulative.
Then Hester said something he had wanted to say for a very, very long time.
"But you are not a good person."
Hester said, quietly, calmly, deliberately. His rage came out in one big fizzle then wafted away by the wind.
"I know Hester, I know."
She was not angry, was not upset, was not sad, was not scared, she did not say it arrogantly or to bother him—though he was. She was stoic and unfazed, like she knew it was coming—and then Hester realized, It's because she did, she knew everything. She's a Goddess Hester thought almost feverish with the realization.
"You knew,"
Hester said, feeling the rage return but he pushed it away for a moment from sheer bewilderment and slight amazement.
"You planned it all, didn't you?" Hester laughed hysterically by the thought and that it was true. "You did, you calculated, you planned it. You knew it would work."
"Hester wait—"
"We're all your puppets on strings, just moth's destined to catch a flame aren't we? Little toys you play with when you're bored."
Venom dripped from Hester's words and he wished they stung, he wished he could kill her with his gaze and watch her wither away.
Hester chanced a look, and hoped he wouldn't do something regrettable after it. He saw Death fidgeting with the golden ring on her finger, it shined in the light of the stars, reflecting and practically glowing with the movement like water on the surface of a lake.
"Why's that thing so important anyways?" Hester slurred out, trying to make his words hurt, and relished in the way she put her hand to her side with the realization.
"It was a gift, to show a bond, a friendship—"
"Then, that would have been one Hell of a gift don't you think?" Hester teased catching sight of the Goddess tense and lifted her hand back to continue fidgeting.
Hester couldn't compress a scoff—though he wasn't trying that hard to begin with.
"Tell me Goddess," He purposely didn't use her name. "Why is that ring so damn important?"
"Hester," She purposely used his name.
"If you go there, you will die." Death said softy akin to imploring a child to stop a tantrum.
Her finger taking off the ring and wrapped her hand around it, showing it to Hester, a silent plea to take it, to stay alive, to survive.
Hester took her gaze full on and said with a deadly calm tone, a silent threat.
"Then you should start looking for a new toy to play with."
The silence stretched, tartar and tartar like rope around Hester's neck—he would never admit it but it was suffocating.
"I was only trying to keep you safe." The Goddess replied calmly, softly whispering the words like a gentle plea.
"You failed, then." Hester said with the same soft pleading—begging voice, one that could not be faked.
He looked at her, with a torturous gaze. He’d killed thousands of men, seen his allies, friends and family, eviscerated and witnessed the fall of kingdoms by his own hands.
He's seen the world end a hundred times over from him, and then watch its people rebuild it over and over while he stood back, helpless wanting to scream at them for being foolish but also planning to destroy it again, yearning and envying being able to love something to love also from what grew from its ruin.
He felt himself come undone with grief and misery and madness. And all at once he understood. He understood the anguish of war he brought. He understood the pain of the widows and orphans he’d left in his wake. He understood the agony of an entire world living in fear of him—and he felt it all.
He showed this to the Goddess then hid it away, to never be shown, ever again.
He silently walked over to the Goddess breath heaving but steady not making eye contact, took the ring.
"It will keep you safe." The Goddess said gentle and kind, Hester couldn't help but believe the words wholeheartedly.
He looked at it, balancing it in the palm of his hand. Trying to read the words engraved in it—it was too dark. Then slipped the ring onto his right hand middle finger.
He felt the pulse from his bleeding nose stop, the ache in his wings lighten and the scars on his body loosen—like all at once a breath was let out that he had been holding in.
And maybe he was.
Holding his breath, anticipating the kick, watching the wolf circle him and waiting for the impact.
He felt the bridge of his nose with his hand expecting a shock of flaming pain to return to shoot up from his nerves to his brain informing him of the injury, but nothing ever came, it was a relief and a worry.
"It will stop the pain," Death said simply
"You will become stronger faster, and age slower."
Hester looked up at her, not at all confused but a nagging voice came and asked. "Why now? After all this time, you tried to give this to me before, why try again, and why now?"
Death's mask slipped as she shutter from the thought and replied "You must wear it, I, I have—I have seen you—"
Her words trailed off.
Hester's eyes widened with the epiphany. "You saw me die?" Death nodded her head and turned away.
Hester looked at the shining ring on his finger, golden and ancient, with one smooth motion slipped the ring off.
Pain, unfathomable unruly thoughtless unjust and ancient: pain.
Hester bowed his head covering his face with one hand, he was healed but the price was high. The whole wide world all of a sudden became intolerable. The wind was too strong, the cold was biting and the air was too thin.
He let the pounding headache he had subside before looking to the Goddess in the eyes staring daggers at her. He looked back down at the snow in front of his feet to find it stained with blood, his blood.
"Everything comes way with intentions Hester, you need to make them good ones."
Hester looked to her, and took a deep shuddering breath in, feeling the pull and push of the world lighten, becoming used to how the world truly is; painful. Slowly showed Death the ring and gently put it in his pocket. Stood up.
And walked away.
He wasn't a coward.
Although he didn't know it.
[[]][[]][[]][[]][[]]
Art by Cosmic Fighter 💫 on X
All written using Novelist
Anyone like the Lord Of The Rings reference? (honestly was not on purpose, for the most part lol) I'm trying to get better at dialogue, Alexander's voices is definitely the most absurd dialogue I've had to write in a while. I love it. (WHY DIDN'T THIS POST YESTERDAY BRUHH)
© Unavailable
[[]][[]][[]][[]][[]]
Traitor.
They chimed in unison screeching the word like a curse, or a celebration, or maybe both.
«»«»«»«»«»
Traitor, traitor, traitor.
«»«»«»«»«»
Alexander slowly got up from the floor—then fell to his knees, but continued to try after the third he put as much weight as he could on the table next to him. The monsters, ignoring him completely, continued to protest and conspire. He didn't know how to stop them from being so Godsdamned loud, he wished he did—but still after everything he was back to where he started. After a moment most settled down again, tired themselves out—as they always did in the end.
Alexander looked down to the table he rested on, blood smeared the edge of it where he placed his hand Hester's blood. Your fault the monsters chimed venomous joy dripping from their echoing voices.
«»«»«»«»«»
Did you think you could block out the inevitable? Run away from your fate?
«»«»«»«»«»
It rang in his head making the world spin for a moment, "I thought you would be kind, and let me live in the delusion for once." Alexander snapped at them, holding back the urge to throw something out the window.
In response the monsters laughter hysterically rings in Alexander's mind, giving him a headache of stress as he picks up a page ripped from the book he and Hester broke in their tussle.
It was the book Alexander was reading for Wilbur that night before. . . everything, Alexander wanted to rip it apart and toss it in the fire, that—after everything was roaring with flames. Though Alexander still felt cold, cold and fragile, like if he fell his legs would shatter into a million different bits and pieces.
He was just so cold.
Too cold to ignore it or to think, it was painful in a way that made his lungs hurt with ever new breath. Like a rope around his torso getting tighter and tighter every time he breathed in and trying to restrain him after every breath out.
He tightened his grip on the page, and turned to see the room for the first time, looking at every corner and floorboard, every broken piece of furniture and pages ripped on every surface imaginable.
He was so lost, and confused—he felt stupid and childish. Why couldn't this just work? Why did there always have to be a catch, a glimpse of the peace after the war, then it's lost all over again.
He signed, long and drawn out. Then began picking item after item cleaning the whole room, the monsters whined from the tedious effort. The ringing silence began filled with soft chatter from them, then one asked restless and loudly.
«»«»«»«»«»
What are we going to do, now?
«»«»«»«»«»
Alexander heard the question while picking up another sheet of paper—and couldn't keep his mouth shut. "I do not know." He said truthfully, probably one of the most truthful things he's said in a very long time. The monsters didn't seem to care all that much—more talking about the fight, the blood on Alexander's hand and Wilbur's 'disappearance' they saw what Alexander saw, and it looked like Hester took him—he knows that's not true but the feeling nagged at the back of his mind, stubborn and rebellious to what he was doing, what he was trying to reveal, understand what truly happened.
He took a step back from his work, not really sure what to do now, surveyed it.
The room was polished, the room was spotless. The room was destroyed.
Of all the things to pull on his heart strings the ringing silence of loneliness was the thing that had to kill him the most. Hester was gone, Wilbur was gone—and he was left all alone, again.
He wanted to destroy something, his rage was so damn close to its breaking point and Alexander was nearly done with the wrenching weight that he was carrying around with him.
After so long of being alone, of keeping away from people and their problems, it was quite ironic for Alexander—someone who has created and destroyed kingdoms, joined armies doomed to fail and dragged them to the light of victory—to miss someone so obnoxious.
So childish and idiotic, so immature and stupid. Maybe that was why he liked them so much. He sat on the floor back propped up against the ladder and pulled his knees up to his chest and heaved a sigh. It ached and stung his chest from the effort and said oh-so quietly.
"I do not know how to fix this."
Hester wasn't looking at where he was going, until his uncharted path led him into the middle of the plateau indicated by the dip in the middle revealing the pine forest below. He continued to track through the snow unbothered by the chill of the snow. He had calmed down since he started walking. He slid down and proceeded walking into the forest going past cut down stumps of Hester's or Alexander's own handy work.
He made it to a clearing somewhere in there, he stared absentmindedly at the stars, his thought a jumbled mess in his head. Shrugging off the snow built up on his wings and stretching them, he longed for more warmth but would rather freeze—or get a sword to the back before he saw Alexander again.
Then he didn't need to long anymore for warmth—or for being stabbed, because it came. Practically radiating and filled Hester's chest with grim anticipation to feel the sharp pain of a dagger being dragged across his back and a neurotic excuse for the reason. Maybe even an apology, but that was going over the top a little.
Instead he waited, and waited, and waited until finally he said. "Why are you taking your sweet damn time? Do you have nothing better to do?" He jabbed the question still looking up at the stars then huffed and turned away.
"Hello, my Angel."
Death said with the utmost patience this world has ever seen.
Hester rolled his eyes and said boldly and stupidly.
"I hate you,"
"I know." Death replied calmly, Hester continued, his mouth losing the function to lie and said.
"And I love you,"
"I know," Death repeated, and Hester wanted to stab her just for her narcissistic way of thinking, clouded and manipulative.
Then Hester said something he had wanted to say for a very, very long time.
"But you are not a good person."
Hester said, quietly, calmly, deliberately. His rage came out in one big fizzle then wafted away by the wind.
"I know Hester, I know."
She was not angry, was not upset, was not sad, was not scared, she did not say it arrogantly or to bother him—though he was. She was stoic and unfazed, like she knew it was coming—and then Hester realized, It's because she did, she knew everything. She's a Goddess Hester thought almost feverish with the realization.
"You knew,"
Hester said, feeling the rage return but he pushed it away for a moment from sheer bewilderment and slight amazement.
"You planned it all, didn't you?" Hester laughed hysterically by the thought and that it was true. "You did, you calculated, you planned it. You knew it would work."
"Hester wait—"
"We're all your puppets on strings, just moth's destined to catch a flame aren't we? Little toys you play with when you're bored."
Venom dripped from Hester's words and he wished they stung, he wished he could kill her with his gaze and watch her wither away.
Hester chanced a look, and hoped he wouldn't do something regrettable after it. He saw Death fidgeting with the golden ring on her finger, it shined in the light of the stars, reflecting and practically glowing with the movement like water on the surface of a lake.
"Why's that thing so important anyways?" Hester slurred out, trying to make his words hurt, and relished in the way she put her hand to her side with the realization.
"It was a gift, to show a bond, a friendship—"
"Then, that would have been one Hell of a gift don't you think?" Hester teased catching sight of the Goddess tense and lifted her hand back to continue fidgeting.
Hester couldn't compress a scoff—though he wasn't trying that hard to begin with.
"Tell me Goddess," He purposely didn't use her name. "Why is that ring so damn important?"
"Hester," She purposely used his name.
"If you go there, you will die." Death said softy akin to imploring a child to stop a tantrum.
Her finger taking off the ring and wrapped her hand around it, showing it to Hester, a silent plea to take it, to stay alive, to survive.
Hester took her gaze full on and said with a deadly calm tone, a silent threat.
"Then you should start looking for a new toy to play with."
The silence stretched, tartar and tartar like rope around Hester's neck—he would never admit it but it was suffocating.
"I was only trying to keep you safe." The Goddess replied calmly, softly whispering the words like a gentle plea.
"You failed, then." Hester said with the same soft pleading—begging voice, one that could not be faked.
He looked at her, with a torturous gaze. He’d killed thousands of men, seen his allies, friends and family, eviscerated and witnessed the fall of kingdoms by his own hands.
He's seen the world end a hundred times over from him, and then watch its people rebuild it over and over while he stood back, helpless wanting to scream at them for being foolish but also planning to destroy it again, yearning and envying being able to love something to love also from what grew from its ruin.
He felt himself come undone with grief and misery and madness. And all at once he understood. He understood the anguish of war he brought. He understood the pain of the widows and orphans he’d left in his wake. He understood the agony of an entire world living in fear of him—and he felt it all.
He showed this to the Goddess then hid it away, to never be shown, ever again.
He silently walked over to the Goddess breath heaving but steady not making eye contact, took the ring.
"It will keep you safe." The Goddess said gentle and kind, Hester couldn't help but believe the words wholeheartedly.
He looked at it, balancing it in the palm of his hand. Trying to read the words engraved in it—it was too dark. Then slipped the ring onto his right hand middle finger.
He felt the pulse from his bleeding nose stop, the ache in his wings lighten and the scars on his body loosen—like all at once a breath was let out that he had been holding in.
And maybe he was.
Holding his breath, anticipating the kick, watching the wolf circle him and waiting for the impact.
He felt the bridge of his nose with his hand expecting a shock of flaming pain to return to shoot up from his nerves to his brain informing him of the injury, but nothing ever came, it was a relief and a worry.
"It will stop the pain," Death said simply
"You will become stronger faster, and age slower."
Hester looked up at her, not at all confused but a nagging voice came and asked. "Why now? After all this time, you tried to give this to me before, why try again, and why now?"
Death's mask slipped as she shutter from the thought and replied "You must wear it, I, I have—I have seen you—"
Her words trailed off.
Hester's eyes widened with the epiphany. "You saw me die?" Death nodded her head and turned away.
Hester looked at the shining ring on his finger, golden and ancient, with one smooth motion slipped the ring off.
Pain, unfathomable unruly thoughtless unjust and ancient: pain.
Hester bowed his head covering his face with one hand, he was healed but the price was high. The whole wide world all of a sudden became intolerable. The wind was too strong, the cold was biting and the air was too thin.
He let the pounding headache he had subside before looking to the Goddess in the eyes staring daggers at her. He looked back down at the snow in front of his feet to find it stained with blood, his blood.
"Everything comes way with intentions Hester, you need to make them good ones."
Hester looked to her, and took a deep shuddering breath in, feeling the pull and push of the world lighten, becoming used to how the world truly is; painful. Slowly showed Death the ring and gently put it in his pocket. Stood up.
And walked away.
He wasn't a coward.
Although he didn't know it.
[[]][[]][[]][[]][[]]
Art by Cosmic Fighter 💫 on X
All written using Novelist
Anyone like the Lord Of The Rings reference? (honestly was not on purpose, for the most part lol) I'm trying to get better at dialogue, Alexander's voices is definitely the most absurd dialogue I've had to write in a while. I love it. (WHY DIDN'T THIS POST YESTERDAY BRUHH)
© Unavailable
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