At the splintering of the world, they met once again. Thana stands her mournful vigil, draped in velvet funeral shroud. Cold drips down her ashen face, pattering to the ground. Her fingers are numb when they speak in a low tone. “I was curious when they mentioned the bereaver upon the hill.“

”Why are you here, Altalune?” Her voice was hollow and raspy, throat unused to words from years of disuse. Thana’s gaze remained on the horzion, honeysuckle and tiger lily giving way to irises speckled with pearls.

“I wished to see you again,“ Altalune‘s footsteps come closer, the wind turns colder. The god’s every cold hand rests on her shoulder, an insincere sympathy from a cruel master. “It would be in poor taste to leave you to your own devices.”

She tenses at the the touch, the grip tightens as a warning. Alatune’s other hand comes to gently guide her gaze to meet the god’s. Thana’s dull eyes look into the gods, tears still trailing the contour of her face. ”Poor taste….? After everything you done, this is what is in poor taste.”

Alatune’s face turns from indifferent to sad, one hand trying to wipe away Thana’s tears. The woman feels the cold grasp her again, causing the world to tilt on the axis. Arms come to cradle her gently, more faux sympathy. For once in an eternity, Thana can feel her tears dry, fatigue carving itself into her bone. “You begged me to save you, I did. I gave you my love and promised you forever.”

All the while, the god holds their quarry is some semblance of love. ”And that is all you ever wanted, right?.