And so he slept.. At long last he slept.. His body stilled, and in the blackness he visited them all in his dreams..
The Dark City always seemed alive.. Always seemed busy.. the theater district bustled.. the inn was booked full and no room remained.. Soon the show would be in production and he would have the temporary respite such artistic diversions afforded.. It was a busy task, but one he took up gratefully.. it kept his thoughts from her, and it pleased Sursa.. These newcomers were entertaining enough, welcome distraction.. After so long away returning to play the role of the spoiled Prince was trying, but nonetheless different.
He strolled quietly past the market, his eyes lingering on the shop, closed now.. but familiar curtains hung in the doorway still.. Her vendor had long since packed his bags and left.. probably taking whatever merchandise he had remaining in payment..
He turned from the building.. too many memories, too much pain.. His footfalls fell silent upon the pavers as he continued on to the museum.. Sursa had said he had cause to go there.. to see what was displayed in the upper floor now.. And so he had gone..
He heard the heartbeat even as he entered the Hall.. the girl was upstairs.. reckless and young.. he reminded him vaguely of Her.. He slipped into the Shadows, not interested in speaking, in their antagonistic little dance. For some reason tonight it tired him, and so he stalked onto the second floor shrouded deep within the blackness… He moved in the blackness, his eyes tracing the dim view of the room, fixating briefly on her before moving to the familiar statues that decorated the top floor.. Artisans of legendary skill had placed their craft here.. craft gathered by Sursa, over the long course of centuries..
But there were no displays.. unfamiliar to him, they had not been here before.. but as his eyes fell to the statues.. No they were not unfamiliar at all.. They were the pieces he had wrought with his own hands.. For Her so many years past.. Pieces that had adorned familiar shop.. and Her home.. and yet here they sat, among the crafts of Masters.. here, in this place..
He fled the place then.. moving to the darkness of the Prison District, intent to bury the pain, the sorrow of all the things he -should- have been.. could yet have been in the familiar warmth of Blood.. the death of those who had the misfortune of crossing his path.. not that they deserved death, any more than any other had.. Only that he came upon them.. and could find no way to balm his loss, save to hurt them.. to drain them, and torment them.. Anything.. so long as for a moment he could forget.. forget all he had given up, and all he would -never- have..
His awareness returned slowly.. first he could hear the soft sounds of the village.. the creaking of the boards of the manor, her movements.. albeit few at his side.. The dream lingered yet.. his eyes damp with it.. as suddenly wound was laid bare again after so many years.. Even in the wake of what he had found here.. something.. somewhere was missing.. wasn’t as it should be..
Even if he could not place it.. Somewhere within he knew.. He Always Knew.
