Chapter Text
For whatever reason, Kristin hadn't expected to feel Phil's sudden disappearance so acutely. She had watched him leave the next morning at first light, kissing his cheek as he was adjusting the elytra on his back. It had made the little gossamer wings on his back flutter. Phil had blushed deeply upon Kristin pointing that out, which just made her kiss him all over again.
But now he's gone. The promise of his return is more than anything Kristin's been promised before, but it doesn't do enough to put a damper on the pit of loss that opens up as he becomes a speck over the treetops, and then nothing at all.
For the first time in weeks, she returns to town alone. The emptiness by her side is noticed not only by her, but by every damn person she's unfortunate enough to pass on the way back to her home. It's not enough for any concrete conclusions, not yet, but Kristin has grown a sixth sense for this oncoming storm.
She doesn't dare stop for a second, and avoids the curious eyes of others best she can. The instant she returns back to her house, Kristin presses two fingers into the tray of ash with one hand and slams the door behind her in the same breath.
The house hasn't felt this empty since her parents passed, far too big and empty for just Kristin to drift around in alone. It shouldn't feel like a death, she had watched him fly off, she knows he promised to be back soon. But telling herself that and feeling alright with this change in routine are two entirely different things, and so Kristin wanders aimlessly inside her own home until the sun glares its beams at her through the western windows to alert her to just how many hours have passed her by.
Kristin spends the evening with her pillow covering her head while lying in bed, willing sleep to take her so that this day might pass her by as quick as possible.
Sleep eventually comes, and when she wakes up again Kristin feels, surprisingly, better.
Her fingers still tap anxiously on the table, and she still misses Phil with a fierce ache in her chest, but—
"I'm not just going to sit around and mope," Kristin affirms out loud to herself as she draws back the curtains on her house. "I'm going to go out, I'm going to enjoy the weather, and Phil will be back in no time. Yeah."
It's all well and good to say that to herself, to regain that confidence and prepare to face the world on an unusually warm autumn day. It's another thing entirely, however, to reckon that confidence against the rest of the town, who, by the second day, have begun to take notice of Phil's absence.
She isn't sure whether it's even worth it to defend herself to them. What does she gain by insisting that Phil will be returning soon? Damned if she does, damned if she doesn't, because she knows nothing is going to stop the rumor mill from circulating whatever it wants about her.
In the time in which Kristin is trying her best not to hide away in her house, two dogs grow sick and die. There is a cremation for them, as there is for all once-living things, though it is markedly smaller than the turnout a proper funeral. Kristin always shows up, regardless of the death, because the idea of not standing in her fated spot at the priest's side is something that's unfathomable to her.
No one blames the priests for the natural arrival of death. No one should be blamed at all for something like this, yet once again Kristin is finds herself to be the unwitting scapegoat.
Everyone seems to have something to say as they pass by the priest, then by her.
"Just because you were foolish enough to let him break your heart doesn't mean you had to go and cause this."
"You can't possibly think you can make up for this just by being here."
"I see the traveler took our warning to heart."
Weeks here, and they haven't even bothered to learn his name. Kristin bites down on her cheek, and fights to keep the anger out of her eyes. It gets a little easier when she imagines Phil snickering at them, softening the sting of their words with his muttered comebacks, but it also only increases the temptation to snap right back at those whispering to her in those tones of false pity.
In the end, it isn't even another comment about Phil that sets Kristin off, it's just another person blaming Kristin for cutting short the life of the two dogs.
"Weren't both of those dogs old, though?" Kristin asks, the words flying out of her before she has the sense to bite them back. She tilts her head, only slightly exaggerating her lack of understanding.
The priest's hand lashes out, grabbing onto her wrist like Kristin is still a child in need of a reprimand. Kristin doesn't react to it until the man who had spoken to her is gone, only then does she drop the doe-eyed expression and snatch her hand back, hiding her shaking fingers inside her shirtsleeves.
It isn't much, in fact, Kristin knows it's hardly anything, but the expression that man had given her is something Kristin tucks away to smile about later. She can practically hear how Phil will laugh upon hearing the story when he returns.
Above all else, she fights to keep that promise. When he returns. Not if, not in the way so many of the people around her continue to speak about her life as though she isn't right there. Kristin can't help murmur prayers of gratitude when three more days pass by, and there's no other deaths for the village to pin on her. She really isn't sure how much more of it she would be able to stand, and whether that boiling point would explode outward onto everyone else, or crumple in around her, total devastation.
Kristin starts returning to the tavern more once the days come to an end. The days are growing colder, so not as many people are staying late into the night, but the quiet nature of the place is something she notices more now, perhaps because she hasn't been around as much to observe the gradual shrinking of the nightly patrons.
But the tavern is the steadiest place in the whole village, and Kristin will readily admit that the nights always pass easier when they're blurred at the edges by enough alcohol.
It does have the unfortunate consequence of a loose tongue and weepy eyes, though, which is how Kristin winds up wiping her tears on an offered cloth, spilling her worries to some of the only people in town who treat her like she's of sound mind.
"What if he doesn't come back?" she frets with slightly slurred speech, as her nail scrapes away at an indent she's been anxiously digging into the wooden top of the bar for the last few years. Three glasses sit in front of her, all empty save for the froth clinging to the sides of them. "What if he- I don't know, he forgets about me?"
She doesn't want to believe the words even as she's saying them, but the past several days have only caused Phil's words to twist in her head to the worst iterations. His insistence at trying to leave with her now feels like just searching for an excuse to leave, and Kristin's struggling to recall the tone of his voice when she had asked him if he was unhappy here. She doesn't want to hear it as a lie, but the rumors reinforce her worst fears, over and over, until they finally culminate here, spilling out through her tears as she nurses another drink.
A scoffing sound from behind the bar, though, drags her out of her misery. She initially shies away from the bartender's noise, fearful of judgment that will surely give way to more fuel for the fires of rumors. Kristin reaches for another napkin to wipe her tears away, but a warm hand on her wrist stops her.
"Miss Kristin," the bartender says, in that gentle, no-nonsense way Kristin has come to expect from the secluded bartender. "If you had seen how that fellow was looking at you that first night you were both here, there's no way you would even be thinking that right now."
Kristin sniffles, the alcohol loosening her tongue even further. She wants to believe it, but the warm memories of that first night have been washed out by the drinks, muted further as the weight of the town's words pile upon her. "What if they're right?" She knows she doesn't need to specify who they are. "What if I am a curse to this place? What if this is only making it worse?"
The bartender purses her lips, leaning on the bar. "Then we'll manage, like we've always done. But, to tell you the truth, I don't think anything's gotten worse at all. It's just the way the seasons change, Miss Kristin."
"Everyone seems so much angrier at me, though," Kristin pleads.
Picking up Kristin's empty glasses, the woman winks at her as she carries them over to the sink. "I think that might just be jealousy at finally seeing you happy, dear." Her smile tightens slightly, though Kristin knows that ire isn't directed toward her. "It's hard for people here to be happy, isn't it? But you more than most, I think."
Kristin smiles wanly, only slightly soother by the bartender's reassurances. She's always been kind to Kristin, sometimes kinder than Kristin thinks she deserves. Saying as much out loud would get her such a disappointed look from the woman, though, and not even four drinks would be enough to loose that thought from Kristin's mind.
Still, when Kristin wakes the next morning with a pounding headache and a dry mouth, she can't shake the residual feelings of something yet to be settled within her. So, while the whole world sleeps an early morning away, Kristin slips out of her house and down into the temple proper, seeking out the one person who knows more about her than anyone else.
The Head Priest of Death's temple has been in Kristin's life since she before was old enough to remember the feeling of ash on her skin. He, along with Kristin's parents, had instructed her firmly in her role, teaching her all she needed to learn about the temple and its customs without ever actually working alongside the studying students— something that made sense, to a degree, since Kristin was years younger than all of them. He had always been around, and though Kristin knows better than to think he cares about her in any way beyond her role, there's a private kind of hope in her heart that he at least regards her with some compassion, knowing her as he does.
And if he can't settle her heart, then there's only one being higher to turn to, the eyes of which Kristin avoids as she ducks under the statue to approach the priest with fingers freshly coated in fine ash, barely containing her questions behind quivering lips.
She spills her heart to him, though in a way more controlled than she had been at the quiet tavern last night. It's a confession unorthodox to this deity — after all, there is nothing that Death won't know about you once you're dead and gone — but it's all Kristin can think to do to measure her worries, between her rejecting the idea of leaving with Phil to the strain put upon her by the town's whispering. The priest listens in total silence, until Kristin has at last run out of words. He regards her for a quiet moment more, which only heightens the tension in Kristin's body down to her nails pressing tight crescents into the palms of her hands.
"I think," he says at last. His voice is carefully measured, each word placed carefully in his mouth to deliver a sentence that feels like a punch to Kristin's gut. "I think you are forgetting your place."
Kristin's clenched jaw trembles, unsure what the Priest means for her to take from that. "What does that mean, my place?" she insists. "I mean, I know— I know what my role is, here, believe me, I'm not forgetting that. But my place— I don't really understand what that means."
The priest lifts his good eye to her, the other casting aside as it always does. "What I mean, Lady of Death, is that it should not matter to you what the others say, or how others feel about you, because you are, and always will be, above them."
She feels like she just swallowed crushed glass. That title always hits like a second strike, she only ever hears it from him, but it sends an odd shudder down her spine every time he says it, regardless.
"But I'm not above them," she insists, gently. "Death is the great equalizer right? Sure, my death has a purpose, but I'm not going to die any differently than a dog or a person." There's a slight, pleading squeeze to her voice, as she searches the Priest's eyes for an understanding.
He doesn't give it to her, only smiling at her with mild pity, continuing to regard her as he always has, a child still too small to understand the gravity of her life. "Your purpose is precisely what elevates you, though. No one else has been given this honor, and no one else will be for several centuries more."
Kristin huffs, only half meaning it when she says, "Well, if someone else wants it, they can have it." Her mouth tightens under the priest's reproachful glare.
"I will give you this much comfort, Lady of Death," the priest relents. "You are not to blame for what they whisper about you. I will reiterate as such at the next gathering, if it will put your mind at ease."
Relief rushes through Kristin's chest, overwhelming gratitude. "Thank you," she says breathlessly, fighting to keep the stinging in the corners of her eyes from overflowing.
"Now, as for the traveler..."
"Phil," Kristin insists, surprising herself by how quick she is to snapping. "I really don't understand why no one around here will call him by his name."
Once again, she faces down the disapproving expression of the priest, only now her heart is beating much louder in her chest. "I will once again emphasize, you are something greater than he can ever be. And there isn't much time left at all before you die. And yet, even still, you seem committed to building the foundations of a relationship that will inevitably be broken."
In his words are the unspoken questions Kristin has been wrestling with since first laying eyes on Phil. All of her doubts, laid out in front of her, forcing her to answer for them instead of looking for answers from those who only know little glimpses of her life.
It takes a long time for Kristin to find the words to answer him, but she's never felt more certain saying them aloud. "I mean, the thing is, I'm not dead yet," she says. All at once, she feels renewed in her confidence of Phil's return. His voice echoes inside her head, gentle, encouraging, and loving. "And, and even though I'm going to die, I'm alive right now, and so I can still— you know, love, and be loved. There's nothing wrong with that, even if it's only for a little bit. And I think he's worth it, and he— he clearly thinks the same about me, though I really can't tell you why." At the last bit, she laughs, cheeks blushing in fond self-consciousness.
She might be imagining it, but Kristin thinks she can see a slight smile on the priest's face. "Well, when the heart wants something, there's very little that can deny that, even for someone like you." Slight condescension continues to permeate his tone, but Kristin finds herself unwilling to let herself be shamed by him for this declaration.
Kristin smiles, a little grimly. "Only one thing. I know." For the first time, though, Kristin doesn't feel the inevitable end hanging over her neck quite as heavy as before. For the first time, her heart feels properly settled in her chest, and even in the darkness of this temple, Kristin feels like the world is a little bit brighter than it was before.
She leaves the temple feeling finally satisfied. Not for anything the priest had said, really, much of that still unsettles Kristin to a degree she doesn't really want to unpack. But between her drunken conversations, and talking out her own feelings inside the temple, Kristin feels more firmly than ever that she is not failing her purpose in any way by being with Phil.
Now, all that's left is to wait for him to return.
Somehow, the time passes by fast. Maybe it's because Kristin isn't so consumed with her own conflict anymore, or maybe it's a spell of fortunate timing. In either case, Kristin actually misses the moment Phil returns. She tries to go out at least once a day to see if she could catch his arrival, but she had always known that it would be a shot in the dark to catch the right moment.
In the end, it's a commotion outside her window that gives it all away. Kristin is sat by the window, embroidering the twisted stems of some light blue wildflowers into the collar of one of her shirts, when small crowds passing in the street below her pull her attention. When two pass by, she doesn't think much of it, but as the frequency grows, Kristin knows there's very few things aside from her that draw crowds like this, and even if it isn't what she hopes, she wants to know regardless.
The looks people give her the moment she steps outdoors all but confirms it, as does the way they veer closer to the storefronts so that she can walk briskly through the streets. She heads toward the bridge that curves over the river to the south, grateful for the sunlight that warms her bare arms even as the brisk breeze of autumn blows against her.
Kristin doesn't feel any surprise upon seeing him, and her relief is only nestled in the fact that he looks unharmed. All she can feel is her heart beating loudly in her chest, and the smile that stretches her cheeks so wide that it hurts as she watches him turn to catch her eye, wings beginning to almost buzz in an adorably clear indicator of excitement.
She's taking off running before she knows it, hiking up her skirt in one hand as she runs over the uneven cobblestone roads she's been familiar with all her life. Kristin knows that every eye is on her, and though some small, scared part of her wishes that she had waited for Phil to find her back home, a much bigger part of her, an overwhelming surge of joy and affection, promptly decides that it doesn't give a fuck who's looking at her now.
Phil's eyes, full of open adoration as he looks at her, is the only thing she wants to see anyways.
Kristin doesn't allow another moment to pass before she's is throwing her arms around Phil, laughing against his ear as the fluttering of his elytra tickles her cheek. Phil's arms wrap around her in a tight squeeze, head tucked against her shoulder so that his laughter seeps into her skin.
He's the first to pull back, cupping Kristin's face with both hands to pull her into a slow, sweet kiss. "Everyone's looking at us," he whispers, like it's a shared secret for just the two of them, before breaking into giggles again.
Kristin's hands, looped around the back of his neck, lightly play with his hair. It catches between her fingers, tangled from the long flight. "I don't care," she whispers back, grinning boldly at him, delighted to find that what she's saying is true. The world around her could be burning to the ground, and it would be just as inconsequential compared to seeing the joy on Phil's face at this moment. "I'm just so happy you're back."
"I'm sorry it took so long, shit, I'm so sorry," Phil says when he catches his breath again. He steadies his hand against the stone wall of the bridge, giving Kristin a much easier way to pepper his face with light kisses. His cheeks are red from more than just a sunburn as his arms settles around Kristin's waist. He looks at her with the utmost fondness, as if he's trying to take in every inch of her face to memorize. "I missed you so much, Kristin."
Kristin sighs lightly, meeting his eyes with ease. "I missed you too," she says. "You're staying now, right?"
"I've got everything I need right here," Phil promises. "Until you tell me to leave, I'm definitely planning to stick around."
"Good, because I don't want you to leave," Kristin affirms. "Not for a long time. As long as we have left."
Phil hums in pleasant agreement, leaning forward once more to kiss her temple. "As long as we can," he agrees. "Alright. I'm ready to get home, if you are."
Home. Such a simple word, but coming from Phil, it means the world. "I'm sure you're exhausted." Kristin laughs gently, untangling herself from Phil with only slight reluctance before taking his hand again. "Yeah, alright. Let's go home."