#alecto & hypnos 03

[alectocarrion]

with: @invrse​ when: february, 2130 (week one) where: pontius, local islands 

From their birth to the day they clawed their way to Tartarus’s borders, and even to now, Alecto had always been steadfast -- never fickle, never the type to hide what laid overtop their heart, even if the circumstances could hurt feelings. So what she’s done to Hypnos, to the other Asphodels comes as a surprise to them, because every ill admission has always been split between, never hidden for the sake of saving one from heartache.

Her words are detrimental to the bonds born out of those very shadows she swore she would never leave. In the nights since arriving aboard Pontius, Alecto had time to reflect on exactly what she said to them -- some lashings haunted her more than others. 

She thinks about Hypnos, tears in their eyes, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, anger, sadness -- a plethora of things that Alecto would typically mend, arms over another, fingers ghosting against the top of his head, pale strands flicking between. She would have spilled blood for the sake of his heart, and yet, she’d been the one to slaughter him. 

I've never thought of you as my home.

She thought it would be easy, leaving them behind, even if built on a lie. 

And even though Nyx shared Alecto’s plan and how it tied into the last night in Olympe, Alecto couldn’t shake the fear that some words would never be forgiven. 

So when Alecto sees Hypnos, blonde hair stark against the blue backdrop, she moves without thinking. With the others, it had been different -- but this is a heart she had always vowed to keep from out of harm’s way, but what was she supposed to do if she’d been the one to drive the killing blow? 

Sand kicks up behind them as they make their way towards Hypnos, back now turned. Their shoes sink, and they feel as though they’re being taken down, as if the island is whispering, telling her to turn back, but she does not listen. The crowd moves ahead of Hypnos and she takes the opportunity to pull him backwards, thin fingers creating a circlet around an evenly thin wrist. “Hyp,” Alecto pleads, though she does not know if she has a right to. Despite the falsities, what if her words had burrowed into his heart? “I’m sorry.” It bleeds from the back of her throat, to the roof of her mouth, spinning out to the tip of her tongue.