Octavius (WATTYS 2016)

thirty seven | elegy

I think this is going to be the final chapter, other than the epilogue I will post. *begins to cry uncontrollably*

I want to thank you guys for 8k!!! and octavius has moved up to 893 in the werewolf category :) 

Relief is a strange emotion. It is filled with exuberance, joy. But it also drained with exhaustion and a frozen silence, a paralyzing disbelief, as if your triumph could turn to heartbreak in a second.

Titan's lifeless form is collapsed a heap on the cold ground, his beady eyes staring into the pits of hell awaiting him. And Octavius stands above him, his chest rising and falling quickly, staring down at the monster who tormented his very being.

The monster is dead.

I pick myself off the concrete floor, dragging myself over to Octavius, and I stand alongside him, watching the blood drain from Titan's skin.

We stay in silence, an unblinking, unmoving void of uncertain serenity.

Days, weeks, years of noiseless breathes pass, before footsteps are heard coming down to the dungeon.

I turn, but Octavius remains where he is, a statue of disbelief.

It's Klaude, his eyes filled with worry and relief, as he races over to us, hugging me to him tightly.

"You're alive, you're alive." He whispers, and I squeeze him quickly, before gently moving him away.

"You have to get Lacy," I whisper, and my voice sounds like a creak-filled ancient floor, millions of centuries old. "She's in the other hanging cell."

Klaude races over to the cell, and yanks a cord, catching Lacy's sleeping form as it falls from the ceiling.

He carries her back to us, and I lay my head to her chest, letting out a sigh of relief when I hear her little heart beating strong.

"Take her upstairs." I order softly. "We'll follow soon."

Klaude looks from me to Octavius' back, and just nods, retreating back the way he came, the tiny red-haired girl nuzzling into his arms.

I turn to Octavius, at his unblinking eyes. They are empty of emotion, drained of fear and pity. They're still and calm.

I wrap my hand around his, and I smile slightly when he grips my fingers tightly, his skin warm and comforting against mine.

"You have no idea," He croaks, his voice rough and metallic. "how many times I imagined this moment. How many nights I dreamed of cutting his heart out of his chest, or drowning him in the coldest of lakes."

He squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath.

"And then how many nights I was ripped from the dreams of him hurting me, the memories flashing back to me. Those nights when I woke up in tears, thinking that my dreams had been reality. The terror following when I realized they had been."

I move closer to him, wrapping my arms around his side, melting into the warmth he brought. Underneath the smell of blood and tears, I could still smell him, the smoke and cinnamon, the addiction I loved so much.

He was still for a moment, before wrapping his arms around me, holding me to him tighter than ever before. My head is in his chest, my body wrapped around him. He is a clean white blanket, warm and filled with the promise of sweet dreams. He is the sun, bright and filled with a calm blue sky, the clouds far far away from my piece of perfection.