[It is silence that sits in his heart, and all his songs have turned to dirges.
Halfway up the stairs he looks back at the skeleton man over his shoulder. His words break the silence as footfall breaks through snow.]
Will you be here still when I must go? I shall not be long - there are many preparations to tend to.
[He would secure the music box, his lyre too, which Patroclus had delighted in listening to on languid afternoons and merry nights. He might lie upon the bed and remember how secure he had felt in this life, weep for how fleeting it was. And then he could go back to his companion's side where he belongs.]
no subject
Halfway up the stairs he looks back at the skeleton man over his shoulder. His words break the silence as footfall breaks through snow.]
Will you be here still when I must go? I shall not be long - there are many preparations to tend to.
[He would secure the music box, his lyre too, which Patroclus had delighted in listening to on languid afternoons and merry nights. He might lie upon the bed and remember how secure he had felt in this life, weep for how fleeting it was. And then he could go back to his companion's side where he belongs.]