S-TWC-009
St. Valentine's Ledger
Patron: Nickels Costigan
Date: Aug 11th, 1923 – The Costochondral Axis
Location: The Ouroboros (The Hollow Verge)
Proprietor: Mags
Before I left the Ouroboros, I found ███████ curled up beneath the Hollow Verge.
It’s not a real place. Not anymore. Just a bend in the ruins of the Axis where the light dims further than the dark, and the snakes don't dare to cross. Some have hissed it was once a chapel. Others say it was a mistake. To me? It looks like any other marble pillar broken among many at the heart of the Costochondral Axis.
He was rocking when I found him. Knees hugged to chest. Fingers twitching like antennae. His eyes were glassy with some vision, though whether past or future I couldn’t tell.
"You’re leaving," he said without looking.
"I have to."
"No you don’t. You want to. You like it there."
"Where?"
"With them. With the ones who still breathe. The ██████." His voice cracked like a prayer gone stale. "You pretend you’re one of them. You walk like them. Laugh like them. Like you didn’t swear the same vows. Like you didn’t drink from the █████. Like you've forgotten us."
"I haven’t forgotten—"
"Then why do you keep trying to belong to the world we left behind? We’re not like them anymore."
His words cut. Because they were true. Because I have danced on a broken stage in ██████████ three nights before the ████████ fell. Because I curtsied to ███████████████████ with bloodied slippers and fever in my chest. Because I pirouetted through the ashes of the ██████████████████ in ████, and again through the new one, rebuilt but not forgotten. Because I laced my shoes beside ███████. ███████! And she is remembered, but not me. Never me. I don't get to be like them. Like ██████. If they knew how long I've been █████—if you knew—
"You think he’ll save you," ███████ whispered. "But he’s already marked. The ████████ saw to that."
I froze.
"What do you know about the ████████? ███████ wouldn’t tell me much."
███████’s hands moved faster now, tracing invisible patterns in the dust.
"They’re ████████████████. In ███████ they were the ones who lit the █████████████. The ███████████. ██████████ of the ██████████. They stood against the ██████, against ████, against disorder. They allied and entwined with the ██████—They came to our Universe with them but were removed with great prejudice. Only ████████████—only the ██████—remained."
He pressed a finger to his temple. Then to mine.
"They built the first cities. Not brick by brick but design by design. The first cities were not designed to house but to trap. To contain. To steal what the son of ████ stole. To trap the powers of ████████, ███████████, ████… and… and… and now it's coming back."
A long silence. Then, softer:
"Don’t let him chase the shadows, Mags. The lights want him to sing because they need a voice. That’s all. That’s all we ever are. Mouths. Chords. Paper skin stretched over cathedral bones. Tools to the ███████. Playthings of the █████████."
He was crying now. Quiet, slow tears that fell like fluttering snowflakes.
"You’ll leave," he said. "And you’ll think you’re doing what you're supposed to be doing but it doesn't matter. We're all going to die. Again and again and again."
I pulled him close. "I’ll be careful."
"No. You won’t. But you’ll try. And that’s worse."
I kissed his forehead.
Then I left.
But before I could get far, █████ pulled me aside.
Unsmudge the Ledger
"Eschatos Etc."
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