[Flashback] Love Haunts to the End. (Solo)

[Julian]

The Warehouse District Day 19 of Winter, 510AV The morning air was still crisp. An insistent, bitter wind licked at his coat tails as he ambled down an abandoned city road. Hands shoved in his pockets, he walked at a slow, hesitant pace, as if he hadn't quite decided where he wanted to go. The sky was a gray haunt, looming over a city that hadn't yet woken up. The odd Syliran guard stood vigil at his post, and there were the scuffing footsteps of people running errands or lovers slinking back home, but for the most part, Julian had the street to himself. A shiver went through him as a sudden breeze brushed past his face and tousled his raven hair. It was cold enough that every breath left his mouth as a lazy cloud, but his skin could still remember the warmth from the Li Mauta ovens. He could almost feel the smoke burning his nostrils as he'd watched the fire consume her. Though his steely blue eyes were fixed on the road, he could only see the images he'd just walked away from. Piecing it all together in his head, trying to figure out exactly what it all was supposed to mean to him. He didn't feel... pain or sadness or anything he'd expected. On this icy winter morning, he just felt cold. He knows something is wrong before he opens the door. An unnatural smell lingers around the doorway. The first thought that rushes to his mind is immediately extinguished. The second is that Liara must not be home, and left some food out. She forgot to clean it up and it spoiled. But rot doesn't smell this way. It doesn't smell like death. Hand on the door latch, he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to open the door, but he can't stand here forever, hoping that he could will reality to reverse itself. Julian hadn't invited anyone else for her service. There wasn't any service. He doubted any of her friends even knew she had passed. The idea of going through the ordeal of expressed genuine sympathies and the shocked reactions that would wrack each of their faces seemed like it would only make things worse. He had found her body late last night, when he'd finally arrived home from Zeltiva. And in the morning, he regained the presence of mind to find someone and have her body taken to Li Mauta. Walking back from the crematory now, he had a sick feeling. It was as if he'd simply run a morning errand and dropped off a package. He felt so vile. She wouldn't be there when he got home, or when he woke up, or when he couldn't find his cello's bow or his hair tie. The idea of that should have terrified him, filled him with grief and a wretched loneliness but he felt... new. As if something different had begun and nothing had really ended. He wouldn't describe the feeling as relief, but there was a new sense of personal freedom in the back of his mind. It wouldn't die, no matter how many miles of guilt he piled over it. She was gone, dead, because of him. And she'd died for nothing. Julian stands cemented in place as the door swings open with fatal intent. Not even a god would be able to pull his feet into the room. He can see her just fine from the doorway, morbid shock writhing in his eyes. A stained knife lies on the floor, reflecting the light from the sconces with a guilty shimmer. The blood has completely dried. Her skin is a sickening shade of green he's never seen before. She's been dead for days. Her hand is laid out, her fingers stretched toward the wall. His eyes wander hesitantly as he follows their direction. There is a sheet of crumpled parchment on the floor across the room. Suddenly he missed a step and stumbled, and he had to steady himself by gripping a lamppost. A bladed shell of hoarfrost crumbled and melted under his warm palm. Something small and glimmering fell from his pocket in the same moment a clattered onto the road. The gold ring stood out easily on the gray road. A cloudy huff of breath escaped him as he looked down at it, angrily as if accusing it of something. As an after thought, he lifted his left hand, but he couldn't look at his own wedding band for more than half a second. "How could you?" Julian whispered, staring at the ring. He wasn't sure who he was talking to: an inanimate object, or himself. The question rang appropriate, but he didn't know who was supposed to answer. "Did you think I wouldn't come back, Liara?" He tries not to look at her as he brings the parchment to his face. His eyes flit across the words scrawled madly in blotted ink and wild scribbles. Most of it is illegible, but what he can read details a frantic breakdown, completely hysterical. Julian can make out his name several times, where she declares that hates him, and loves him. She writes that she doesn't need him, but that he should never have left. It's the chaos of her conflicted mind. Her last wild thoughts. Julian wiped a hand over his face and smoothed back his hair. Turning around, he leaned back against the lamp post. He wiped his hand on his coat, wet from the frost, then crossed his arms. A sigh escaped him. "How could you do this to me?" He looked over at the ring, the last memento of Liara Meredith. "How could you do this to yourself? All you had to do was wait a few more days. Just a few days and... it would all be..." A sudden, bitter laugh came over him. Julian pressed his face into his palm. He shook his head in disbelief. "Did you know I was going to leave you? Did you sense it?" He scratched his forehead. He knew he looked ridiculous, talking to a piece of metal on the ground. It was just a small trinket, a minuscule twist of gold. How it symbolized so much made him feel shaken. "I met a woman when I was in Zeltiva. She looked nice, but not as lovely as you. Not nearly as smart or funny either. I don't love her, I barely even like her. I don't even remember her name now. But we spent a night together. It meant absolutely nothing, but I know I want to do it again. It doesn't even matter with who. It made me realize that I wasn't meant to be with you, Liara. I was going to tell you this, set you free of me. But you took the initiative." He snorted, closing his eyes in shame. "You saved me the trouble of hurting you." Julian took a few steps forward, running his hand anxiously around his ponytail. This was too familiar. His mother had died after his father had disappeared for some time. The key difference was that his mother was murdered. What if someone thought Julian killed Liara? No, that would be ridiculous. Julian had friends, Rowan never did. They KNEW him. Julian wouldn't hurt anyone. What if Liara had killed herself to deliberately incriminate him? No, no, no, what was he thinking? Just... relax, Julian. Breathe. "I never blamed you," he said softly, glancing sideways at the wedding band. "It was never your fault. You always seemed so ashamed, and I hope you know I never thought less of you. It just... wasn't meant to be. I don't need children to be happy." Julian sighed, turning back to the lamppost as he began to pace back and forth. "I should have been there for you. It's my fault you're dead. I wish you'd never met me. You could have been with a nice, strong handsome man. Maybe someone with a real job, a guard or a smith maybe. But you chose me. And I did this to you." How was he different from his father? The distance between his parents tore his mother apart, and she became a self-destructive alcoholic. Julian had done the same thing to Liara - drove her away and acted like he wanted nothing to do with her. He was becoming Rowan Meredith. For so many years he worked toward being his own man, building a life, keeping friends, staying sane and being normal. And then this happens and... everything went to waste. Was his fate set in stone? Could he do nothing to avoid it? "How could you be so SELFISH?!" Julian roared suddenly, turning to the ring. His voice carried through the streets and echoed quietly off the buildings. "Just a FEW MORE DAYS, Liara, and I would have been home! Maybe life wouldn't have been perfect, but it sure as HELL would have been easier than this! How could you lay this on me?!" Julian dug his hands through his hair. He couldn't be here anymore, but he didn't want to go home. Where else would he live in Syliras? Another apartment? The idea of living in an identical 20x20 cube revolted him more than he could stand. No, he had to leave. Should he go back to Zeltiva? Ha, he'd probably get his throat cut if some of the tavern goers saw him creeping back there again. Strangely, that idea didn't frighten him. What did it matter where he went? The jungles of Falyndar would be better than this wretched city. Shuddering from either rage or guilt - it was impossible to be certain - Julian gave the ring one last glare. It sat on the road, sparkling. Dead. It gave off no feeling, it was just an item and Julian's words meant nothing to it. Liara was gone. This was all just cheap comfort; he was better off leaving it in the dirt. Maybe some poor street urchin could find and sell it for a month's worth of food. It was no good to a widowed husband. Shaking his head, the man turned on his heel and resumed his walk down the street. If the guard had overheard him ranting, he didn't care. He was rid of the object now. For better or worse, he was free to resume his life as he alone wanted. Liara's death would ever hang in his conscience, and he would realize the consequences for his actions. He would never make that mistake again. Who could love Julian, anyway? Who could truly know the monster he was? Sod the bloody thing. He tried not to look back at it as he walked briskly away. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he'd figure something out. "Please don't go, Julian," she begs him. He can't look at her as she tugs on her arm. Gray bags hang under her eyes, and her cheeks are sullen and pale. She has improved a good deal over the last two weeks. "You aren't the only one in pain, Liara," he tells her. Stupid. The anguish flares in her eyes but he only sees his own torment. "Stay home, I need you. We'll get through this together." Julian pulls away from her. "I just need some time on my own." It's the last thing he says to her. Not a minute passed before Julian stood over the ring again. Stooping over, he scooped the item up in his hand and pocketed it. Then he headed southwest for the docks.

[Templar]

Julian: Rhetorics: 2 Lore: Finding a loved one dead – Dealing with a corpse – Bitter Memories – Dealing with Bitter Memories. Additional notes: A great thread, but there wasn’t a whole lot I could give you in terms of XP. If you feel I missed something blatantly obvious, feel free to PM me