⚛︎ things my heart used to know

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The weight of waking again was a cruel burden. Every muscle ached, as though his body had traveled leagues, though it was his soul that bore the distance—tired, beaten, done. At least this time, awakening was not so violent. Peaceful, even, though there was a haze to it. The kind of faded sensation that comes with dreams, where the body moves slow and the world carries that strange, mystic light.

A heavy sigh rumbled from deep within his chest. Was this yet another punishment? Another price for the life he took? Was he doomed to wake in a new world, a new hell, dragging this lifeless soul through new bodies for eternity? He wanted to be done. To end this cycle.

Still, he was this dreaded creature. The lonesome wolf. A cruel irony. The same scars marred this form, the same dark complexion, the same weary gaze. It changed nothing. Then or now. He was still an ugly beast in the mirror, no matter how long he stared. That hadn’t changed at all.

Atreus longed to remain there in the lush grass, longer—much longer. If he stayed long enough, perhaps he’d wither into a new life, a new punishment. Perhaps he’d be one step closer to fulfilling whatever pitiless purpose the stars had set upon him. But he couldn’t. His mind betrayed him, flashing images of his old life—what once kept him from lying in his chambers all day. Her.

Another punishment. The stars always knew. Why else would he think of her now? Now, when his life was ruined to the high heavens, and he was gone. She’d have forgotten him by now, surely. After all, he’d been nothing more than another captor in her life. And she was young—with years ahead of her, far beyond his cold stone walls. Walls, he realized, she must have hated. He’d kept her from the world, kept her for himself. He deserved this hell.

His eyes drifted downward, too heavy to lift, as if sadness dared strike him. But he wouldn’t let a tear form. Not now. Instead, he forced his aged body upright, into this new land where fate had thrown him once more. It was warmer than the last. The trees stood unfamiliar, and the ground, of a hue untouched by winter’s bite, seemed unusual beneath his paws. His people had never set foot on warm earth untainted by snow. Atreus cast a wary glance about, trying to make sense of it all.

Birdsong drifted from the distance, even under the cloak of night, and flowers bloomed bright and wild amid the lushness of green grass. She would’ve loved those. If this was a curse, why was it dressed like a daydream?

And then he saw it — or rather, saw her. A figure, standing among a patch of wildflowers, bathed in the moonlight’s cold, blue glow.

He stayed at a distance. As he always did. The same hardened gaze, shoulders squared as though bracing for a blow, the way he had stood when he was a king. Yet when he looked closer, he saw them—those reckless eyes, and fur that carried the warmth of her scarlet hair, soft and curling. Her scent, honeyed and thick with cinnamon, stirred something in him that he dared not name. For a moment—just a moment—his gaze softened with her image.

This was no new life. This was a dream. An unpleasant mockery of one. And just as he thought it, there she was. Perfect. Here.

If only he could keep his head below the clouds, stop meddling with the stars’ visions. But no—there she stood. And if he could have her for one night, one last night, would that be so wrong? Would that make him as greedy and selfish as before? Would holding her image in the comfort of his mind truly damn him further?

He halted, a paw instinctively reaching toward her, but he stopped himself. It’s a dream. This will be gone by morning. Would he regret taking this moment of peace? This brief serenity? Only to wake with the cold beside him once more? What a terrible waste. But he had to. Even if this did not bring closure, he had to try.

Atreus descended the sloping hill, each step a question, each step a demand for an answer as he neared her. Her frame came into full vision now. This was how he dreamed her—every detail he cherished. He had always feared forgetting her likeness.

In this dream, what would she say? Would she sound the same? Would she rage? Scream about how he’d kept her locked away, kept her from the world, kept her for himself? Would she remember him here? Did she care?

Now, he stood before her, no longer the cold statue of a man. He was falling apart at the seams, and he knew it. Afraid to reach out. Afraid she’d vanish just as she appeared. Because if she did, he’d have nothing. And gods, he was selfish for it.

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Another step, another heavy question weighing on his conscience. Standing before her—the ghost that never truly left his mind—he could have sworn he saw something. Something alive in the way she looked at him. Shock? Disbelief? Like she wanted to do something, but he begged to know what. She was a mere recreation of the girl he once knew, a girl of fire, but one capable of boundless passion. He had studied her, traced every detail in his mind with each passing day, holding—grasping—her image as though a cork lid on a bottle that did not quite fit. But she felt… here. And he almost dared to wonder—was this not a dream, but some twisted passage of the afterlife? A trial before whatever fate awaited him next?

His mind ached beneath the weight of it all—unanswered questions, unfamiliar lands, an unfamiliar body. Foreign emotions clawed at his chest, and he could not grasp why this was happening. The past few days, he had forced himself to believe these strange occurrences were mere consequences—penance for sins left unpaid. He had sought to name this reality, make sense of it. But then he looked into her eyes. Deeply. Softly. And he lowered his head, searching her gaze, pleading. Why couldn’t anything be clear? Gods, please, make it clear. Make it stop.

If only he had never left his chambers that day—if only he had stayed, tending to his sword just a little longer. Perhaps they would have gone. Left with her. He would not have spent all those days, weeks, months at her side, becoming someone unrecognizable. He would not have felt things he was never meant to feel. She would not have been caged within kingdom walls, forever left to fantasize about what lay beyond. And she would not have been in harm’s way that day.

She would not plague his mind, her voice, her laugh, her smile a torment so relentless that it made him sick to his stomach.

But then… then he thought back to the moment he said yes to taking her. And the same questions came flooding back. If I had turned her away, would that truly have been better? A life of constant fear. A life as an object of desire, hunger, and cruelty. But he would never have known for certain. And he had taken that risk. That chance.

And he would do it all over again.

Just to have her. To see her.

She closed her eyes then—tightly, as if willing him away. His brow softened, the tension he had held onto for so long slipping away. Worry gripped him, sinking its claws deep. Did he disturb her? Had he done something wrong? He should not have approached. Just as in the life past, he should have left her in peace—for once—let her live, unburdened by him.

But then—

A breath caught in her throat.

And she laughed.

She… laughed.

For a brief, agonizing second, he thought the joke was on him. But almost immediately, his shoulders fell, his face softened, and his ears soaked in the sound of her laughter—light, melodic, sweet. He had missed that. Missed her.

Everything else faded into nothingness. The world, the stars, the night air—all background noise now. He was consumed by her.

And when she moved toward him, he did not flinch. Not this time. He welcomed it. Welcomed the warmth she carried, the warmth of someone alive. Welcomed the closing gap, the space he had been too afraid to breach before. His body, too, gave in—leaning instinctively, longing for her touch.

Are you really here?

He smiled, though it was the kind that came with the fight of tears, because he already knew the answer.

It did not matter.

“I wish you were.”

Not real enough.

For all the divine hands pulling the strings of this dream, he could not see past the truth. This was all he would have of her. And he was trying—gods, he was trying—to be grateful for it. Even if it would tear him apart come morning.

Though he kept his eyes open—determined not to let her slip away—they were growing heavy again. Too heavy. His body threatened to break. The ground beneath him trembled, cracked, like the world itself wished to wrench him from this fragile moment.

No.

Now, he shut his eyes. Tightly.

Fighting what had brewed for far too long.

Fighting what he had never allowed himself to do. Not then. Not now.

Through clenched teeth, he whispered, “I tell myself you’re not.”

A smile lingered on his lips, but it was the kind that betrayed the meaning of one.

Lightening the weight of what he felt.

Because he could not afford to reopen that wound. Not when it had never truly closed.

Not when his mind told him one thing, yet the thrumming in his chest—loud as a war drum—spoke another.

And when he reopened his eyes, expecting her to be gone…

She was still there.

He still had time.

Would that be enough?

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Whatever lingered here, in this place, in this dream, between them—it was sacred, a fragile high laced with the fleeting ache of lost time. As if to whisper, enjoy it while it lasts, for who knew when he would find such pure bliss again? He had felt it but a handful of times in his life, brief moments scattered across the years, never enough to tether him to the present. He was not a man who lived in the moment, and it had cost him. But now—now, he could try. He could attempt to hold onto this, be it a blessing or a curse. He would etch every detail into his mind if it meant seeing her again, for the next dream, he might not be so fortunate.

And he was afraid. More afraid than he had ever been, more than the day he stood before the dragon and cast her aside. This was different—this was like confronting something he had long buried, someone he did not know he needed to face. The tether between them pulled taut, begging to be severed or strengthened. The wind whispered sweet songs as unseen birds carried their notes across the air, swirling around her cheeks, tugging at her fur. Fireflies flickered and danced about her, the glow of their light reflecting in her hazel eyes, painting her in an ethereal glow. A goddess, one he had never been allowed to know. Even the world seemed to conspire against him, pushing her toward him, drawing his thoughts into the web of whatever this was.

Why was standing before her so terrifying? Was the fire-breathing maw of a dragon not enough? Were the countless beasts and horrors in the dark mere child’s play compared to this? His legs ached, trembling beneath the weight of his own hesitation. His body warned him, whispered that he was not strong enough.

But the more he studied her face, the way her breath caught at the sound of his voice, the more real she seemed. As though she could feel him, hear him, though she was but a figment of his mind. A cruel projection of memory twisted into something that had never been.

And then—she stepped closer.

His chest dropped.

He felt her. Not just saw, but felt.

Then she touched him. Touched him.

His breath steadied, rising and falling in time with hers, as if she had laid hands upon his very soul. It was the first warmth he had ever chosen over the cold. Her touch was light, too light, yet it seeped into him like honeyed wine, rich and sickeningly sweet. For the first time, he did not recoil.

A small smile trailed across his lips as he took a slow breath, his face warming. Almost as if to say, yes, I am here. The sensation was foreign—his stomach turned, not with fury, not with battle-born rage, but with something else entirely.

Before he could find the words, before he could even understand the feeling, he felt it—the softest press of her nose against his own. And gods, he nearly gave in. His body leaned toward her, drawn like a ship to the shore, resting beneath the weight of her touch.

How weak had he become, that something so simple as her touch could send him to his knees? He might have dwelled on the thought, might have let himself slip into self-loathing, but he would not ruin this. Not this time.

His eyes fell shut, and he breathed. He focused on the feeling of her paw against his chest, grounding himself in every sensation, willing it to remain in his memory forever.

When her touch drifted to his scar, his head dipped lower, offering more of himself to her, though he winced—a fleeting reaction, a mere scrunch of his nose. He ignored it. She would not hurt him.

“Can you feel this?”

The question stirred something deep within him, and his smile softened. Through closed eyes, he nodded, barely a breath of movement. “Yes,” he murmured.

And now he wondered.

After all the time they had spent together, after the countless nights and stolen moments—why now? Why reach for him now, when he was gone? Had there always been something between them, or was this but an isolated moment, a slip of the soul to be forgotten?

Why, in the place of a dream, did the meek become so bold?

But she was only a ghost. He would not find his answers here, and perhaps never at all. Their fates had unraveled long ago—perhaps when he died, or the day he made the mistake of owning her.

Sorrow crept into his heart, a quiet and unwelcome guest. His smile faded. He had done it again—ruined something for himself, allowed the past to haunt him anew.

“I don’t know why you feel… like you.” The words came haltingly, as if speaking them aloud might unravel whatever spell bound them in this place.

And he wondered—what does she remember? Would her words offer him peace? Would they prove that she was more than a memory doomed to fade? Or was his mind simply filling in the gaps, crafting a false comfort where none existed?

When his eyes opened, her face was still there—close. The sight sent warmth creeping up his neck, and he tried to disguise his expression, to hide how pathetic he felt. But he wanted to try something.

He took another breath. Slowly, his trembling paw lifted, brushing along her shoulder, trailing upward through her fur until it found her cheek. He hesitated for only a moment before resting it there, cradling her face with the reverence of one holding something fragile, something irreplaceable.

Her fur curled gently around the edges of his paw, her cheek warm beneath his touch. He had never known her like this before, had only ever wondered what she felt like. How soft her lips must be when he caught himself looking. How her hair curled around her ears, framing her face in a way that had always been just out of reach.

It was not the same.

But to him—

She was perfect.

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