Page 64 of The Ballad of a Bard
T hey found a vial within the alcove where Roland usually dolled out the crowns and aprons for the evening, tucked on one of the shelves that held half-filled bottles of watered down liquor, tin cups with handles and extra trays. Crimson had searched high and low for something to pour the heart remnants into, finding that most of the cups on the ground still held a bit of ale in them. And even if her brother was dying, she wasn’t going to give him alcohol.
A similar bottle to the one that stored Muse’s heart caught her eye, one that she pulled off the shelf and examined briefly. A fat middle on top of a thin base, with green and gold segments. And old perfume bottle, if she had to guess. Something that Roland often insisted that the girls put on to make them appear more… well, appealing. With the rank smell of rot that the Pits bore, an additional dab of perfume could go a long way to help with sales. Sweet smelling things with the promise of others, the art of seduction whilst selling.
When she silently held out the small glass vial to West, he took it, uncapped it and removed her dagger from War’s heart. He set the vial in the blood-soaked sand, making sure it could stand on its own before handing her knife back to her. She took it and placed it at her waist as he reached into War’s unmoving chest and dug around. Nasausa rolled over her like lazy waves on a shore as he searched for the glass heart, emitting a sound as he appeared to have found it. With a careful extraction, he withdrew his arm and pulled the delicate organ out.
Instead of the shimmering vermillion that she half expected to see after Muse’s dust, it was nothing of the sort.
Instead, a black heart lay in West’s hold.
It was far larger than a regular heart would be, almost twice the size. Considering that War himself was reaching seven feet, she supposed it made sense. There was barely any sparkle to it, as if there had been no room for light in his immortal life. But as West turned it over for a better grasp, she spotted the traceable glimmer in the very depths of the onyx.
“Take the vial.” He instructed and she did, placing it below his hands as he brought them together. As his fingers began to fold inwards, a quiet crunch sounded that made her stomach tumble like a weed on the wind. Dust began to spill from the crevice he opened underneath and she made sure to stay still as the dust trickled into the tall neck of the glass bottle.
Crimson wasn’t sure if it was disgust or intrigue that whirled inside of her as he continued to crush the heart ever so slowly to make sure that she caught it all. Probably both, if she had to guess. The Saint acted like it was an art form to crush a heart, nothing more than adding a final stroke to a painting. There was no stain on his skin as his hands came together, filling the vial entirely.
He eyed it, rubbing the remainder into it and inserting the twisted topper once more. “There. ”
“It’s still strange to see it and think of it as a heart.” She held it up to the faint light leftover from the candles that he hadn’t blown out on his arrival, turning the glass this way and that as the faint shimmer glowed vibrantly. “Muse’s was a deep red, like wine. I thought perhaps his would be too, but black is more fitting considering who he was. I’m curious to know what yours would be. Rich blue, like your eyes? Gold like your skin?”
She imagined that it would shine far more intensely than any of the others since he was the physical embodiment of a living star. There was a small picture in her head that if she smeared his powder across the back of her hand, that it would gleam like pigmented paint.
“I’d rather not like to find out.” West wiped his hands on his charcoal pants and rose, standing a few inches taller than her.
Crimson bit her lip as they quirked sideways. “Nor would I.” She felt the flush as it stained her cheeks.
War’s body lay below them, untouched save for the giant, gaping hole in his abdomen.
What they would do with it, she wasn’t sure.
“I’ve never actually seen one before.” He admitted sheepishly and brushed through his wild hair that was slick with sweat. “I know what mine feels like, what to do with it somehow. I assume your father implanted that knowledge when he created us, because it’s always just been there.”
Crimson surveyed him, trying to find any sign of his true age underneath his wrinkle-less features. “How long have you been alive for?”
He blinked, mentally counting. “I think four centuries, if my numbers are correct. It’s hard to keep track of something like that when you live forever.”
She pocketed the heart and took his hand in hers. He lowered a kiss to her forehead and drew her in close. Without the gloves, she could make out the unfamiliar markings better. He examined them as well. There wasn’t a full gap of space, but fingerless gloves that remained permanently etched on her pale skin. They darted up the back of her hand from a low V in ribbon-like shapes. As she shucked off her jacket, pulled up her sleeves, they both saw that they wound up her elbow and faded off on each arm.
“Well that is going to take some time to get used to.” Crimson groaned and put her leather coat back on, fixing the buttons back into place.
“I think it’s rather becoming.” West crooned down at her. “Every Saint earns their markings, and now you have yours. It only adds to your beauty, Crimson.”
She blushed.
“I think it’s high time we cure Cobalt and kill a Prince. What do you say, Heartstrings?” He asked and she let out a light chuckle.
“I think that sounds good to me.” She responded and made for the exit of the Pits with one last look around. She’d spent quite a bit of her life here, and it felt good to close that chapter.
With West at her side and a Saint’s heart in her pocket, Crimson looked forward.