daemonized | RECOLLE IC CONTACT.

[An item from Retrospec? Something in his brow twitches a bit at that, for Retrospec has not been kind to him recently; but perhaps Grell has been graced with something nicer than bothersome memories. Clothing, she says.]

And what a color it is. [A lovely red, and he thinks that whatever it unfurls to be, it must suit her.] I can see it as something you might've owned. Have you even looked at it properly yet?

Not yet.

[and that said, she shakes it out to look at it. a vibrant red, a coat in an older style, with a bow adorning the back. by sight, it might fit her, though it might be a little small. however, stark against the material is a line of black stitches, a tear hastily sewn up in the back. not something she could see herself wearing normally, not without a better repair, and idly she reaches out to touch the stitches.]

Do I remember...?

[That word is all it takes to incite a frown in him. Remember. Immediately, his eyes move to Grell, to the coat. To the stitches there, which betray a story to be told.

A memory.]

Grell...? What is it?

[He hopes against all hope that it would be a kind one.]

[but it's too late, because she's not here, she's there, her expression far off-

(she is dead, and there's scorn, anger, pain in her. words harsh and biting, a body cooling, blood in the air. this coat is her prize, her remembrance, the one thing she earned as the woman's eyes no longer see and she can feel that it's still warm from where she wore it-)

and she's back to reality, gone white, before she drops the coat and steps away from it.]

Get it away from me.

[her voice is so soft, and her eyes are locked on it where it fell. she doesn't see anything but it, can't help but focus and know what it means.]

[He knows it's too late the moment he watches her face, the way her eyes go somewhere else completely. And he can tell, immediately, that this isn't a pleasant memory; Ardyn's heart drops for her, and he feels it again. That helplessness to aid those he cares about, those he loves, and the way he can only stand by and watch as it happens. As this memory plays out in her head.

It's almost a blessing when she's back and casting the coat down. Ardyn follows it with his eyes, but then steps to her, in front of her, blocking her sight of the item.]

Grell. [A hand on her shoulder, squeezing to bring her back to him.] Grell, look at me, my love. I'm here.

[she looks up to him with the touch, grateful she can't see it behind him, making herself breathe. she's here, he's here, and that isn't present. though it's real, and that's what tears at her so deeply. reaching for him, one of her hands rests on his face, her thumb stroking his cheek, and she calms, a little.]

I know who's that is. She was very important to me. And I killed her.

[how much blood was on her hands, if she was to look? how deeply were the stains embedded? into her very bones, it felt like. enough to stain anything pure and good.]

[He raises his hand to place gently over hers, trying to provide any and all comfort he can with his touch. He would draw her near, if he knew if she would appreciate it in the wake of a shocking, disturbing memory.

And I killed her. Something in his eyes flicker at that, that spike of concern showing in spades, and he feels hurt for her sake. Empathy in droves. Sympathy, in knowing that the person you were in the past was not at all how you wished to be now.]

Do you... remember why?

[He feels the weight of the coat behind them, even if he isn't facing in that direction. Its presence may as well be screaming into the air.]

Do you want to talk me through what you saw?

Will you listen? Will you preserve all thought of judgement until the end?

[she knows this answer, but she needs to hear it. she needs to hear him say yes, or she cannot even begin to speak on what she knows she just saw.]

Of course I will.

[It hardly even needs to be said. But he doesn't hesitate before he answers, his eyes don't move from hers.]

I promise.

[she swallows hard, trying to breathe. he won't judge. it takes her a second, and her hands come to rest against his chest. right there, he's there, which means this is real and not remembered.]

I remember her dead. And I've seen her before, and she was happy, but...she was dead. Stabbed through. And the weapon in my hands was bloody, the right size and shape, and I looked at her...and god, Ardyn. I felt so much. Thought she was pathetic. Weak. So, so angry, like she'd hurt me. I remember taking that from her. It was never mine.

[a voice that wasn't even her own. when she says the words now, they're a pale echo of what they were.]

"In the end, you were just the same as all those other women. You no longer deserve to wear red. The curtain has fallen on your cheap performance of life. Goodbye, madame."

[other women. what had happened before? why should she not assume the worst?]

I hated her, and I think I might have loved her, too.

[the last part, she can only whisper. oh, it wasn't the same as she loved him, not at all, but there was no other word for what that raw pain and fascination was. but she killed her, in all her rage, and what is she to make of that? how could she be a lover, a wife, if she can't even have the assurance that those closest would not suffer? impossible.

maybe one of these memories will just outright reveal she had no heart, and everything will make sense, as they force them into becoming other selves. she'll lose her heart and it will all go to hell.]

[She speaks, and as promised, Ardyn will listen without interrupting. His hands raise to rest over hers, fingers slowly curling gently around her wrists. Anchoring her, if he can, to this moment — so that she doesn’t become too lost, once more, in this memory.

His eyes never leave her expression, trying to read what he can from it. And the story she tells him, it reeks of the pain of betrayal. That harsh, misguided fury that surely can only be born from what she’s described to him: love. Love, twisting into something hateful. Ardyn thinks about that other self of his, of the bitterness and rage he felt churning within him, and he wonders if something similar had happened to him, as well.

And he wonders, briefly, just what kind of person these memories are both ushering them to become.

His fingers squeeze, just a little tighter, a consequence of his own anxieties. He tamps them down, the best he can.]

Grell… come here.

[Ardyn releases her just long enough to pull her into an embrace, speaking close to her ear.]

Remember what I told you before? Not losing that core of yourself? What this other you felt, the circumstances that existed then, does not mean that it will rise to the surface here. [He pauses, for he thinks that is something paramount to remembering. That sense of control, knowing that they still possessed some agency over who they were. They had to.]

You’re strong enough to overcome these memories, these feelings. If there’s one person in the whole of this city who can, I believe it to be you. [An exhale. And then a difficult question, but it must be asked:] Are you… afraid your love now will twist into something similar to what you remembered?

[when he embraces her, she closes her eyes, hiding her face in his shoulder. how was it so easy to reassure him, to tell him he was someone else, and then when it came to her, so impossible? it doesn't make much sense - but then again, right now, she's praying it doesn't have to.

the core of herself. the center. did that still remain? she thinks it does. but as for overcoming these memories...]

I...want to say no. That what I feel for you is different and stronger and far too much. That I'd never want to hurt you. But Ardyn, I am. What if something happens, and I lose control of myself? What if it does rise? I'd never forgive myself.

[and how many dead bodies were going to pile up in her mind? how much blood was really on her hands?]

[In this, he speaks without hesitation. Without even missing a single beat. To Ardyn, these are impossibly easy questions to answer.]

I'm here for you, through thick and thin. [Perhaps they haven't exchanged marriage vows yet, but Ardyn already considers the two of them binding -- legally didn't matter if the heart dictated it. The heart always wins.] Through anything these memories might throw at us, no matter how difficult, no matter how terrible. You are beyond worth it, the effort put in to remind you of who you are, not who you once were.

[She'd say the exact same thing to him. He knows it, and he wishes to return the favor a hundred times over.]

Besides, I never want to give you reason to feel that way towards me. That kind of pain, whatever it was. I'd much rather die if it ever came to that.

I don't know. I don't know what happened. What she said, or did. But I don't ever want to do that to you.

[here for her, yes, and she appreciates all of it - his steadfast support, her strength when she was so shaken. she'd do the same for him, as many times as he needed, there despite whatever was in her head. he, she thinks, deserves better.]

...how, though, can I ever call myself your wife if this is the sort of person I'm remembering? If this is the person they're trying to make me become?

[He doesn't like where that line of thinking is headed, and Ardyn, impulsive when it matters, has his mind immediately snap to a solution. She should never question how she can be a wife, never doubt herself in this matter. He knows she'd be a perfect one, he knows that she's the only one he ever, ever wants.]

You may call yourself my wife no matter what happens. You practically already are.

[They're so close, so complimentary. They might as well be made of each other.]

And if you still have doubts, even after hearing that, then why don't we make it official? Today?

...What?

[that at least is surprising enough to pull her a little from her emotions and the memories. what is he saying? nothing's even planned.]

[And why must everything be planned? They were already going to be married, and that there were no plans at all just meant they could choose whatever day they wanted.

Even if it was today.]

We gather up the right documents, go to the courthouse, sign a few papers, and we're married. Legally. That way you can no longer question how you can be a wife, when you already are one. Mine.

[Everything in his look says that he's serious.]

It takes far less planning, time, and effort than a wedding ceremony. But we can still have that, too, at a later date.

[for a moment, she just stares at him. she'd confessed remembering a murder, and this was his solution. but...also, it touches her heart. that to reveal this, and her insecurities, and his response would be to double down on his commitment to her. that his love was so unshakeable that even this doesn't make him pull away.

she has to push up her glasses so she can properly wipe away the tear she feels in the corner of her eye. how on earth did she find him and deserve him. someone with the soul of a romantic to match her own.]

Of course we have to have a ceremony. No one would forgive us if we didn't.

[she makes herself breathe.]

...If I say yes, I want you to swear something to me. I want you to swear that if I start falling off balance and forget who I am now, if I start becoming like who I was in the wrong ways, if I begin to lose myself, you will stop me. You will remind me who I am. Will you promise me that?

[because when she closes her eyes she can see a pair of dead ones staring up at her. and it's not the body that terrifies her - it's how simple it all was. not as bad as the first time, but...she already knows this will haunt her and hang on her shoulders, that she'll need to sleep with the lights on and tucked close.]

I promise.

[A serious promise, weighted in trust, but another thing so easily given to her. He doesn't even hesitate.]

Who better to do so than myself? To gently pull you back when you start to stray too far off course. To remind you of how brilliant you are, as you are now, because that is all that fills my mind throughout the day. I know you intimately, and I will not let that precious foundation of you shift or crack if I'm the one to look over you. I won't let you lose yourself, because I would feel the loss just as poignantly.

[A piece of himself, gone, if the core of her disappears.]

I swear it.

[then she'll trust him to do so, trust that there is a net if she starts to fall. she cannot, she will not be lost. with both of their efforts, they'll keep themselves intact. that is what she has to trust in, even if the hateful reminder of her sins decided to come to their very house and burn its way into their minds.

she kisses him, briefly, acknowledging the vow. pulls back to just look at him for a moment, that face she could gaze at all day. and then:]

...You better allow me to get dressed. I'm not going down there in this outfit.

[that, and the papers. they need both.]

[A kiss returned, as gentle as it is. That promise now sealed and settled within him, something he will never stray from. No matter what happens.

His eyes are softer, allowing himself a small amount of relief now that he's comforted her somewhat, and the buzz of excitement regarding the new task they've set before them for today. Ardyn makes an amused sound at her.]

What's wrong with your outfit? If you change, so must I. I'll not be outdone.

I am not going to do something so important in an outfit I picked for no special day at all. I wish to look beautiful.

[that will make her feel better, as well, to change and to set her mind determinedly to something new. to a task she knew they'd have to do, but didn't expect so soon.]

And consider yourself lucky, you're not supposed to see the bride before a ceremony, but I guess we're bending the rules.

But you always look beautiful, my love.

[He steps back, looking at her fondly.]

And since when do either of us truly adhere to the rules set before us? They say such things are meant to be broken. [He gestures at her.] Go change, and I'll do the same. To your liking, and then we will gather up what we need and head out.

[(He will allow her to leave the room first, so he can scoop up that coat and find a place for it -- out of sight and out of mind.)]

[that she can do, pulling away from him slowly before she goes to change. away from the coat, away from that room. she knows exactly what she wants to wear, what will be perfect, and she finds herself almost rushing through things to get it done. it doesn't feel all the way real, and despite everything she felt, still feels about her memories...she finds that she's excited. curious, to hold in two conflicting feelings at once.

what a way to round out the year.]

[He dresses himself in dark hues with a black blazer, paired with a red scarf. Not too casual, and cleaned up enough for the occasion; but when he sees Grell, he knows he pales in comparison. That excitement spikes in him, his heart beating fast for a moment, and once again, she makes him briefly feel like a teenager with an impossible crush.

He doesn't mind that so much, any longer.

When all their things are gathered, it's a short drive to the courthouse. It's an even shorter wait until they're called in to see a judge, and Ardyn is at least familiar with the process from a professional standpoint. He knows what will be said before it's said, and it's obvious where to sign. But though the moment is formal in its legalities, he feels the anxious thrill of this all becoming reality. Him, standing here, actually going to be married to Grell in an official capacity in mere minutes.

It's both too long and too fast. Finally he can put his pen on paper and sign his name where indicated, and it's a large, proud signature. And when Grell does the same, he notes that she does not sign with Sutcliffe, and that's when he really hits him. His heart might burst, and though it would a marriage only lasting seconds if he died on the spot, at least he'd die a happy man.

Thankfully this doesn't happen, and when it's all said and done, he's still going to kiss her right there before they even leave the room. It's a thank you and a promise and just something self-indulgent, all in one. And it's his own way of confirming that this is all real and not some dream he'll only wake up from soon.

And when they leave the courthouse, all the proper documents in hand, his words finally return to him in a coherent manner.]

And so it's official; we're husband and wife now. Does it feel official to you, just scribbling your new name across a document?

[Her new name. Her wonderful, new name.]

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