The Soul Yearns Through Skin

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You wake slowly, as though it's a sweet Sunday morning. You're warm in just the right way, and the sounds of the world around you are pleasant white noise. But something isn't quite right: the feeling of stone, of cold creeping around your fingers, of the sound of wailing wind.

Your eyes open and adjust, briefly turning your vision splotchy and unfocused. You can feel another soul, weakening and pitiable, next to your own.

You force yourself to look to your right, catching a sight that feels alien and beautiful in a peculiar way. Weiss sits up against the wall, having let most of her hair fall out of her ponytail and rest over her frame. The moonlight is caught between each strand like a silver big caught in a spider's web, and her eyes are tired and nearly closing. She's clearly exhausted and on the verge of sleep, which is especially obvious by the dark marks formed under her eyes. She's nearly given up, and yet in her frail form you think she's more beautiful than you've ever seen before, like a rose rotting to a deep shade of velvet burgundy.

"Weiss?" You say softly, catching her attention. Her pupils barely move to look at you, though a dash of colour returns to her cheeks, as well as a sad smile.

"Mhm?" She hums.

"What happened?" You say quietly. It seems criminal now to break the serenity of this place.

"You entered shock of the soul. I brought you here."

"Are you okay?"

"Mhm. Just cold." In truth she looks colder than you, which is surprising.

"I can't believe you're colder than me, especially since I'm-" you quickly stop yourself. She doesn't need I hear that, "it's just strange that I feel so warm."

"I kept you so with a glyph," she mumbles, her eyes struggling to stay open.

"Oh..." that explains her state. No doubt that's been draining her aura and taking her energy to stay awake. Her soul bled from her body for your own. It's selfless in a true way.

"You should check that," she nods towards Funeral, though the blade is wrapped up, revealing just half the handle. Tentatively you unwrap the cloth, which you recognise as being Weiss' missing sleeve. Like revealing the face of a newborn you see the broken blade, shattered at the centre. The antique blade finally let its last slash be made.

"A shame," you mumble. Though your reaction is middling, there is a melancholy feeling about it. That weapon has been your's for fiveish years. Regardless, steel is impermanent like all things. If you never learn to let go of steel you'll never learn to let go of other people, so best to start soon.

"Now what?" You say, looking over at her. She barely moves, just stays slumped over, and you feel a twinge of worry bloom in your heart. "Weiss?" You approach cautiously. Gently and tepidly, you place your hand on her forehead, under her fringe, and gently lift up her hair to see her face. Her eyes have closed, and her lips parted slightly.

"Weiss," you shake her gently. If she falls asleep, she may not wake back up. "Weiss! You need to wake up!"

She stirs slightly, her eyes opening barely a crack.

"(Y/N)," she murmurs. "I'm so cold." Your heart breaks at her weakness. You want to say that the Weiss you know would never be so fragile as she is now, but you figure that this fragile Weiss is her true self, not the mask of pride she wears so eagerly.

"You are haughty at times," you joke, though she doesn't laugh nor smile. Her body becomes slightly limper.

"Weiss... you can't fall asleep," you insist, though she responds with a barely present nod. You feel her aura flicker and fade, like a candle caught in the blizzard. There's no doubt within you that she's nearing death faster than it appears. The cold is simply too much for what aura she has left. With no other choice you sigh to yourself and pull her forward so that you can slide behind her, with her back pushed against your chest. You summon and muster as much of your soul as will heed your will, and smother it over Weiss, making your aura belong to both of you. You can feel her breathe in the warmer air and relax into you.

If It Be Thusly (Weiss Schnee x Reader)Where stories live. Discover now