[ her fingers meet his again, and it's in this that it becomes more obvious that the air isn't actually as cold as it falsely pretends to be, feeling her skin warm on his, either naturally or by way of the flame lit near their hands working to add a heat that hadn't been there before.
to ends and beginnings.
he leads her and the flame to the dolls symbolic of their pasts, appropriate to be doing so hand in hand to bid farewell to yesterday as the threaded sticks upon the rock seem to gaze into tomorrow. when they light with a brighter fire, kovacs can't help but find himself amused by the tragic poetry of it, of burning his past, knowing that this new day spells something else for him — it'll be the loss of a memory as a result of his deal with the orb.
has he lost it already? impossible to tell, of course, since he wouldn't remember the lost detail anyway. but he had presumed he'd go into it alone, that losing his memories would simply be a mirror image of those sticks becoming ash, watching himself fall into nothing but dust as he gradually losing fragments of himself piece by piece.
it'd be easier, to close himself off, to go on by himself, but he's never liked loneliness, despite what grimaced looks might often suggest. and when marta squeezes at his hand, he looks again to her for a moment and finds himself foolishly hoping that, even if he's fated to lose everything, doomed now to fade into nothing, someone might remember him as he is before it's all gone.
turning to the fire, he sighs a soft breath, taking a puff from the cigar before he holds it to her once more. ]
no subject
to ends and beginnings.
he leads her and the flame to the dolls symbolic of their pasts, appropriate to be doing so hand in hand to bid farewell to yesterday as the threaded sticks upon the rock seem to gaze into tomorrow. when they light with a brighter fire, kovacs can't help but find himself amused by the tragic poetry of it, of burning his past, knowing that this new day spells something else for him — it'll be the loss of a memory as a result of his deal with the orb.
has he lost it already? impossible to tell, of course, since he wouldn't remember the lost detail anyway. but he had presumed he'd go into it alone, that losing his memories would simply be a mirror image of those sticks becoming ash, watching himself fall into nothing but dust as he gradually losing fragments of himself piece by piece.
it'd be easier, to close himself off, to go on by himself, but he's never liked loneliness, despite what grimaced looks might often suggest. and when marta squeezes at his hand, he looks again to her for a moment and finds himself foolishly hoping that, even if he's fated to lose everything, doomed now to fade into nothing, someone might remember him as he is before it's all gone.
turning to the fire, he sighs a soft breath, taking a puff from the cigar before he holds it to her once more. ]
Akemashite omedetou, Marta-chan.