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Sometimes, his dreams are violent.
He dreamed about a what-if situation: his failure to save Fontainians, leaving them dissolved into water.
He dreamed about uproars breaking out in the Opera, his people demanding "true" justice the Oratrice did not solve.
He dreamed about being drowned, along with others, to endless abyss, powerless.
Above all, he dreamed countlessly of a certain moment he wished to cease, came from a memory that left him shaken still despite being happened long ago, which he should already let go.
Alas, he doesn't have the will. He holds it dear right to his heart, even if it means to bleed, because it was the only remains of her left for him. It was what's left that he could clutch on his two hands, the useless hands in the face of the divine sanction at a moment he hoped to prevent.
This night was one of those nights.
There she was, standing tall with a blade hanging on top of her head. Smiling, swinging divinely, making his heart cluttered like always.
"Ah, you come again," she said, tone playful as if nothing was going to happen. "I thought you would select different scenes by now. Are you not bored to see me again and again, Iudex?"
His response was caught up in his throat, only his eyes could tell what he meant. The eyes that saw her being punished unfairly by above. The eyes that wouldn't see the same current sight once they're opened in real life.
"I'm starting to think that you miss me," she teased, half smirking while still standing there.
"Well of course, shall you long for my presence, I wouldn't complain. But you must scratch your preference, having the same dream over and over again will make it monotonous. Eventually not special—"
"It is not," he cut.
(Those things would never be you.)
She raised one eyebrow at his retort. "I do not wish to change the scene," he murmured.
"But it makes you restless, no?" She said, still from afar. "You will see me... disappear, once more. Quite a horrible image, I suppose. Are you not bothered?"
The blade hung heavy, spinning as always like a warning it wanted to give: waiting to fall.
For a moment, he wanted to run, to reach when the judgment came down tearing her apart.
But he couldn't.
He was paralyzed in his place like when he couldn't save her.
When she was still real.
When she was his imagery.
All resulted in vain. In pain.
"You're awfully silent today. What's on your mind?"
He realized he had been looking at the floor, abandoning her presence. "Focalors," he started with her name because it was the only thing that could be spoken from his mouth. "May I come to you?"
She blinked, confused with his request. "Why, yes of course. Why wouldn't you?"
His breath hitched. He hesitated.
For a brief moment, he was scared of his repeated act of mistake which will make this dream end by hurting her, but didn't dare to stop because of the thought he could make it — he could change fate, only to make him awake by force.
"Will the blade... not come down, like before?"
She smiled in revelation, clasping her hands on the back, momentarily shutting her eyes.
"Will you come to rescue me?" She asked. He fell silent once more, he knew the answer which she usually will declare—
"Because you know what will happen if you do," she continued with the same response as always in those countless dreams he desperately tried to change.
He learned that his efforts are futile. What is deemed to happen by fate will do, especially ones that belong to the past.
"I only wish to talk to you," he said. "With confessions I hold all this time."
Then she beamed, hands reached for him, as if she meant to embrace. He stood still, feet glued, unable to move, uncertain what to do. Had it not been for her cue, he would only stand on his ground without returning the offer.
"Come now, my dear Iudex. What are you possibly waiting for?"
She welcomed him in her arms. Her body fluid as if she could dissolve anytime before his eyes. He tightened his grip behind her back, losing the ability to form words. He could only clung to her side, held her like she would go in an instant, which she always did in this realm.
(Which she already did in real life.)
"My dear, wash away your sorrow. I won't go as easy, but you must speak your mind before the blade delivers my sentence," she spoke, hands were on his back, trailing vertically to soothe him down.
Her threat was still up there, the hanging judgment that was ready to leash whenever it judged fit. He didn't look up, didn't dare to make the usual mistake he does. He wished now would be the time he could pass a message from his soul.
"I did not wish you to go," he started. His mind was running a mile with words flooding down from brain, but lips were unable to express.
He left out a shaky breath.
"I did not wish you to cease, I did not wish you to sacrifice," he blabbered, eyes became hot as he felt wetness fill his lids.
"I did not wish for your death." He inhaled sharply, steadying his voice.
"I do not want you to go."
He could feel her breath recurring as if she was there to be alive and well. Not too long before she let out a small sigh and giggles, which he realized wasn't sound as playful.
"I'm right here," she said, hands reaching the top of his head. "Alive, in your memory."
And she is.
He wanted to believe, though it's hard not to remember her death.
He wanted to be conceived so that the woman he held would continue to exist in him.
"For eternity," he spelled, eyes still closed as he felt her hands caressing him. "You are alive, in my memory, for eternity."
She huffed joyfully, "I'm glad you hold me greatly in your mind."
(It wasn't about her greatness nor his mind.)
"No, Focalors," he whispered. "I hold you dearly in my soul. This essence of mine reverberates yours only, in the past, the future."
He cupped her right ear gently. "And in this very moment."
He could feel her smile before completely dropping her head to his shoulder. "Honored is not the right word," she said. He agreed. He didn't mean to make her feel honored.
"You flutter my heart, if I still had any," she let go of the hug, forcing his gaze to meet hers and voice to leave without a sound.
"But the time has come for you to continue living, my dear Iudex," she smiled and smiled as if knowing he would engrave her image in his vein.
"And for us shall part, from when I was gone times ago."
The blade zinged with shrill, reminding him of the inevitable that had to come.
"It is my curtain call," she closed her eyes. "That I must not defy."
"That you must heed," he completed. Her eyes met his once again, conveying her regards for his understanding. His hands were on hers, readying one last confession.
"I have relinquished the shackles of mine that held your presence. I will learn to let you go," he cradled her arms and pushed the final divulgence.
"But my soul has been yours for eternity, for I have loved you for the longest time."
His words were returned with a tender smile. Her eyes wavered, emitting a glassy glint as her body swayed left and right to give him the last parting dance.
"When I bid you a goodbye long ago, never once I present my apology though I owe you as much as to my human counterpart," her forlorn voice swept his ears.
"I'm sorry, Neuvillette. For everything I did not reveal. For every deceit I played to you. For every unspoken word I failed to utter in our shared memories these last centuries," he didn't dare to move an inch as if she would slip away from his gaze.
"May you find solace in your revelation, for I can no longer reciprocate your feeling, for our dance in the masquerade was done," he devoured every drop of her gentle breeze, bit by bit, craving it deep within his soul.
"I wish you happiness, Neuvillette. Then and always."
The hanging blade swung down. Her figure disappeared once more within his very eyes.
---
Sometimes, his dreams are violent. He dreamed about failure to protect his people. About chaos caused by injustices. About inescapable drowning alongside Fontainians.
But he had stopped dreaming of a certain moment he wished to cease, as the moment now lives eternally in his memory.