|Saint Patrick ☘ (shamrocked_) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2016-12-11 22:12:00
|Entry tags:||saint patrick|
WHO: Saint Patrick, open to Saint George
WHAT: Just the worst thing ever
WHEN: Saturday evening
WHERE: Their house
WARNINGS: Discussions of death
Patrick hadn't even thought to worry, even as a glance at the clock let him know Clio was currently nearly three hours late. She had headed out to do some Christmas shopping, despite taking great issue with the holiday itself, and Patrick simply assumed something had come up. He was actually feeling pretty good, all things considered. The twins were currently sleeping, Mairead was reclined in front of the fireplace reading, and smiling softly to herself while she stroked Kellan's fur almost absentmindedly. Kellan, for his part, was purring so loudly that Patrick could hear it across the room. The Christmas tree was decorated beautifully, lights twinkling cheerfully at them. Everything was perfect.
Then the room was illuminated by alternations of red and blue and Patrick looked up in alarm. It wasn't the Christmas tree, it was coming from outside. For the first time, panic touched Patrick's belly, exploding into full-blow horror when he heard a knock at the door.
Oh god, it was the police. Someone was hurt. Someone was dead.
Clio was dead.
Patrick stumbled to the door, Mairead close behind them. He barely heard as the police explained the accident to both of them. Six cars involved. High speed on the freeway. Multiple casualties, including Kleio Fermuouz. It felt like he was hearing the words underwater. None of it made sense. Clio was a muse. Clio couldn't die.
"No," he finally said, shaking his head adamantly at the police officer. "No, you don't understand."
"Patrick," Mairead warned, her voice breaking with emotion. "Patrick, please-" she reached for Patrick's arm and he turned to her.
"They don't understand! She can't-"
"She's gone," Mairead blurted out, trying to cover Patrick's too-casual mention that Clio was immortal. Not that it would have sounded like anything more than a grieving partner to the cops.
"No, she- She was just- She's just shopping," Patrick insisted to the officer.
"I'm so sorry, Mr Finnegan. If you like you can come with us to identify-"
"It's not her!" Patrick yelled, and then his eyes widened in shock and he bent over, a sob clawing it's way up his throat. His beautiful Clio was dead. She was dead, and gods he didn't know how long she would stay that way. What if it was forever!? What if there wasn't enough belief to bring her back?! Panic gripped at his chest and suddenly, Patrick couldn't breathe.
Why should he breathe? Clio was gone.