38 days. Forgetting (Magnus/Alec)
A lot of years, a lot of knowledge. It is a law that says that time is of the essence for any living being, it is, first of all, an experience, which is given by knowledge based on mistakes and luck of lived life. Magnus laughs at him because, following this logic, his knowledge will last for several generations. Many centuries ago, many things have been learned. However, something remains a mystery to him.
Why does it hurt so much?
Why does the chest hurt so much - sometimes with needles, as with frosty air, it penetrates, then squeezes, like in a vice, or starts to torment, as if from the claws of a huge tiger? Magnus cannot give an exact answer to this question, and that the most terrible and strange thing is that not a single potion, not a single spell, not a single magician can take away these attacks, from which you want to shout in full voice, tearing off the ligaments, and weep, as in childhood, when his power destroyed everything around. He had to wait, clenching his palms in his fists and biting himself, holding back the horn.
But the worst thing came later. Many, many times later, a wave hit him, taking him to the bottom of the black abyss, where Chaos, Horror, and Agony ruled.
Then for the first time, it happened - a feeling of scabies under the ribs, and a bursting, dry cough, scratching the throat of misery, and a lot of blood on the lips, which dyed thin skin brighter than any lipstick. In theory, Magnus knew what it was and why it was happening, but still the hope that all just his fiction, ingenuity, remained in the old tormented soul. Let it be a curse, a poison, something else. But not this.
But not love.
Magnus didn't need it. He has been killed by this feeling more than once, depriving him of any experience and emotions, leaving only a functioning shell. He does not want to relive this pain. Only this time it's much worse. This love will be the last one. Bright, surrounded by flowers floating in purple puddles - what is not a beautiful death?
Only he didn't dream of such a thing. But maybe it's not so bad to fall victim to true love. However, the small, bright blue little flowers of forgetfulness that germinate through the body, starting in the lungs and breaking through them, brought only the destroying pain that turned the consciousness into a mess of blood and thoughts of a speedy death. Feelings worsened only in one direction, displacing both love and tenderness. When it blossoms inside, making its way through with buds sprinkled with its blood.
The reason for this was that she did not understand what she was doing with her destiny. Lightwood looked through the eyes of the color of the hated memories like a frightened deer, and preferred to stay away from the magician, afraid of his feelings and attention, as well as the hidden hope that was accumulated in the warm look of Magnus. But each meeting ended with a new violent blossoming of beautiful buds and hatred for the damn world.
The magician lives a lot. He saw how people die out, meeting their loved ones, but not receiving reciprocity, as through their still hot bodies germinate through the lush gardens, over which hover the scents of flowers, blood, and death. The beautiful, amazing mind of death, which admired and horrified at the same time. Who knew he was going to have the same one?
Finding love in the arch-enemy isn't it a failure and a judgment?
Magnus laughed, spitting out the remains of the blue petals along with the pieces of his lungs. He is ridiculous to himself, but nothing can be changed.
He knows that in front of him will be either beautiful, bright death, or eternal love. And looking into the hated, but the attractive color of his eyes, he understands that they beckon him like a butterfly on fire. Magnus knows that it will burn, leaving behind only a pitiful handful of ash, which in a moment will be blown away by a slight breeze.
What does he do?
Despite the enormous knowledge given to him by life, now he is lost.
Die to him, becoming fertilizer for beautiful sprouts, or fight? However, what difference does it make?
While Magnus washes away the bloodstains, throws out the flowers of forgetfulness, brings black eyes and with a wide smile meets Alexander Lightwood. Let it be as it is. Any outcome is beautiful for him, and pain is inevitable.