Tate sat upon the steps of his living room, looking through the carpet he held Avery upon not only a week prior. Although it was a memory that held s****l content, he did not think of those specifications. Instead, he thought of what had led to it; their first meeting, the feeling of his back igniting in the prophecy igniting, their first kiss, their fight, and finally the feeling of her life drained by his lips. He had risen to his feet in the final memories of her breath lost to death and took it out upon the stone wall closest to him until he broke through to the pipes connecting this wall to the bathroom. Not caring of the blood or the pain, he fell to his knees and continued these desperate attempts to bring even a fraction of his internal pain forward for even a second of relief of t
