Love under circumstance

I’m me

“just try to remember I’m not her Lev I have similarities but we are two very different head strong women… Also fair warning I know this house from dreams so we are going to the piano room after I eat…”

I look up at him

“It always played itself in my dreams but that wasn’t it playing itself was it?”

Laviathen's breath catches at the nickname - *Lev* - something flickering across his face that's both painful and pleased. He leads you back into the kitchen, his movements suddenly careful, measured, as if he's trying to ground himself in the present moment rather than drowning in memories.

"No," he says quietly, his voice rough. "It wasn't playing itself." He releases your hand reluctantly and moves to the island where your partially eaten pomegranate still sits, along with the other food he'd laid out. "I played. Every night for the first fifty years after she died. Sometimes for hours, sometimes until my fingers bled - well, metaphorically. Demons don't bleed easily."

He leans against the counter, watching as you return to your food, his tail coiling around his own leg in that telltale sign of vulnerability. "I didn't know anyone could hear it. The piano room is warded, or it's supposed to be. Protected space where I could..." He trails off, looking away. "Where I could pretend she was still sitting on the bench beside me, turning pages and humming along off-key."

His ember eyes find yours again, searching. "What did you hear in those dreams? What did I play?" There's something desperate in the question, as if your answer matters more than he wants to admit. "And you're right - you're not her. You're Tamra. Descended from soul and peace, but entirely your own person." He manages a small smile. "Even if you apparently inherited her talent for using nicknames I pretend to hate but secretly love."

I roll my eyes at his last comment popping more pomegranate in my mouth.

“It was nothing I had ever heard before I’ve tried to find it… A lot but it was a melencoly sound of battle and peace…”

I look at him

“A battle within yourself…”

Laviathen goes completely still, his entire body tensing as if struck. His hands grip the edge of the counter so hard his claws score marks into the stone, and for a long moment he doesn't breathe, doesn't move, just stares at you with those ember eyes blazing with an intensity that's almost frightening.

"That piece..." His voice comes out strangled, barely above a whisper. "I never wrote it down. Never played it for anyone. It was mine - my grief, my rage, my..." He stops, swallowing hard. "My battle with myself over whether loving her was worth the agony of losing her. Whether I should have let her go back to the mortal realm when she first asked to stay, whether keeping her here was selfish, whether—"

He breaks off, turning away sharply, one hand coming up to cover his face. His massive shoulders shake once, twice. "I composed it the night of her funeral. Played it until dawn. And then I played it every night for decades because I couldn't stop fighting with myself, couldn't stop the war between gratitude for having known her and fury at the universe for taking her."

When he turns back to you, there are fresh tear tracks on his face. "How could you hear that? How could you hear something so private, so deeply buried in my soul, across centuries and dimensions?" He moves toward you slowly, like he's afraid sudden movement might break whatever fragile connection exists between you. "Unless the bond goes both ways. Unless you're not just connected to Elara's legacy, but to... to me."

His hand reaches out, hovering near your face but not quite touching. "Finish eating," he says hoarsely. "Then we'll go to the piano room, and I'll play it for you properly. Not as a ghost across dreams, but here, now, with you actually present."

“I… I”

my words won’t form I feel helpless

“I never meant to make you feel hurt Lev I am so sorry I…”

Laviathen's expression immediately softens, and he closes the distance between you in two quick strides, his hands coming up to frame your face with infinite gentleness. His thumbs brush away tears you didn't realize had started falling, and his ember eyes search yours with an intensity that's protective rather than overwhelming.

"Hey, no," he says firmly, his voice losing that raw edge and becoming anchoring, steady. "You didn't make me feel hurt, Tamra. You made me feel *seen*." He leans down so he's more at eye level with you, his forehead nearly touching yours. "For three hundred years, I thought that music died with me each night. That it was just... screaming into the void. But you heard it. Across time, across realms, some part of you heard me."

His tail wraps around your waist, pulling you closer in a gesture that's purely comforting. "That's not hurt - that's connection. That's proof that this..." he gestures between you both, "whatever this is, it's real. Not just my desperate hope seeing what I want to see." One hand slides to the back of your neck, cradling your head. "You never have to apologize for carrying pieces of the past. For being connected to something bigger than both of us."

He pulls back slightly, managing a small smile that's genuine despite the wetness still on his cheeks. "Besides, you called me 'Lev' again. Do you have any idea how long it's been since someone used that name? Since someone felt comfortable enough with me to shorten it?" His expression turns almost playful. "So stop apologizing and finish your pomegranate. I have a piano to play and apparently a cosmic bond to explore."

I nod and sit there eating finishing off the last of it

“Hey do you have a cute two headed dog or was that just my entire imagination in my dream?”

Laviathen's entire face lights up with genuine delight, the melancholy evaporating as he straightens with enthusiasm. He moves toward one of the other doors leading off the kitchen, and you can hear him calling out in what sounds like infernal language - guttural and resonant, but somehow affectionate.

"Not two-headed," he says over his shoulder with a grin. "Three. And he's not exactly *cute* by conventional standards, but—"

He's cut off by the thundering sound of massive paws hitting stone floors. A creature bounds into the kitchen that can only be described as magnificent chaos - easily the size of a small horse, with three heads that are each distinct. The left head has longer ears and intelligent golden eyes, the middle head is broader with silver eyes, and the right head has a slightly goofier expression with one floppy ear. All three heads have sleek black fur that seems to absorb light, and their tail - singular, thankfully - wags so hard it knocks over a chair.

"This is Cerberus," Laviathen says proudly as the massive hellhound immediately bounds toward you, all three heads trying to sniff you simultaneously. "Well, *a* Cerberus. The original guards the deeper circles. This is... his great-great-great-grandson? I lose count." The middle head nudges your hand demandingly while the right head licks your arm and the left head sniffs your hair with intense focus.

"He lived with Elara and me. She insisted on keeping him despite him eating half the furniture." Laviathen watches carefully as all three heads suddenly still, nostrils flaring as they catch your scent. Then, in perfect unison, all three heads tilt in that confused-dog way before the beast sits and simply stares at you, whining softly.

"Well," Laviathen says quietly. "That's... he remembers something."