request; pfp creds to kklsmet on twt ; this isn't accurate to lore i'm aware lol i just thought it'd be fun
Two Time had stabbed the only person who ever truly loved them.
Not a stranger. Not an enemy. Not even someone they could pretend “had it coming.”
No. It was Azure. Their lover. Their partner. The only one who ever looked at them like they were worth something—even when they weren’t. Especially when they weren’t.
And what did Two Time do with that love? That sacred, rare kind of devotion?
They gutted it.
They tore it open with their own hands. Deliberately. Not in a flash of rage or a moment of confusion—but in cold, calculated desperation. They ripped open the one thing that had ever truly believed in them, just for a second shot at a life they weren’t brave enough to live the first time around.
A sacrifice.
Cowardice, dressed up as survival.
Crawling back to you. Again. As they always did.
Not in triumph. Not radiant with the joy of divine approval. But in pieces. In ruin. Their body shaking. Their eyes wide and rimmed with sleepless, fevered desperation.
“Please,” they rasped. The word caught in their throat, as if it physically hurt to speak it. “I did it for you. I thought—it had to mean something—”
You didn’t move.
You didn’t blink.
Because they never understood. Not really. Not even now, when they knelt before you like a penitent saint. Not even now, after everything.
“Oh, spare me,” you sneered, stepping forward. The distance between you narrowed, but it felt like a chasm opened wider. "Do you think killing what you love is the way to get my approval? My sacrifice?"
They choked. Whether on tears, or guilt, or shame—you didn’t care.
They looked like a dog now. One that had been kicked too many times, broken down to muscle memory, crawling toward anything that looked like a hand even if it might be a fist.
There was nothing tragic about it.
They weren’t misunderstood.
They were pitiful.
A soppy, repenting loser who would trade their soul just to forget what they did. Just to forget who they were when they did it.
“I didn’t know what else to give,” they whispered. The confession clung to them, heavy as chains. “I didn’t know what else would be enough.”
And there it was.
Not piety. Not faith. Not reverence.
Just fear.
Just guilt.
Just the same small, broken thing they had always been—wrapped in a thin veil of sacred language and offered up like it meant something.
“You gave me scraps,” you snarled. “You took the one beautiful thing in your wretched life and destroyed it. Not out of obedience. Out of cowardice.”
You took a step closer, voice low, teeth bared with divine contempt.
“You sacrificed Azure not because you honored me—but because you couldn’t bear to be loved.”
They flinched. Trembled.
Deep down, they knew it was true.
It wasn’t the blood that stained them.
It was the reason behind it.
You didn’t want their devotion. Not like that. Not twisted and frantic and hollow.
They looked up at you with those wide, broken eyes.
Like a child who had brought home a bird with broken wings, beaming with pride, thinking they had done something beautiful.
And gods, weren’t they just that?
A child playing at worship.
“Azure would’ve forgiven you,” you said.
There was no emotion in your voice. Only truth. Cold, inevitable truth.
“They would’ve found a way to twist even this into hope.”
Then your voice dropped, soft as a blade sliding between ribs.
“But I won’t.”
You didn’t excuse them.
But gods—even gods like you—could understand.
“I am not a god you bribe with corpses,” you whispered.
You placed your hand on their forehead—lightly. Carefully. The way one might mark a condemned soul. The way a priest might prepare the dying for death.
Not to lift them.
Not to bless them.
But to remind them, for just one breath in time:
Even wrath can weep.