"I think it was right around the time you started swingin' that thing down that gave me the epiphany...!" He made a vague stabbing motion with a hand as he worked to catch his breath.
"But you weren't the first knife I've come across!" He sat up then, and reached for the flowers, grasped the stems above Alastor's hands. Gradually, he defied their fate and wound the clock back as a soft white light blossomed. Dried, heavily-ailed blooms seemed to take a renewed breath and perk back up. They smelled as if warmed by a bright summer's day and were begging for the honeybees to visit.
"...And as thanks for not prematurely snatching out my heart, have a little something. Put it on my bill." He urged the flowers back in his direction. They always seemed to wilt whenever he touched them, likely a product of his own curse.
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"But you weren't the first knife I've come across!" He sat up then, and reached for the flowers, grasped the stems above Alastor's hands. Gradually, he defied their fate and wound the clock back as a soft white light blossomed. Dried, heavily-ailed blooms seemed to take a renewed breath and perk back up. They smelled as if warmed by a bright summer's day and were begging for the honeybees to visit.
"...And as thanks for not prematurely snatching out my heart, have a little something. Put it on my bill." He urged the flowers back in his direction. They always seemed to wilt whenever he touched them, likely a product of his own curse.