Work Text:
Tommy remembered better days. Better days, when Wilbur didn’t sit down with a heavy sigh and had to drug himself into blissful ignorance. Happier days, when Techno’s violin resounded with more merry melodies, when Techno didn’t have to hurt people to appease the voices. Golden days, when they had a father, and his father would let them sleep under his black velvet wings; when Philza was still alive, and they were content and cherished.
Now, the same melancholic song played again and again from Techno’s bedroom like a broken record, the strings sorrowful, haunting, mournful; now, Techno hardly spoke, tight-lipped and poker-faced, cerise eyes barely hiding the pain and fury he desperately tried to conceal; now, Techno would always be absent minded as if he were never truly there; now, the voices controlled Techno more than he controlled them, day by day they ate at him, winning; now, there was no one there alive who could help him; now, Techno disappeared for days with only blood to show when he came back, deep scarlet dyeing his white fur trim incarnadine.
Now, Wilbur only sang of death, of misery, of despair, his sweet, gentle voice drenched in sorrow; now, Tommy only heard Wilbur’s dulcet laughter after Wilbur had drugged himself happy or drank himself numb; now, Wilbur needed to take pills before he could go to sleep, pills to take away the horrors in his mind; now, Tommy could see insanity slowly taking over Wilbur’s mind, creeping gradually like a cancer, a subtle manic light sometimes illuminating Wilbur’s once-soft brown eyes; now, cigarettes smoked by Wilbur haphazardly adorned the cluttered hallways of their house when before, it was only occasional and Philza would clean up after him and beg him to stop smoking.
Now, all that was left of Philza were stray black feathers, carelessly strung about the house; now, Philza was just a treasured, dreamy memory, a memory synonymous with joy; a father, who cared for them, the only one who had accepted them when the world had shunned them with a frigid heart, the only person who listened when no one else would, the only person who understood with a warm, open heart.
Now, Tommy just wanted to go back to the golden days; now, Tommy cried uncontrollably for hours; now, all Tommy knew were the hurtful memories; now, all Tommy knew was a burning desire to make everything go back to how it should be, how everything was before Philza stopped living, loving them.
Now, memories were all they had left of Philza; and now, memories were the last things they clung to dearly-
Now, they all missed those golden days.