Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with my entry for Writer of World's Feels Contest! After mulling through a number of ideas, I originally came across one idea about a murderer who killed three people and in a blurred world of stasis, explained all the murders. Then, on my 10 to 12 hour road trip I spent today, on the 21st of November, I came up with a continuation idea again for Fading and Oasis, other pieces of mine. Here we are with Nine Hundred and Thirty Three Days. Enjoy!

Nine hundred and thirty three days. She laughs this with a bitter snort, grimacing as the faded crimson marker dashes a line across the next date. August 16th. The number stares blankly back at her and she blinks. Something stirred in her brain, memories pierced together with blurts of darkness, sunlight, dreams in a faded green light.

Her navy hair is tied back into a ponytail, typical of a past she wished she could put in a box and send down a river. The musty pages of the calender drown in a sea of black as the light flickers off, door slams shut. She's down and gone from the hall, hoping to separate herself from such a tainted realm. All the navy haired girl wants to do to herself is fly far, far away,

In the kitchen, she sits in quite solitude, stirring slowly and innocuously a steaming mug of coffee. Her labored breath blows the steam away with the force of a thunderstorm- her heavy wheezing rattling the saucer. She stares blankly back at the murky mahogany liquid, mixed in with a pallid wave of cream and foam. Held by the cup and spoon, the two collide and dance in a crazed twister.

Bringing the mug to her lips, a fiery downpour of coffee spills into her throat and before she knows it, she's screaming at the pain to stop. Scalding sores erupt all over her tongue, and the cup falls to the floor, shattering. Liquid in a brown sludge goes everywhere, the tile staining to a Earth brown. All she does is stare, feeling the agony leech itself from her mouth before dashing to the sink in a frantic search to ease her pain.

The faucet is turned on in a flash, rapid and quick. A stream of water ejects from the sink, getting the low basin flooded with water. While waiting for the sink to fill, she turns around to lean against the counter. The chilled granite sends malevolent shivers down her spine, muscles spamming out in spasms that cause her to shake uncontrollably. Searching for a new coup, she notices the small, but growing puddle of cardinal droplets near her feet.

She screams, noticing a shard of the broken coffee mug embedded in her thigh, at least four inches deep, gushing a torrent of blood. The navy haired girl is losing her cool before she knows it, knocking everything off the shelves before dropping to a huddle. A split plat echoes in her ears as she slowly removes the shard, seeing the too familiar glossy coat of blood. Vermilion stains flash between her eyes and she lets a cry tear from her lips. "This is too familiar!"

On day nine hundred and thirty three, all is not well in Lucina Lowell's home, her heart, or her mind. For nine hundred and thirty two days, she wonders what went wrong.

He can sense whenever she's in pain, and he hates it. On the same day as her freak out, he's home. His tousled blonde hair is even dirtier, as the new job of recording premonitions as a freak sideshow isn't his ideal way in spending his dying years.

Nine hundred and thirty three days since their fall, he's back in her arms sobbing and crying, asking for forgiveness when he never did anything wrong to her. But, this afternoon, he's confident, he's ready to make a name for himself. That is... till he sees her in the kitchen, porcelain shards everywhere, a flooded sink spilling water to the floor, a puddle of blood, and Lucina curled up in a ball whimpering to herself.

He's at her side, that is his instant response. If she was suffering, he'd suffer with her. He hugs her, comforted somewhat by her warmth. She tightens her grip back, trying to think of good times. He doesn't have to say her name to alert Lucina that he's there. She knows him by touch. The tile floor is cold, his skin is frigid to the touch as well, but in this moment he feels content with knowing at least she's present.

"You present?" he asks her.

Lucina nods low. "Yes, Shulk, I am."

A soft kiss, but neither knows who places it, lands on her arm. Lucina often imagines in her brain that she can kiss herself, and she often tries. It's a way of recovering, a way of trying to recoup what was lost all these years ago. The number resonates in her head. Nine hundred and thirty three days.

"Nine hundred and thirty three days." he says hoarsely.

"Don't remind me."

"I'm not-"

They are interrupted, the word 'not' leaving them in a state of remembrance. The first day they met. Laughter all around, familiar faces and strange ones. He was confused at first, between Marth and Lucina- who was who and why did they look so similar. Neither knew of the downfall to fall between them soon enough, the moment when he asked to come to her room. Why she agreed, she won't be able to recall. He entered, she kissed him... history was met.

"You remember how this all started?" Shulk asks gently, rubbing her back.

Lucina sits up, hands falling into the blood pool. She screams again, leaping back into his arms all the while rubbing the carmine liquid off, against his pristine white shirt- he now looks as if he murdered someone and there is nothing he can do. He squeezes her tight, letting her shake in his grasp.

"I didn't do it this time," Lucina shrieks. "That's not my blood! I swear it!"

"Darling, it's all right," Shulk sighs. "We've all messed up. It's okay. It's okay."

"No it isn't! You're a liar!"

"I wish I was."

"Don't we all?"

"Maybe. Not my place to determine that."

"You need to."

"Don't assign jobs to me, Lucy. I don't want to do that to you."

"You're not being fair. Or just. Or loving. Ass."

"How uncouth." Shulk snarks.

She slaps him, for all its worth. He's falling back, and she leaps on him with the fury of tiger. Raking claws, choking sobs from both parties, blood from each member... there is no reason to fight yet they're going at it with all their might, as if each hit represents something in a hidden universe.

He holds her back, still holding onto some might from those nine hundred days ago. They feel like eons, each passes with a slow labored breath as death inches closer with his precarious knife. Sickness and disease, heartbreak, the cyanide pills lying on the table near him. He's wishing she'll understand. She wishes he'd shut up forever and let her blood act as the red marker that jots down the days since the breaking.

Lucina is crying at this point, pleading for him to let her be who she chooses to be. But it isn't good enough, she needs complete trust that if he gave her all the control, things would go back to what they were before. The mansion would still be standing, Ike and Marth would not be in love, for her descendant owned her heart and only her heart. Lucas and Ness wouldn't be traveling tramps... having sex at every rest stop, not loving in their actions.

Shulk can only respond with begs, for her to stop hitting him,to stop taking all the anger out on his face. His heart is pounded to a pancake in more merciless ways than one- her voice is the worst of them all.

In the corner, on the porcelain floor, the two lie against each other, blood and salt-choked tears swamping from their bodies as everything comes full circle. When day one thousand hits, tides of pain would surge. Neither would be ready for that. Regardless of what they'd say.

Later that night, as the covers are pulled back and the two slink underneath the sheets, she kisses him. It's sudden and quick, but there is so much revelation in the one action that he falls back against the carpet, pointing an aghast finger, eyes small, face horrified.

"You kissed me!" he screams.

She's confused, she's lost, and she's pouncing on him like a kitty. "I thought you wanted me to do that! You always kiss me! Isn't it nice to do it back?"

"No! That's doing something intimate and close without my permission. You know-"

"I'm sorry that she ruined your heart before you met me. I know that Robin wasn't the most ideal person in the world, but news flash Shulk, we're all shitty!" Lucina hisses.

He throws her off of him. "Don't you ever say that to me again. Playing with fire is not how you want to work me, darling." The last word is spat out with bitter fire, words laced with emerald venom that drips tenaciously off of an invisible stinger.

She is shocked, and she turns away from him, arms crossed, tears shed and she's crying. "Today was the nine hundredth and thirty third day since we left that accursed place. My memories have been scattered to the wind, and that shard of porcelain brought it all back."

He's blinking, not getting the change in conversation, that is till he's back against the wall, screaming at her to never bring that place up, not in the bedroom where peace and quite must reign over the comforter and the bedspread. Love is put somewhere else in the house, and the talk of the other world that held them hostage is said outside their home. Outside their life. Outside their marriage.

The two get into a shouting match, she's hitting him, he's hitting her and they're both in a state of distress and panic- losing their minds over places and people and things that shouldn't have any affect on them whatsoever. But in the turmoil of the world, they know how it works and that their wishes will never be achieved as long as they live.

They realize this somehow, in some fashion that's beyond normal and the two sit on the bed hugging each other. Tightly. Without remorse. He roams her body freely, feeling every crevice and important body organ that can be touched. She leaps for pleasure in his mouth, strong and willing to take his hand and allow the curtains to shield them from the broken lights in the room.

In a mutual understanding, the covers flip up and the lights die down.

She sighs, in a heated, ragged breath. The two lie next to each other, body aching, head swimming, heart racing, grins widening, and love reaching for a fathomable future for the two.

Lucina chooses to speak first. "I just realized something."

"And what's that?" Shulk opines, grinning.

"Why today, August 16th meant so much to me."

"Why?"

She sits up, flashing back to the old calendar. "Today is my birthday."

Shulk nods. "Indeed it is. Somewhat, I can say that was my birthday present for you."

"Interesting. I didn't know couples did that to each other."

"Well, I can say you've been missing it."

He kisses her, she kisses back. Despite the fact that their bodies were losing their mind, wailing in agonizing pain, their love interrupts that with a resounding punch. On the nine hundredth and thirty third day of the fall of the mansion, Lucina Lowell and Shulk Roberts have returned to the present. They've fallen in love, met pain face-to-face, and most of all, learned that no matter what happened to you in the past, didn't mean that tomorrow was a million times better.

For their nine hundredth and thirty third day, the two called it a success. In their hearts, it may have been a failure. Didn't matter to them. As long as they were still together, nothing else mattered. In a oasis, their paradise inside a ruined home, fading thoughts disappeared completely. It only took nine hundred and thirty three days. No biggie.

There we are you guys! I know it isn't that long, and it isn't anything at all, but I wrote in an hour during the longest drive of my damn life. I'm happy to have at least gotten something out for you all, so thanks so much and for Writer of Worlds, thank you for hosting another wonderful contest!

~ Paradigm