CCCC/HMS Oneshots

harmony and all synonymous (soul/mentioned whole)

A/N: request from @NeonCatarina (i've admittedly no clue how to tag)
a request for a dialogue between soul and whole when initially split, or soul using a unresponsive whole to comfort himself.
i kind of mixed the prompts together for a short soliloquy resembling that of untraditional religion. enjoy, i suppose.

"I don't know what's wrong..."

I shove myself into maroon cushions, almost as if my blanket-eclipsed body requires yet another soft, comforting defense from whatever pandemonium lies outside my mind. The havoc that seemed to me so outrageous merely a day ago, yet demolishes my stability today, this moment. The bedlam that rampages all around me, lacerating any preconceived perception of tranquility and harmony once left unthreatened. I sit on a reasonably exerted mattress, hoping it won't be overworked as the punishment for subsequent incidents, although it seems an inevitable consequence.

I feel wrong. My mind discerns the war that has begun in the estate of my prior equanimity, but the rest of me refuses to accept that such change is a possibility. It's a foreign language; disputes and tussles, conflicts and their resulting skirmishes. Warfare. It aches and exhausts every part of my evidently myopic outlook. It seizes my thoughts in its corrosive yet gradually comprehensible claws, shredding its path towards my crumbling morals and innocuousness. I feel as if all around and inside of me is decaying, rapidly molding and rotting away, only to reveal the underlying reality of inexorable strife in any propinquity.

Therefore, it appears reasonable, dreadfully anticipated, yet it remains a miniature fissure presaging a shatter in reality as it stands across from me, averting our gazes to its deteriorating wounds. The harmony once present threatening to shatter, to succumb to its affliction, it crumbles to a sorrowful, dim glimmer, which I believe is merely my mind whispering to itself a sense of impotent comfort. The discord, dissonance, and any term synonymous to cries of dispute, all convening to constrain hope to surrender.

And so I bow my head. My eyelids sew themselves a sleeve over my vision, a few stray curls joining as an ornament to my reverent curtsy. All else seems to dwindle respectfully from my senses, only allowing my thoughts and the one to whom I speak to occupy my perception.

My hands adjoin, in a grace that of marriage, and a commitment similar.

"Dear harmony, consonance, balance, and all synonymous, and you who results of such melody; I ask you for strength, for guidance, for assistance in the comprehension of my purpose, for I am in a state of distress in response to calamity which shattered my view and perception as it stood. I ask that my worth, beside Heart and Mind's respectfully, be shown through a clear lense, and that you guide us to a state where we shall relish in accord with one another. Harmonia, Whole, to any name you answer, I ask you give me and my sides strength. To you, I am worth."

A resumed silence sits with me, yet its presence is welcome as an indication that my prayers have been perceived and by he who is consequential of peace. The hush state in which the house, brimful of dimmed lights, sits reminds of times that only thought of goals in agreement.

And so I hold my head high, my nose to the sky, as I reconstruct my position to that of a peaceful, resting man. Now in comfort, I allow the congruous blankets to guard me from the glacial quarrel that otherwise numbs my skin. Relishing in the, likely temporary, silence, and silent consolation of the unspoken Whole, I rest.