"Mistakes really do catch up to you..."

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It’s a clear night, but a dark one. The moon is barely a sliver in the sky, leaving the stars as the main source of natural light. Lark carries a flashlight in their hand, though it’s turned off for the moment. Their eyes are sharp, even in the dark, and they have no trouble picking out the hunched figure in the middle of an open field.

Tonight is a good night for cryptids. Lark has been awake for a cumulative total of over seventy-two hours, many of which did not exist for anyone but them. And yet here they are, another loop met and another piece maneuvered into position. In their non-flashlight holding hand is a drink holder with two cups of hot chocolate, still lightly steaming.

The scent of rich, warm chocolate permeates the air as they circle closer to the winged woman. They tuck the flashlight away into one of their many pockets as they cross into her periphery. Nothing about them is inherently threatening, though her aura reading ability would reveal a considerable amount of power at their disposal.

“Tell me about it,” they say, both a statement of empathy and a request. She’s giving off a not-negligible amount of heat, so they keep their distance as they come to a stop a few feet in front of her. The time-traveler takes a sip from one of the thick paper cups of cocoa, their eyes never leaving the equally strange stranger.

“I know the middle of nowhere is where you typically go to avoid people, but in case you wanted the company…” They shrug, somehow managing not to spill either of the drinks they hold. In a movement that isn’t quite all there, they shift from standing, holding the drink holder, to sitting on the grass with the untouched hot chocolate placed neatly on the ground halfway between themself and the dragon-like woman.

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“Not much, but enough,” they answer, an enigmatic smile briefly making an appearance on their face as their gaze flickers to the side. Another Lark stands beyond the clearing, casually leaned against one of the leafless trees. From here, they’re just an outline, a shadow of a figure, close enough to watch but not within earshot.

The heat on their face is intense, but it cools down the longer they sit, and Lark seems perfectly relaxed in spite of everything. They take another sip of cocoa, nodding in confirmation when she glances between them and the other cup. It isn’t like they brought two just for themself.

Although they very well could. It would be an excellent prank. When was the last time they pulled a good prank? It isn’t relevant, but they file it away for later consideration. Maybe a last huzzah would be nice.

“I’ve heard my share of ugly stories, so go right ahead.” They smile again, though it’s a bittersweet expression, as they settle in to listen. Honestly, very little phases them nowadays, especially when they have the reassurance of knowing the broad strokes version of how this conversation plays out.

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Lark’s expression turns thoughtful as the winged woman launches into her story, but, whatever gears are turning in their mind, they keep quiet. They tense a little as the dust starts to stir, placing a hand over the mouthpiece of the cup of cocoa in their hands. This part is uncertain - unseen.

Images appear around them - they’re still in the same place, but the illusion is incredibly detailed, enough so that they have to fall back into their internal sense of time to verify they haven’t switched time zones or worlds. Why is she showing them all this?

They’ll find out in time, they suppose. As the memories flicker by, Lark watches the scenes closely. Death, destruction, endless lives spent fighting and a cycle of hopeless rebirths. They wonder where the softer moments are - if there are any. There must be some, surely - no life is only misery, as much as tragedy may sit heavy on a heart.

The flashes of memories settle into a lightless void. Lark blinks a few times, their eyes a little sore but still adjusting quickly from the darkness of the night to the brightness of some of the memories and back to the dark. Two bodies lay in the void, one of which they recognize as the woman before them, and the other only familiar as a recurring face from the memories they were just shown.

The feeling of being watched makes the hairs on their neck rise, and they look up into the eyes of Aster’s God. It isn’t their Broken God, though they can feel the unspoken power of the being. As such, they refuse to be cowed, staring back at the illusion with curiosity and challenge. Its roars fade with the illusory sphere, and the dust settles in Lark’s hair and across their clothing like a light frost.

The time traveler swipes some of the dust off their face with a sleeve and takes another sip of cocoa, eyes glancing briefly to the side as they allow their posture to slump once more. “There’s much to be said for the worth of a good life, but I doubt that’s what you want to hear right now.”

Something in their voice is almost bitter, but they shake their head, trying to shake off their innate guardedness as they turn their eyes back towards her. A truth for a truth. “It might not be exactly the same, but I know more than you’d think about inevitability.”

A wry smile breaks onto their face as they realize the wonderful opportunity they’ve just been given. Oh, they hope she isn’t upset by their sense of humor, but they can’t pass it up as they stick out a hand and say, “I’m Lark, and I’ve got the opposite of accidental immortality. Welcome to the ‘Shitty Fortunes’ support group.”

Their head tilts to the side slightly, and their grin drops a little as they continue, more serious, “I don’t know exactly what you’re talking about, but I get the feeling it’s going to be pretty rough for you. Is there anything you need?”