Stitches steps out his house for just a moment, watching one of the last cold rains of winter, frowning at the signs of spring sprouting at every turn. He reaches a hand past the small canvas awning of the house, letting the rain touch his fingers and palm. He smiles at how cool it feels, how it tingles and rolls around his skin. Looking up from his hand he sees things he often does as he ponders and wanders on his own. Ghosts.
Not real ghosts, mind. His mind has done some terrible things to himself, and memories manifest in hallucinations. He watches an argument between him and an old friend happen as he steps down from the platform of his house and onto the lawn, allowing the rain to begin the process of soaking him. He walks towards the outer fence of his property, right between the argument, one which the voices of echo within his mind. He stops to look at that old friend of his, eyes saddened and face weary. He shakes his head to himself and moves on.
Though this isn't the end of it, as when he passes one, another appears on the ground, laying in the grass with him. A memory of something he used to love doing, and someone he really wanted to do it with. He watches as the specter of a younger him speaks with another old friend, one whom he had searched for. He hums softly and sighs as they point up at what was the night sky. He looks up to try and see what they are, but it is neither clear nor night. The rain clouds cry on him to mask his eyes blurring, to hide the moisture that builds as he quite literally ambles down memory lane. He takes a last look at the pair on the grass before moving on.
Just before reaching the edge of his property, he spots him and his brother walking along the fence line. This never really happened, but they had spoken while walking through Bree a number of times. His brother is chummy, cheerful, and of course now missing. Stitches swallows hard as he fights the tears of this. Filled with anguish he presses onto the final stretch.
Upon reaching the edge of his land, he reaches in the mailbox to see if anything had come to him. There is one envelope that he immediately shelters deep within the folds of his cloak in a dark and warm pocket. He turns around and looks back at his yard, filled with memories that pull at him, and he can feel himself losing his smile, even with one permanently strewn on his face with ink. He looks down at himself, examining his hand briefly. He stares at it for some time as he notices the more distinct lines on the top of his skin near the knuckles. This life started late for him, with no memory of who he was, and yet so much had happened in a number of years, so much that he wishes he didn't spend too much of his time on. He sniffs gently and heads back.
He reaches his porch again, looking down at a welcome mat that isn't his. Just before he heads inside he hears his brother and him passing by behind him, and Sehturis speaks quietly, "What about the truth? Why don't we go back home and try and figure out what happened? We can find Liyla and ask her why she did what she did? We can finish this for you, brother. Together."
Stitches turns around with wide eyes and watches the rest of the conversation, remembering it not to happen too much longer. The memory of him opens a door nearby and looks back at Sehturis, saying quietly, "No, Seht. It's time to leave that where it lies. Whoever I was...whatever all of that was died a long time ago. It's time to let go." He says before ducking somewhere and disappearing from any hallucinogenic reality Stitches has concocted here.
Stitches looks at his brother as he fades out, then to the other ghosts roaming and speaking on his lawn. He looks back down to his hand and frowns, repeating his own words, "It's time to let go." He says before looking back up and noticing the lack of spectral phantoms haunting not his yard, but himself. He doesn't feel lighter, or any better, but he does turn away, heading back inside with another sniff and a wayward tear.
