[O] the more it heals, the worse it hurts - Printable Version +- HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun (http://helovia.com) +-- Forum: Out of Character (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: Archives (http://helovia.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=11) +--- Thread: [O] the more it heals, the worse it hurts (/showthread.php?tid=21324) |
||||
the more it heals, the worse it hurts - Mauja - 10-29-2015 somebody shine a light
I'm frozen by the fear in me
The world was empty. The summer sun was dying in a vibrant splendor, deep burnished orange and blood red shimmering through every part of the world—long spears of bronze sunlight arced along the shore, reflected in every pool of water, in the still, eternal horizon. Blood washed the world, fell upon it, baptized it, and Mauja stood in the midst of it, motionless. Emotionless. The sunset was beautiful, breathtaking even in this mirror stretching from one edge of the world to another, but—but not to him. Because the world was empty. Because, and he hated himself for it, it felt like he had lost everything. And what hadn't he lost? Roskuld. Tembovu, unless the giant was going to hate him for running out on his duties to mourn. What fucking else did he have? Psyche was dead, Kou was dead, d'Artagnan had left, Aviya was dead, Snö was dead, gods knew where Tamlin and Sielu were, or where Kahlua was— So what he had left was Glacia and Roskuld and Tembovu, then, unless he went further into his past and started looking for ghosts like Lena, re-kindled his ties with Deimos, maybe Roland was still around... —Naerys. He sighed, a sound so devoid of hope, and lowered his muzzle to the ground. His reflection stared back at him with a maroon sky touched with the first hints of purple behind it. Was it right of him, to have forsaken his duties at the Edge? To have left it entirely? But to go there again— When every shadow screamed of Snö— Slow, silent tears pooled in his eyes. Slow, silent tears slid down his cheeks, shimmering faintly in the fading light. This was what he had feared all the time: the inevitable reveal that Mauja wasn't good enough. Wasn't strong enough. That he couldn't save anyone. That he couldn't protect anyone. That he couldn't go on anymore. Kahlua had believed in him, and he had tried, but without her his faith had crumbled, and now it lay shattered on the floor along with his glass heart. "I'm sorry," he whispered, to Naerys in particular, even though she wasn't there. He had left the Riptide Isles and the funeral pyre of his daughter, he had left the throng of Helovians hurt and bleeding and braying for attention in a world that longed for silence—for all to turn to quiet glass humming with only the slightest, purest resonance. He had left the scene of his latest heartbreak and fled back to where the Sun had battled a crocodile, where fire had rained and a black mare had died to leave her child an orphan. What had the Gods wanted of them? What had they hoped to achieve? Were they happy now, with what they had wrought? Were they proud? Sobbing, Mauja fell to his white knees in the crimson light, head bowed in a defeat more complete and profound than he had ever felt before. [ @Dacianna ] somebody make me feel alive and shatter me RE: the more it heals, the worse it hurts - Dacianna - 10-30-2015
RE: the more it heals, the worse it hurts - Mauja - 11-01-2015 somebody shine a light
I'm frozen by the fear in me
The world spun on, mercilessly, when all he wanted was for it to stop—to get off this ride, take a step to the side. He didn't want to be part of this anymore. He didn't want to be part of this wicked, wicked lottery of life, where cruel whim decided who lived and who died; that which would've been the glorious future, was dead and cold, while the old lived on. Aviya and Snö had been the brightest, coldest stars in the Plague sky, raised in a cult meant for them—a cult which would leave the world a better place (or so, he had thought) for them to live in, a cult, a crusade, they were to take over. Five or so years ago they had been born, sheltered in fog, as their fathers and mothers struggled to scour the world clean of hornless filth. But that future had been lost, already before they died—lost, in the compassion of Mauja's fractured heart, lost, in the climate of this world which shackled the Red Doctor. And the world had been left as bad a place as it had ever been, and still they had been the future, of everything. The continuation of existence. And now, they were dead, both of them, slain by foreign gods in lands that were not Helovia, truly. There had been more than random whims and madness to his offering the Edge to Roskuld—how would they ever become the caretakers of this world, when the old fell to the roadside in a pool of their own stagnant blood, if they were never taught how to? If they never got to test their wings? But, he supposed that crying over your dead daughter made you seem more mad than you were, and the need to be left alone with his grief had overruled any desire to argue about it. He had tried, goddamnit, to not just leave the Edge and let them figure out the pieces for themselves— The stark blood red of the sky was growing duller, fading, and through the rugged sound of his own breathing he heard something else—through the scent of his own snot and tears he smelled something else. A guest to his grief; an intruder upon his mourning; another lost soul lost in the lost world. One black-rimmed ear gave a listless flick, and then he stopped caring—if he ever had. Where he had never wanted to weep in front of someone, he now found that it did not matter; where he had always worn ice as an armor, his bleeding heart was staining his sleeve red. He was a father mourning the loss of two daughters; a ..something mourning the loss of his brother; a friend left behind by his friend; a.. he squeezed his blue eyes shut. A man (he supposed) left alone in the dark with a candle and no one to share its light with. In more ways than he had understood, d'Artagnan had been his everything. And now, he was gone. "Uhm, are you okay?" the stranger asked with a sterling voice, accompanied by the ringing of metal against horn; a foreleg brushed against his rigid shoulder, threatening to upset his precarious balance as he knelt under the weight of his grief. No, he thought to say, but no words passed his dark lips: just another breath wreaking havoc on its way out, a gasp disturbing the rhythm of his inhalation. No, I'm not okay. Mauja had lost before. He had lost his unit ( Mauja had lost before, but he had never grieved. And now, he had a lifetime's worth of loss to mourn. The stranger was humming, a soft and soothing sound edged with anxiety, accompanied by the on-and-off clicking of metal against something—backed up by a breathing that grew more rugged, the hint of her sides expanding brushing against the curve of his barrel. In a thick voice she said it would be fine, the most commonly told lie Mauja had ever heard; another sob tore its way out of his lungs and he struggled back to his feet, thrusting his neck in under hers, seeking what solace he could find in the shadow of a stranger. [ @Dacianna || YOU SIB YOU. ] somebody make me feel alive and shatter me RE: the more it heals, the worse it hurts - Dacianna - 11-04-2015
RE: the more it heals, the worse it hurts - Mauja - 11-08-2015 somebody shine a light
I'm frozen by the fear in me
"Uh-OH," and he was nestled in the warm curve of her throat, pulse rocketing against his neck, a life-rhythm thundered out in the darkness of his world. He could feel it with each passing moment, eyes pressed shut as the warm beat pushed and pushed and pushed against him. In a world where nothing made sense, it was a comfort to feel the pulse of another living creature. And each time she drew breath he could feel it too, chest swelling against his shoulder, hear the sound of it slipping in through her nostrils and quivering down her throat— Her heartbeat grounded him, and her breathing calmed him, until it didn't hitch quite so much each time the air slipped into his lungs. "I’m sorry," she was saying, apologizing for something she had had nothing to do with—for a moment his eyes slipped open, as he realized he had no idea who he was stealing comfort from, and all that he saw was an unfamiliar light gray shoulder, a touch of gold, the flow of a pale mane. His eyes closed again. Did it matter who she was? Did it matter what she looked like, or where she came from? He knew her pulse—he knew the sound of her life, the essence of her being, the warm core from which everything flowed. What else did he need to know, but the comfort of her skin? "I’m so sorry." The tide of tears had receded, and a moment after her words he sighed—a sound of defeat, of the world ending, something so deep and profound it could've made the very earth quiver in compassion. Aviya was dead. Snö was dead. d'Artagnan had left. (—Torasin, Psyche, Kou, Tolio—) Everyone was dead or gone, and if they weren't yet, they would be. And one day, he would be too, leaving all those he loved and cared for behind, more than he already had. He envied those who had the strength to keep loving. Those who had the strength to go on. To face life, despite knowing this: to learn to love anew, even when their hearts were torn apart and making a bleeding mess all over a stranger. Mauja drew in a rugged breath, though it was calmer now. Very gently he lowered his head, disentangling himself from her neck, from the quiet backdrop of her pulse—moving away from the steadiness of that rhythm, and out into a cold world which had been shaken in its foundation. He knew well enough that being alive was a risk, but.. not even when Glacia had nearly drowned had he thought he would actually lose a child to death before dying himself. "I'm sorry too," he said quietly, voice thick, and opened his pale eyes again. They were reddened from crying, framed by dark lashes messed up by tears—and he looked at the creature with the warm heartbeat, the unfortunate stranger who had happened to wander upon him. She had some traces of draft blood, sturdy, gray, wearing some golden jewelry. The one in her horn was the cause of the bell-like clicking. Slowly, he pulled his gaze up from her gilt hooves to her eyes. "I really am. Sorry." And then, his eyes slid away again, to a darkening horizon that had no right to be so beautiful, and it took all he had to hold back a fresh flood of tears. [ @Dacianna ] somebody make me feel alive and shatter me RE: the more it heals, the worse it hurts - Dacianna - 11-12-2015
RE: the more it heals, the worse it hurts - Mauja - 11-17-2015 somebody shine a light
I'm frozen by the fear in me
What was he even doing here? It was the ass-end of nowhere, just a piece of glittering shore all too close to the Dragon's Throat, and—and it held no real memories for him, of anything aside from a battle and a mare dying to leave her child an orphan. Maybe that was why he was there, hiding from all the places of Helovia haunted by memories, trying to get somewhere else and start something new, but.. she had been here too, right? It was all he could see in the setting sun, an opportunity lost, a memory not shared because there was no one there to share it with anymore—all those wrongs left unrighted, all the shit left unfixed, the words left unsaid, and the fact that she'd never managed to say that she loved him just made it hurt the worse. It was all his fault. Everything was always his fault, so along with having them ripped out of his life he had to carry that burden of guilt. "Hey," the stranger was saying, something firm in her voice that sounded an awful lot like 'goddammit, look at me you fucking idiot'. Hesitantly his head turned from the horizon. It was just another piece of shame that in his two seconds of solace and staring he had sort of forgotten about her—about the way the gentle brush against his shoulder had alleviated some of his pain, how the steadfast beating of her heart had offered a comfort no words could. "You okay?" He opened his mouth, but no sound came out—he swallowed what had laid on his tongue, some snarky reply she didn't deserve, but she was staring at him with narrowed eyes and a kind of directness that made him feel exposed and back-stabbed. Why let him cry all over her—fuck, why come over in the first place?—if she just wanted to growl at him? Like, was it somehow his fault some fucked-up God had killed his daughter? "No," he answered her coldly, retreating into the safety of the ice, falling into its open arms (it's grave—) and resting there, where his fragile heart was safe from the cautious cruelty of strangers. What did she want of him? Why was she looking at him like that, one moment shying away, the next drawn in closer, like he was something curious, some sort of moth-eating magnet, like the pain freezing over in his red-rimmed eyes could give up its secrets all of its own accord— And then it started, an interrogation, question after question spilling from dark lips and he just stared at her, cold and uncomprehending. Who was he? Good question. Was he from here? No, not originally. Was he in the Rift? Certainly not. What happened to him? He nearly lost his owl, got yelled at, his (for all intents and purposes) god-child died, his best friend left, and then his own child died. And: "Why... were we saved?" Saved? Saved? His stillness fractured into bitter laughter and he took half a step backwards, shaking his head. Saved? Oh, yes, the horizon was beautiful and all, but what she wasn't seeing was the blood staining the sand. "Saved," he repeated savagely, hating himself for trampling all over her dreams and hopes and desires, but how could he stop himself from doing it? "The first God to tear a path to the Rift did his best to prevent anyone coming through! Saved, yes, brought to a land fraught with greed and violence and pain!" He wasn't crying, per se, but tears were streaming from his eyes again as his raw voice poured into the world. Ashamed and disgusted with himself he turned away from her, let his hooves slide in the shallow water until his hocks touched the ground and he was sitting with his back turned to her. "I am Mauja, of this wretched land. My daughter and my best friend's daughter died fighting to protect this world from the gods our own ones lured out of the Rift and were too cowardly to fight alone." He was silent for a moment, before turning, hesitantly, to peer at her over his shoulder. "Do you still feel saved?" [ @Dacianna ] somebody make me feel alive and shatter me RE: the more it heals, the worse it hurts - Dacianna - 11-18-2015
RE: the more it heals, the worse it hurts - Mauja - 12-15-2015 somebody shine a light
I'm frozen by the fear in me
Stop— And he was screaming it as much at himself as at her—fucking stop, press pause, rewind. Do it all again. Do it better, because this hurt, a black fire billowing up the back of his throat like acrid bile. Choking. Choking on the guilt and the shame and the reckless anger, while thin, sharp needles pricked his heart—laceration, he thought dimly for a moment, the word sweet and painful as it danced through his mind. Laceration. Like thin, red veins crisscrossing frosted glass, or ice, thin cracks bleeding— His head hurt. It pounded with all the things left unsaid, all the wrongs left unrighted; with the memory of all the words he had said, and wished he never had. His mouth was half-open, lower jaw trembling, like he wanted to spit out sorry but it couldn't move past his teeth. Because he was sorry—sorry that his tongue had run away with him, sorry that his savage emotions had overpowered his rationality.. sorry that he was alive, sitting on his ass in the presence of someone who deserved so much more than his callous ire. Please, he wanted to say, tear-stained blue eyes tilted up to the beautiful sky and black-rimmed ears hiding somewhere in the mess of his mane. Please, stop, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know I'm wrong, please— Because he couldn't stand to hear her angered hurt, knowing that he had caused it, and that he deserved it. It was as if everything he had ever tried to be, open-minded and just and honest and compassionate, had just walked out the door when the grief came in like a dark and cold storm. Loneliness drove it all apart, until he actually yelled "I'M SORRY!" in the middle of her speech. His voice was thick, his eyes wild, but he quieted—what else could he do? It had been so fucking dumb and he had known it and he hadn't been able to stop the words tumbling out, like, like if he could not be happy no one else could. Just because Helovia had fucked him over so many times, why did it have to be like that for everyone else? Why did he have to try and tear down her chances of a happy life here, just because he always seemed unable to find it? He had seen the Rift Gods. He had smelled them and heard them and felt them in the pits of his gut—felt their wrong, their sick greed, their ill nature, and heard the disease in their inhuman voices. What was to say she hadn't suffered more in the Rift, than he had in Helovia? What was to say that his life, hell as it was for him, wasn't her paradise? I'm sorry— And she was in his face and he toppled to the side, the flat of his left shoulder striking the wet sand. Lament your life away— So what the fuck was he supposed to do? Freeze himself over? Then he would feel nothing—be nothing. And when he felt, he was—weak. A disaster. A disgrace. Something one could not look at without pity, as he wasted his life— What do you want from me? For him to pop to his feet and fucking smile as brightly as the sun? To go about as if nothing had happened? To somehow stitch up the voids gaping in his heart, and go about his business like he had any fucking clue who he was, and was supposed to be, and do? "Show me you can fight, show me how to save myself from this land fraught with greed and violence and pain. Please." He was lying on his side, hair spread like a halo around his neck, pushed over like a sack of grain and bones—a large, pale creature toppled to the ground, pride broken. And she asked him to fight? "Are you serious," he said before he knew it—which, honestly, would make him worthy of a hoof in the brain—but somewhere beneath the disbelief lurked a note of amusement, so tiny, so fragile, but like some part of his disjointed humor had flickered back into life. It was just bizarre. Mauja crying. Mauja clinging to a stranger. Mauja then shouting at the stranger, and the stranger pushing him over until he lay in the sand, and then, she asked him to fight. Laughter bubbled up in his throat, unbidden, unstoppable, shearing through the air with just the faintest hints of hysteria—gods, it was so fucking messed up. It almost made sense, in some backwards way. But who the hell walked around comforting strangers and then begging them for fights? He glanced up at the gray mare. Maybe they did things differently in the Rift. Maybe she was expecting some kind of ceremony, some kind of ritual, something he had no idea about and would mess up, and she would be disappointed and angry and he would've ruined something beautiful and sacred— He drew in a quivering breath, and quick as he could—not as quick as he usually could've, given that this was fucking sand he was lying in—he rolled more onto his belly, forehooves digging into the wet ground as he hauled himself up. But once standing, he didn't stop there; his white back rose into the air, and his hind legs shot out towards her once, while he watched her with his head slightly turned. It was a relatively low kick, towards the region of her chest, because .. ouch, if he'd hit her on the nose? Laceration, his mind whispered again, unbidden. [ @Dacianna || Continues here. ] somebody make me feel alive and shatter me |