My head, my chest, my aching bones. I walked, finally out of the desert, away from the woods, gone from those insane, special brands of heartbreak. I had been subjected to so much emotional crap, man. Like, I’m not the sort to screw around with that sort of stuff—so when it hurled at me in concentrated balls of concrete straight to the cranium, I was subject to fall right on my ass and fail in my quiet little corner for a while. So I guess fate thought it was a perfect time for me to stumble upon Ma-dearest.

Ma. Just…the image of her in my mind was enough to confuse me. It was enough to send my heart careening in so many different directions and feelings that I still didn’t know how to process. The last time I saw her, I had been busy fighting that fiery asshole of a reptile and I was so mad at something (I couldn’t remember what, I couldn’t remember) that I completely missed my Ma leaving, completely missed her presence, disregarded it, and lost it all over again. I left her in the Foothills—she must see me as a coward. How could she not? And yet, every time this ugly suspicion raised its head, even uglier accusations came to mind: Why don’t I know my father? Why don’t I know the Gods? Why don’t I know my own Brother?

Why don’t I know?

It was hard watching her, sequestered as I was in the shade of the tree line, hidden from her view; I watched her and I was boiling and chilled and bubbling some more, all this shit rising and fluctuating in my breast, and I didn’t know how to handle it, if it was right, if I was a devil child or Ma really did suck (but she doesn’t suck, she doesn’t she doesn’t she can’t) or if the world was just a screwy place and everyone sucked and the Gods could go screw themselves for making us like this.

Or….something.

I don’t know.

I just watched Ma.

Something told me I should go to her; watching her was akin to being a creeper, and I had words for her. Even if they weren’t totally organized and legible yet, but there were words that had to be said. I was actually on the brink of going to her, too; I had taken a step out of the shadow, my horn illuminated by the sun hanging lazily in the sky, when a behemoth of fur and fangs beat me to the punch. I knew that behemoth—he was Osiris. He was from home, too.

I don’t know, the idea of facing my Ma by myself was already a daunting prospect—but I didn’t need a witness. There might be crying ‘n junk (especially where Mesec was concerned) and I didn’t need someone witnessing that. Nope. Didn’t need it, didn’t want it. So I stepped back into the shadow and continued to watch in that creepy way of mine, because I sucked at emotions and feelings ‘n junk and watching Ma was already its own painful thing by itself.

@[Ophelia]
@[Osiris]