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08-23-2014, 03:23 PM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
He's not dangerous; he's broken and battered, a mere shadow of the glorious King who once ruled the Edge and watched the world from behind his winter's ramparts. And the only reason he's even a shadow is that he is still one and the same, the carrier of those memories—the same body, the same pale white and dark spots, the same veins and scarred old heart. There was nothing left to fear in this husk, except for the whiplash of an untempered tongue, for that was all he was these days: temper, unchecked and impatient.
On nights like these, with the wind flaying his skin from his bones and the waves rising up to drench his battered self, even violence felt distant, like something out of a dream. And he was violent, wasn't he? Capable of such acts of cruelty, unflinching in the face of disposing of those whom he didn't like..? As he watched her, upside down and spine pressed uncomfortably against the cold, hard rock, he thought it was like that—that there was still some ire and iron in him, something that would rather break than be broken... Something that knew, and liked, the taste of blood, the blood of his enemies. Something that wouldn't hesitate to strike, if the moment was presented to him.
But with the rain washing every color from his eyes, it seemed like a musing, a dream, that he would ever possess such strength, and such darkness, too; but wasn't that what he had become? Wilder, somehow? He sighed, watched the angelic creature laying next to him, listened to the sound of rain pattering against her fragile skin. Someone who fought for what he believed in, and against what he didn't like—except.. he didn't like the majority of those he met. He was still riding on his arrogance high, viewed the world with clouded judgment from his tall perch, and discarded mostly everyone as useless, and simply because they were. Narrow-minded and hypocritical.
He sighed into the rain, a thin cloud of moisture snatched up by the gale and dissipated into the salty sea; if she, who lay with her heart bared, knew what darkness he still imposed on himself, even when beaten down by the foolish emotions and dreams he bore, would she dare lay by him like this?
His eyes closed, and he fell back onto his side, back against her. Was it just his imagination, or had she stilled when he'd turned his eyes upon her—as if fearing what the mind beneath thought to do with her, now that it had seen the delicate structure she was made out of, and seen the beating of her trapped heart through the clouded, wet glass of her chest? The sound of rain falling upon her went on, waves rising and riding in to reach its spittle-fingers towards him, hungry and grasping but never quite reaching him; what did she do out here, on slick rocks, when she looked like she might shatter from simply stumbling and taking a fall?
Or would she not? Or did she simply just not care? He could hardly claim to know the nature of such beings, for he did not even have a name for her ice-like skin and pale-stained eyes, and least of all for the life breathed into her and the beating of her heart. So he simply sighed into the wind, and wondered at at which point he would become too numb to rise in this gale—at which point, he simply would have to wait until dawn and the stillness of its air, and the gentle fingers of the sun to warm him back to life.
[ @[Ayelet]. ]
On nights like these, with the wind flaying his skin from his bones and the waves rising up to drench his battered self, even violence felt distant, like something out of a dream. And he was violent, wasn't he? Capable of such acts of cruelty, unflinching in the face of disposing of those whom he didn't like..? As he watched her, upside down and spine pressed uncomfortably against the cold, hard rock, he thought it was like that—that there was still some ire and iron in him, something that would rather break than be broken... Something that knew, and liked, the taste of blood, the blood of his enemies. Something that wouldn't hesitate to strike, if the moment was presented to him.
But with the rain washing every color from his eyes, it seemed like a musing, a dream, that he would ever possess such strength, and such darkness, too; but wasn't that what he had become? Wilder, somehow? He sighed, watched the angelic creature laying next to him, listened to the sound of rain pattering against her fragile skin. Someone who fought for what he believed in, and against what he didn't like—except.. he didn't like the majority of those he met. He was still riding on his arrogance high, viewed the world with clouded judgment from his tall perch, and discarded mostly everyone as useless, and simply because they were. Narrow-minded and hypocritical.
He sighed into the rain, a thin cloud of moisture snatched up by the gale and dissipated into the salty sea; if she, who lay with her heart bared, knew what darkness he still imposed on himself, even when beaten down by the foolish emotions and dreams he bore, would she dare lay by him like this?
His eyes closed, and he fell back onto his side, back against her. Was it just his imagination, or had she stilled when he'd turned his eyes upon her—as if fearing what the mind beneath thought to do with her, now that it had seen the delicate structure she was made out of, and seen the beating of her trapped heart through the clouded, wet glass of her chest? The sound of rain falling upon her went on, waves rising and riding in to reach its spittle-fingers towards him, hungry and grasping but never quite reaching him; what did she do out here, on slick rocks, when she looked like she might shatter from simply stumbling and taking a fall?
Or would she not? Or did she simply just not care? He could hardly claim to know the nature of such beings, for he did not even have a name for her ice-like skin and pale-stained eyes, and least of all for the life breathed into her and the beating of her heart. So he simply sighed into the wind, and wondered at at which point he would become too numb to rise in this gale—at which point, he simply would have to wait until dawn and the stillness of its air, and the gentle fingers of the sun to warm him back to life.
[ @[Ayelet]. ]
