Lady Fate was a cruel mistress to the golden king of storms, bringing forth a maiden of beauty and innocence to fall for him only for her heart to waiver upon the idea of love. She threw beautiful mares at him time and again, ones far more fitting his nature than Kahlua- for though he loved her, deep and lasting as a tidal wave upon wrecked shores, she was too pure, too naive for the warrior in many ways- and they were untouchable, unable to even be glanced at, for his foolish heart was the one at fault. The link between consciousness and beating vessel was disconnected, severed, and in it's lacking presence there was a variety of miscommunications. Was the King even capable of love when he could not even recognize not categorize his inherent emotions?

Exasperation drove him to the edge, in quite a literal fashion. Staring down the precipice, past the bleached sheer cliff and the jagged rocks, the roaring water imitating the irritation of self pounding in his ears, to a vision only he could see. Mounting, climbing, surmounting all patience Evangeline had urged him to exercise. He was incapable damn it! A mighty roar of sundered heart stripped vocal chords, powerful limbs throwing his body from the precipice to the waters below, degrading self-hatred a fire in the pit of his skeleton jar.

Snap of wings, violent rush of wind wiping all sound from the pits of his ears as feathers rustled and screeched, clawing for the air that would save him from the ruin at the bottom of the drop. A powerful thrust, muscles hot and firm beneath roiling golden skin as they worked triple time, and the soothing glide of aiding current that jerked his body like a marionette on a string. Cocoa hooves skimmed the sea in skips and skirts, spray of sea foam cool and refreshing upon newly glittering splashed-upon skin. Sailed away from the ghosts and memories haunting him, inland from the cliff he'd thrown himself from.

There was no goal in mind, no destination to aim toward, merely the action of pumping wings and forceful forgetting. And he managed to lose himself, for countless hours where the sun sank down, down, down, a broken winged Phoenix in silent rapture of its fall from Grace. Bathing him in the light of its sin, last vestiges of warmth a reassurance that the darkness of his soul was incomparable to the oncoming swathe of blackness signifying midnight hours.

When at last he fell, uncontrolled and violent with the memory of dark, dark eyes and glittering golden scales flashing in his eyes like sadistic fireworks, it was with a cloud of dirt and flurry of spun gold feathers. Struck by a thousand arrows from Eros' quiver, slain by the magnitude of the love he had to give. Grief overwhelmed the pitiful flesh the Gods had crafted for him, a sense of betrayal that they made him so flawed, so capable of the magnitude of heartbreak he was helplessly conducting, unstoppable even in the face of his ragged desperation to cease whatever made him so destructive.

Electricity crackled on quickly heating wind, body glowing blue, blue, blue like the blue of his eyes, the blue of the ocean he'd contemplated embracing if only to spare the hearts of the maidens he had never wished to harm. Blue like his sorrow. Blue, blue, blue. Fissures jumping from wingtips, dancing between bristled feathers alight with the arcing energy, crackling like a forest fire in the deadened silence of the suffocating blanket of night. Howls of agony caught, trapped, pinned in a golden glass throat, bare to the world in a display of silent suffering.

He didn't deserve the release of screaming.


@[Satanic Silk]