i am the vanguard of your destruction

[ couldn't resist, mate... ]

Break every bone I have
That will not change a single thing...

They had not broken his bones; they had broken his soul.
"They". Interchangeable with he—the one who had manage to lose everything, simply by not daring to hold on. He had let them go, because he hadn't known how not to. And if he blamed the world, old Sparkplug, or something else.. well. If you always pretend nothing's wrong, how will you ever change? He sighed softly as he wove through the unfamiliar terrain. It didn't matter how many excuses he made, or how much he tried to pinpoint when he'd lost sight of the joy in living, or.. anything, really. The only thing that mattered was what he'd not done about it. What he hadn't dared to do.

Because wasn't that exactly what had gone through his head, before he left Helovia again? "Oh I can't go north because the one I'm looking for might actually be there and then I have to face myself and what I feel and all these things and then go to the Edge and potentially get killed by a bunch of moronic hypocrites who can't see further than they piss."

Mauja snorted, cautiously rounding some unknown structure. He didn't know what it was. Didn't care. As long as it didn't bite him it could stand there for all he cared. All the same, blue eyes watched it warily as he slid past, wondering where the hell he'd ended up.

He'd gone south again, down from the frigid north and into the arms of gentle spring—but why, he wasn't quite sure. Wasn't the north Ophelia's place of desolation, for wandering and thinking, the refuge she went to when things were too heavy on her mind? So wouldn't that be the logical place to look for her? Then why had he left those vast, empty spaces again? No matter how much he wrestled with himself, he could never figure out if he was running again, or if it truly seemed more likely someone down south would know of her whereabouts.

Maybe she was dead.

The thought cut through his mind like a knife, to the point where he actually stopped dead in his tracks, nostrils wide and eyes blank. No.. she couldn't be. He—he wouldn't let her be dead.

As if he could do anything about it. Hadn't seen her for years. How many wolves had he saved her from? Blinking in the sunlight, Mauja peered about himself. Where the hell was he, anyway? He'd walked into the sky, and.. the more rational part of his mind made a sour face and turned away. It was way too trippy. Or depressing. Maybe he had died.

On silent wings the owls glided ahead. If he had bothered to feel, or to ask, he would have sensed how suppressed Diego's thoughts were, urged outwards and blocked by Irma, and the vague, ticking anxiety mingling with her blood.

But he didn't. Just trudged on, watching the odd surroundings with wary, absent-minded interest, until his frosty hooves found a circle of sand and his eyes a creature clad in the palest of whites, with locks dipped in cold blood. A creature as fleeting as a deer and as regal as a lion—fierce and dangerous, lost, and so utterly, fundamentally beautiful. With a look of stunned awe on his face Mauja stood where he was, haphazard and awkward, heart and mind spinning frantically as the owls settled on the wooden railing at the arena's edge—

"Ophelia," he whispered, to himself, just a hushed breath escaping dark lips. After all this time.. after all these years... Her perfect image grew blurred, and he blinked furiously trying to clear his eyes, but it didn't help. It wouldn't go away. It couldn't go away, not with the way his heart was wanting to burst out of his chest.

So he simply stood there, crying softly in the sunlight, and drew a shuddering breath in. He knew where they were. He could feel it in the sand, in the space, in the faded scent of adrenaline and blood.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked her softly, neck arching as he took a single step forward, graceful as a dancer.

[ 0/3, @[Ophelia]. ]