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02-02-2015, 04:45 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ Sorry for the wait ;~; ]
What were the Gods hiding? What did they try to purge, and wash away, with this rain? It sluiced down from the heavens, pecked at dried blood with insistent claws until it gave way, and his shoulder became draped in rivulets of foul red. Were they trying to wash away the evidence of this mutual pain? Did the same rains fall on Ophelia, somewhere else in Helovia, washing her stains clean too?
Were the Gods saying, forget about it? Did they try to scrub the memories from his mind, to convince him she was nothing but a dream, something beautiful and distant—and, ultimately, not for him?
That his awkward, clumsy hands would only harm her if he caught her, a butterfly trapped between rough palms?
He didn't think he was the kind to chain someone else. He wanted someone to soar with, someone who ran in the same direction, someone who was strong both with and without him.
Those thoughts were dangerous. He hated them. Crushed them mercilessly underneath one, frosted hoof, and ground it into the earth. Left it there to rot. Those thoughts, they hurt, an intimate ache in his fractured heart. He didn't want them. Not here, not now, not ever, and the rains kept falling, singing a soft song against the glass mare's transparent skin.
The snowbeast drew nearer and nearer, blue eyes glistening with rain and tears, until he finally loomed over them both. The child had disappeared into her own mind, into dreams or pain? He knew not which, and found that he didn't particularly care either. He couldn't grieve for the entire world. He.. there was not a lot that he could do.
"Mauja," the glass angel was saying, or was it just the wind whispering his name? A sigh from the earth and heaven, a whisper in the rain, a name known but not given. They had not spoken at all that night, pushed down by storm winds and trapped by the threat of the sea. He remembered it like one remembers dreams; distant, with an edge of pain and longing, like something glorious that was unreachable, and half-forgotten. The waves had threatened to drag him out, and under, and maybe, with all that he knew now, it would've been better.
Maybe, with all that was to come, it would've been a mercy.
Their bodies blocked much of the rain, his back darkening as the water slowly saturated his white coat. It always felt unfair when they knew his name and he did not know theirs; when they knew it though he had never spoken it to them. Had she heard some lingering rumor of him? But those days were long past—Mauja the Ice King was a forgotten mystery, something that belonged in a darker past. So how, then, did she know?
Did it matter? He was walking in a dream, feet and legs and heart restless, urging him away, to keep chasing that white walker, the princess who was both warrior and queen and, at the same time, a child. The confusion kept him grounded, the pain kept him conscious, and he remained standing where he was, ever so silent as he peered down on the laying child.
[ @[Spice], @[Ayelet] ]
What were the Gods hiding? What did they try to purge, and wash away, with this rain? It sluiced down from the heavens, pecked at dried blood with insistent claws until it gave way, and his shoulder became draped in rivulets of foul red. Were they trying to wash away the evidence of this mutual pain? Did the same rains fall on Ophelia, somewhere else in Helovia, washing her stains clean too?
Were the Gods saying, forget about it? Did they try to scrub the memories from his mind, to convince him she was nothing but a dream, something beautiful and distant—and, ultimately, not for him?
That his awkward, clumsy hands would only harm her if he caught her, a butterfly trapped between rough palms?
He didn't think he was the kind to chain someone else. He wanted someone to soar with, someone who ran in the same direction, someone who was strong both with and without him.
Those thoughts were dangerous. He hated them. Crushed them mercilessly underneath one, frosted hoof, and ground it into the earth. Left it there to rot. Those thoughts, they hurt, an intimate ache in his fractured heart. He didn't want them. Not here, not now, not ever, and the rains kept falling, singing a soft song against the glass mare's transparent skin.
The snowbeast drew nearer and nearer, blue eyes glistening with rain and tears, until he finally loomed over them both. The child had disappeared into her own mind, into dreams or pain? He knew not which, and found that he didn't particularly care either. He couldn't grieve for the entire world. He.. there was not a lot that he could do.
"Mauja," the glass angel was saying, or was it just the wind whispering his name? A sigh from the earth and heaven, a whisper in the rain, a name known but not given. They had not spoken at all that night, pushed down by storm winds and trapped by the threat of the sea. He remembered it like one remembers dreams; distant, with an edge of pain and longing, like something glorious that was unreachable, and half-forgotten. The waves had threatened to drag him out, and under, and maybe, with all that he knew now, it would've been better.
Maybe, with all that was to come, it would've been a mercy.
Their bodies blocked much of the rain, his back darkening as the water slowly saturated his white coat. It always felt unfair when they knew his name and he did not know theirs; when they knew it though he had never spoken it to them. Had she heard some lingering rumor of him? But those days were long past—Mauja the Ice King was a forgotten mystery, something that belonged in a darker past. So how, then, did she know?
Did it matter? He was walking in a dream, feet and legs and heart restless, urging him away, to keep chasing that white walker, the princess who was both warrior and queen and, at the same time, a child. The confusion kept him grounded, the pain kept him conscious, and he remained standing where he was, ever so silent as he peered down on the laying child.
[ @[Spice], @[Ayelet] ]
