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02-18-2015, 04:43 PM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
He's down by the sea where she washed up, not in the shadows of the white cliffs, not hiding where he knows it's safe; he's out on the beach, mind churning like the glowing seas. He's here, because he doesn't think there's any memories here.
Oh, of course there were memories, but he cannot summon any memories of her—his demon clad in white, the ghost staring at him across a sparring ring's distance with empty eyes.
He didn't know why he thought of her again, except for the fact that he did. It had come over him up in the Edge, where he'd done nothing but haunt the forest as usual, and driven him from that place of memory and away, out into something else, some place where he could think without having it echo around his skull like something rattled loose and thrown about.
But at the same time, it demanded thinking about.. mulling over memory and pain, probing scars and bruises, thinking, analyzing, trying to interpret; he wanted, needed, to put every aspect of his life under scrutiny but he found he could never grasp the whole picture. It always slipped away, elusive, out of reach, but just as gentle as the waves rocking against the silver sand. His frustration was drowned in them, soothed by their quiet song. What did he even want?
He knew some things he wanted—to rewind the tape, and fix things, all the times he'd known he'd gone wrong and done it anyway.
But if he could rewind, he would rewind seven years, and he wouldn't even be here then. He wouldn't have seen Snö born, known d'Artagnan, loved and lost Psyche, been taken by this snowstorm known as Ophelia, there would've been no Tamlin and no Sielu, he wouldn't have fucked Sialia on this very beach and so there would've been no Glacia, and his life would've been without Kahlua and Elding, too. If he could rewind seven years to change a single night, he wouldn't be here.
And at the end of everything, could he regret it? Wish it all undone? For all those lives?
How do you measure lives against one another? Such choices and feelings that were pointless to wonder about anyway, because nothing could change what had happened, and the long, lonely road he'd walked since.
So why did he stand there on the beach, staring at a cloud-covered, dark sky, and wonder who he had loved the most?
Who he loves the most?
Who does he even love?
He wished the stars were out, to reflect in his eyes and the sea. But they're not; they're hiding, behind storm-pregnant clouds, and with the temperature dropping they won't shed their burdens. He's been here before, he knows tonight is ear-marked for peace.
There had been something on the tip of his tongue, like a word he'd been about to spit at life, something to finally close the gaping wounds in his heart—but tonight had ruined that, when the thoughts had come, the guilt, the doubt, the possibilities and the pain. He was not free of what he felt. Until he heard it from her tongue, saw it in her eyes, felt it in his soul, until he knew beyond a doubt that it was definite.. until then, he knew this would always happen; the voice would always come back from the ashes and whisper, reignite into an ember, a flame, a hope and he felt like a thief.
On his back, one of the owls sat, his burning eyes paled in the night. He made a soft noise in the back of his mouth, a click escaping his curved beak, and he opened his talons. Golden light spilled onto the back of Mauja's neck, and he turned his head. It was Kahlua's rock.
That was why he felt like a thief. That was why he wanted to know—almost wanted to beg her for an end to this. To put it outside of his control.. so that he would not have to, somehow, beat his emotions into a straight line and see which was the longest.
It frightened him to put it so bluntly, so boldly, and so much like something—a task? Something that could be done? It felt detached and cold, as if he could pick and choose, but he couldn't and wasn't that the whole point? To have to stop wondering if the doors were locked? He had tormented himself for years. Something in him wanted an end.
He just couldn't bring himself to stab his own heart, and end it himself—because that voice, that ember, was there, stopping him. What if what if what if... But just as you can't live your life on what ifs in the past, you can't live your life on what ifs for the future. At some point, you just have to live in the present.
A small, bitter smile curved his dark lips, and Diego closed his talons on the small piece of sunlight again. Darkness fell upon the beach, aside from the ocean's milky glow, and he watched its ceaseless rolling with an absent look upon his face.
His attention was, after all, not on what he could see, but on what he couldn't see.
[ if you don't know what mareel/milky seas is, it's this. also, tagging @[Myrrine] but open to any and all! ]
Oh, of course there were memories, but he cannot summon any memories of her—his demon clad in white, the ghost staring at him across a sparring ring's distance with empty eyes.
He didn't know why he thought of her again, except for the fact that he did. It had come over him up in the Edge, where he'd done nothing but haunt the forest as usual, and driven him from that place of memory and away, out into something else, some place where he could think without having it echo around his skull like something rattled loose and thrown about.
But at the same time, it demanded thinking about.. mulling over memory and pain, probing scars and bruises, thinking, analyzing, trying to interpret; he wanted, needed, to put every aspect of his life under scrutiny but he found he could never grasp the whole picture. It always slipped away, elusive, out of reach, but just as gentle as the waves rocking against the silver sand. His frustration was drowned in them, soothed by their quiet song. What did he even want?
He knew some things he wanted—to rewind the tape, and fix things, all the times he'd known he'd gone wrong and done it anyway.
But if he could rewind, he would rewind seven years, and he wouldn't even be here then. He wouldn't have seen Snö born, known d'Artagnan, loved and lost Psyche, been taken by this snowstorm known as Ophelia, there would've been no Tamlin and no Sielu, he wouldn't have fucked Sialia on this very beach and so there would've been no Glacia, and his life would've been without Kahlua and Elding, too. If he could rewind seven years to change a single night, he wouldn't be here.
And at the end of everything, could he regret it? Wish it all undone? For all those lives?
How do you measure lives against one another? Such choices and feelings that were pointless to wonder about anyway, because nothing could change what had happened, and the long, lonely road he'd walked since.
So why did he stand there on the beach, staring at a cloud-covered, dark sky, and wonder who he had loved the most?
Who he loves the most?
Who does he even love?
He wished the stars were out, to reflect in his eyes and the sea. But they're not; they're hiding, behind storm-pregnant clouds, and with the temperature dropping they won't shed their burdens. He's been here before, he knows tonight is ear-marked for peace.
There had been something on the tip of his tongue, like a word he'd been about to spit at life, something to finally close the gaping wounds in his heart—but tonight had ruined that, when the thoughts had come, the guilt, the doubt, the possibilities and the pain. He was not free of what he felt. Until he heard it from her tongue, saw it in her eyes, felt it in his soul, until he knew beyond a doubt that it was definite.. until then, he knew this would always happen; the voice would always come back from the ashes and whisper, reignite into an ember, a flame, a hope and he felt like a thief.
On his back, one of the owls sat, his burning eyes paled in the night. He made a soft noise in the back of his mouth, a click escaping his curved beak, and he opened his talons. Golden light spilled onto the back of Mauja's neck, and he turned his head. It was Kahlua's rock.
That was why he felt like a thief. That was why he wanted to know—almost wanted to beg her for an end to this. To put it outside of his control.. so that he would not have to, somehow, beat his emotions into a straight line and see which was the longest.
It frightened him to put it so bluntly, so boldly, and so much like something—a task? Something that could be done? It felt detached and cold, as if he could pick and choose, but he couldn't and wasn't that the whole point? To have to stop wondering if the doors were locked? He had tormented himself for years. Something in him wanted an end.
He just couldn't bring himself to stab his own heart, and end it himself—because that voice, that ember, was there, stopping him. What if what if what if... But just as you can't live your life on what ifs in the past, you can't live your life on what ifs for the future. At some point, you just have to live in the present.
A small, bitter smile curved his dark lips, and Diego closed his talons on the small piece of sunlight again. Darkness fell upon the beach, aside from the ocean's milky glow, and he watched its ceaseless rolling with an absent look upon his face.
His attention was, after all, not on what he could see, but on what he couldn't see.
[ if you don't know what mareel/milky seas is, it's this. also, tagging @[Myrrine] but open to any and all! ]
