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01-12-2016, 06:59 PM
Wolves, Ashamin had said, bleeding and blending into a lie fitted to the boy’s noose, wrapped and knotted and gnarled together. He wanted to defy it automatically, to let the seething rasp of his turmoil elongate along his lips and past his mouth, to etch and sketch and carve its way through their humanity, because he’d been beaten, he’d been tarnished, and it should’ve amounted to his poor, inept distinction. He didn’t want to be in the Haruspex’s debt, clinging to the chords of their fabrications (the lad would always hold his pretenses, his duplicities, but didn’t crave being chained to another’s). Perhaps his father would know of his failure. Maybe someone else down the road would hear his name on the manifestos of losses and defeats, laugh and chuckle and scorn, but he’d earned those regards, those humiliations, those harsh, unrelenting whips of shame. Would it make him weaker, fragile, if he fled from his follies? How far would his lies go? Would everything around him be a specious mirage, a corporeal hallucination, a tangible spell of deceit and torment, and the closer they all came, the more they were swallowed, deeper and deeper, until he consumed their flesh, their bones? The sentiments were difficult to face, to master, to control and contort.
Ashamin was offering him a way out. A path to slink and slither upon and forget it ever happened, to forgo the canals of weakness and the sad, sullen lives they’d come to lead.
But he wouldn’t forget – Erebos knew that much. It would wound him every day, to taste the blunt, caustic edges of failure. It would blind him, scar his sights, mutilate the way he maneuvered, the way he carried himself. He’d always be a beast with a weight on his shoulders and an ax to grind. He’d always be marred, impaired, blemished from the perception of his ignorance, and seek to restore it as best he could.
The prince could have stayed in Enna’s presence for the rest of the evening, ignoring her lectures and diatribes, merely clinging to the endless monotony of another day survived. But he didn’t want her to see him like this again – one more fragile, stupid little boy wandering the plains, incapable of getting out of his own unrelenting, soulless path. He needed to be tougher, braver, brazen, and audacious. He needed to grow, needed to change, needed to learn from these barbaric circumstances. There would always be more savage cretins than him. There would always be stronger beings than him. What he did, how he concocted, how he orchestrated and laid out his plans, would solidify the result.
He simply hadn’t done enough.
No one deserves to be pain - he wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to bite and snatch and sneer, be a brute, be a malicious, asinine fiend and chase off the wounds no longer plaguing him, the lacerations cutting through his fatigued mind. But instead, he ignored. He knew what he merited. They all did.
Enna pulled away and Erebos did the same, gathering the renewed strength in his limbs, in his muscles, she’d proffered upon him. “Thank you,” he spun from his lips, giving forth one lingering touch upon her shoulder, but incapable of glancing towards her eyes (she didn’t need to see what flickered there, she didn’t need to register those small, fragile emotions flaring and breathing and brewing beneath the haunting snare of his gaze), before riveting his stare towards the Haruspex, the painted man, the one who bore skulls in the dead of night. “I thought one was a bear…” he courted, one half of a cheeky smile resting in his lips, delving only partly into the masquerade, before a sinister thought rustled through his mind, savage and untamed, and he didn’t know if it had come from him or Orsino. “If we meet them again, perhaps the result will be different.” His head tilted, and an ominous lilt rang through his cranium, wild and free, feral and ferocious.
When it returned to its former position, he felt Enna’s maw reach along his cheek, and the devilry disappeared, as if it had never been there at all. “Home sounds wonderful.”
Ashamin was offering him a way out. A path to slink and slither upon and forget it ever happened, to forgo the canals of weakness and the sad, sullen lives they’d come to lead.
But he wouldn’t forget – Erebos knew that much. It would wound him every day, to taste the blunt, caustic edges of failure. It would blind him, scar his sights, mutilate the way he maneuvered, the way he carried himself. He’d always be a beast with a weight on his shoulders and an ax to grind. He’d always be marred, impaired, blemished from the perception of his ignorance, and seek to restore it as best he could.
The prince could have stayed in Enna’s presence for the rest of the evening, ignoring her lectures and diatribes, merely clinging to the endless monotony of another day survived. But he didn’t want her to see him like this again – one more fragile, stupid little boy wandering the plains, incapable of getting out of his own unrelenting, soulless path. He needed to be tougher, braver, brazen, and audacious. He needed to grow, needed to change, needed to learn from these barbaric circumstances. There would always be more savage cretins than him. There would always be stronger beings than him. What he did, how he concocted, how he orchestrated and laid out his plans, would solidify the result.
He simply hadn’t done enough.
No one deserves to be pain - he wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to bite and snatch and sneer, be a brute, be a malicious, asinine fiend and chase off the wounds no longer plaguing him, the lacerations cutting through his fatigued mind. But instead, he ignored. He knew what he merited. They all did.
Enna pulled away and Erebos did the same, gathering the renewed strength in his limbs, in his muscles, she’d proffered upon him. “Thank you,” he spun from his lips, giving forth one lingering touch upon her shoulder, but incapable of glancing towards her eyes (she didn’t need to see what flickered there, she didn’t need to register those small, fragile emotions flaring and breathing and brewing beneath the haunting snare of his gaze), before riveting his stare towards the Haruspex, the painted man, the one who bore skulls in the dead of night. “I thought one was a bear…” he courted, one half of a cheeky smile resting in his lips, delving only partly into the masquerade, before a sinister thought rustled through his mind, savage and untamed, and he didn’t know if it had come from him or Orsino. “If we meet them again, perhaps the result will be different.” His head tilted, and an ominous lilt rang through his cranium, wild and free, feral and ferocious.
When it returned to its former position, he felt Enna’s maw reach along his cheek, and the devilry disappeared, as if it had never been there at all. “Home sounds wonderful.”
