Lendri!

It is faint. The sound of your sweet succulent voice dances upon the air in the form of wispy tendrils. They curl and unfurl before my very eyes, reaching for me and grasping whatever they manage to root themselves upon. You were here. You both were here.

No.

You aren’t here. You couldn’t be here, “You’re not real,” my deep vocals whisper out on the heavy air, “You’re both not real,” It was a good thing I was alone. If anybody saw me talking to myself like this I would have been stuck on the front lines. Stuck to fight until my death. Or worse.

Dual colored irises looked upon this new land. This new land in which I was now to call home. Shambala was nice while it lasted, but there was no going back now that I passed the border of trees. The border of magical trees. Legend had it that the trees were the souls of the ancestors standing guard and protecting Shambala from outside evils by not allowing a soul to enter. What those ancestors failed to realize though was the souls that left. The rules were simple: you leave Shambala, you can’t come back.

Not like I wanted to.

This land was dull. Shambala was dull. Everywhere…was dull. Ever since you died the world was just dull. Cassari, Terachi. What would you two be doing right now had you escaped the fate that befell the both of you?  Jirombo. Anger seethed at the mere mention of my friend’s name. He was the one who killed you, but he was sick. Muscles coiled and rippled beneath my brown hued hide as I remembered the day all too clearly. The blood. The anguished looks on your faces. The distorted crazed look upon his face. The bitter raw anger that ripped through me then and pushed me to kill my best friend. My comrade.

You want to know what they called me after that? A hero.

A HERO! I should have been called a murderer because after their deaths I went straight to the frontline and ripped my enemies with a newfound anger and resolve. Nobody would suffer the same fate as me.

Lendri!

“NO!” This time I scream at the air. You are not real and yet here I am talking back to you. Cassari my love, the world is dull after your death. Only three colors remained vibrant. Black, white, and red. Black for it is darkness and envelopes me in its shadowy embrace hiding the darkness that grows within my chest. White for it is the color of death. Never before had I been so aware of its pallid, solid, tangible form before. It comforted me because when I see the color of my enemies fade to a more white shade I then know that my job is done. And red. Red is vibrant because it reminds me of you. Reminds me of the life of yours that had spilt across the ground that day. Reminds me of that big heart you had beating within your chest.

I looked upon the land. This was to be my new haven. After all, you made it possible. You had formulated the plan to have the princess disappear. You had convinced the King and Queen to send me to search for their precious child. I mean, sure I had already found and dealt with her before so she would hopefully remember me, but it was your grand scheme that brought me here, that provided me the means to walk just enough past the border to leave Shambala and the past behind. But will you follow me? Or are you stuck in Shambala with your corpse? Was this your way of telling me to move on with my life?

Because if you can’t follow and you’re leaving me on my own…then who am I talking to in these unfamiliar woods?


"speech"
notes:: okay so this is a new style of writing for me. sorry if it sucks and rambles they will get better once i get used to what the hay i'm doing.