Ivezho

"No," he rebuffs, even as he heard the words, as he watched his brother's actions - or inaction, as it were. No, he kept thinking, I'm too late, I'm too late, he panicked - for he looked at his brother, at his world, and all he saw was a dead man, a husk, a shell of what used to be so brilliant and passionate and vibrant. Ivezho may be a glowsitck, but whatever it was that glowed within him glowed because he had a brother who was magnificent and strong, a family who were passionate and great - but no, that wasn't what he saw, it wasn't what Rhoa was anymore - he is broken, he is dead, look at him, I'm too late -

Was it a curse of siblings to always think better of the other, and always worse of one's self? Was it a curse to always believe that your life revolved around the other's existence, however great or small, to measure one's own failures against all of their successes? Ivezho thought so. Because what then happened when you saw your sibling begin to flag, to fade, to succumb to their ghosts and demons and whatever else has happened to them while you were gone? You still measured your failures against theirs, and still found yourself to be worse - for if my better half is walking like a dead man risen, what one earth am I?

Am I dead?

Fear cut through him as he watched the dejected, posture of his sibling, crouched and pondering over god-knows-what. I've killed him, kinslayer kinslayer they'll call me, no no, this can't be right- a spark of life seemed to leap through his body as his generous wingspan spread, his façade came to meet his own head on. Sometimes that happens he said, and Ivezho wanted to bark a laugh out - Rhoa always made him laugh, always knew just what to say, while he was left fumbling for words, socially awkward and silent and left behind (or leaving). But he just kept looking at his brother, his twin in body and build (but his opposite otherwise, with his dark hues and his wisdom), and he wanted more from him, more life, more anger, more…

"Bullshit." The words were spoken harshly, with a tongue that ordinarily avoided such truncated, rogue words to get his point across. "Bullshit," he said again, allowing his words to be coloured by the anger and frustration (and fear) he felt.

"You're wrong, life isn't meant to be like this. Not for us. Never for us." He wanted to shake his brother, to wake him up. He wanted to feel Rhoa's rage, to unlock the beast, to atone for the wrong's he had done to him by receiving his wrath without obstacle. "I fucked up, royally, Rhoa. You're meant to be, to be, I don't know.." he wanted to cry, but he swallowed the sobs down his gullet in a rough estimation of a cough between words. "You're supposed to hate me," he pleaded, wanting to feel his brother's hate, for surely that would be better than receiving this nothing, this void.

@Rhoa