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03-06-2016, 07:13 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
And that was that—
No more, no less. The stakes had been higher than ever, reversed Russian roulette with only one blank—he could've backed out of it. He could've chickened out, laid the gun down, and walked out the door. He could've chosen blessed offspring, smiled politely and turned his back on the lavender tiger. Could've hoped to make it out alive, traipsing between her sharp, sharp teeth.
Because it had never been a choice between two things: it had always been the choice of whether to become immortal. His mortality had simply come in guise.
After the word, his damnation and salvation in equal parts, had left his mouth his heart trembled, like a leaf caught in a storm (—still a deer in the headlights). Was this what it was like, to gamble with your own life? He doubted his death had ever been counted into the equation here today, he doubted there had been any kind of threat to him, but it was his life all the same.
And he had chosen the long, winding road.
Gods, he was fucking stupid, and part of him expected her to burst out into a hellish cackle and ridicule him for ever having believed her. How could he, ever, be worthy of something others would classify as a gift? (It's a burden—)
But she was smiling, a delicate, sharp gesture; his heart stumbled in his chest, beating out hope and desperation all at once. The icy flowers reflected in her pale eyes, the starlight bathed her in its silver glory, and he knew that he stood face to face with a wolf: was she smiling, or simply showing off her sharp, sharp teeth?
Was she pleased with his choice, or would she rather he had opted for mortality, and left her be at some point in her endless duty? But if she would've been so opposed to his continuing, why give him a choice at all? Or perhaps she had expected him to be too much of a coward to live on...
Then again, it took a certain kind of courage to die, too.
So perhaps he was the coward after all, suffering in shameful, self-imposed martyrdom.
"Enjoy your stick, and your life."
Despite the gravity of what he had just done, despite the way he could never tell if her highest wish was to stick her pearlescent horn in his heart, her words brought a fragile smile to his dark lips. I will, he wanted to say, as if he could somehow assure her that it wasn't a wasted gift—wasted breaths—but he could not say it truthfully. Mauja had lived for twelve years. Many of them had been hell. He doubted immortality would immediately make him happy.
Yeah, imagine that—a happy Mauja, forever and ever.
Unlikely. He snorted softly, and as ever, she began to fade—growing translucent, merging with the night. One of his ears flicked as the tranquility broke. He couldn't put his hoof on it, but it was something.. the birds, perhaps? Or just the heartbeat of the forest—
"Take care," he offered her, oddly enough, before even her self-satisfied (and rather disturbing) grin dissolved in the moonlight. It wasn't like he thought being immortal made him a God and her equal: it had simply been the first farewell-I-don't-hate-you-that-much phrase to come into his mind. "Stupid," he spat into the silence she had left.
The world sighed, a breath of wind ghosting through the trees; the mist curved aside, and the moon's flowers—such a clear calling for the ice soul, a terrifying and beautiful mix of their beings—simply reflected her light. He glanced over his shoulder. Dacianna (what was she doing here?), Tembovu and Erthë stood beyond where the fog had walled them out. Had they heard what had passed between them? Could they guess? Did he want them to know?
Did he want anyone to know that his heart could never be silenced?
He wasn't sure. In silence, he picked up the scythe, and began to head out towards the edge.
[ This is now finished on Mauja's part, as it'll just fade into a private thread with Tembovu. ^^ Thank you, Mythical Admin of Great Awesome, for the lovely thread! <333 ]
No more, no less. The stakes had been higher than ever, reversed Russian roulette with only one blank—he could've backed out of it. He could've chickened out, laid the gun down, and walked out the door. He could've chosen blessed offspring, smiled politely and turned his back on the lavender tiger. Could've hoped to make it out alive, traipsing between her sharp, sharp teeth.
Because it had never been a choice between two things: it had always been the choice of whether to become immortal. His mortality had simply come in guise.
After the word, his damnation and salvation in equal parts, had left his mouth his heart trembled, like a leaf caught in a storm (—still a deer in the headlights). Was this what it was like, to gamble with your own life? He doubted his death had ever been counted into the equation here today, he doubted there had been any kind of threat to him, but it was his life all the same.
And he had chosen the long, winding road.
Gods, he was fucking stupid, and part of him expected her to burst out into a hellish cackle and ridicule him for ever having believed her. How could he, ever, be worthy of something others would classify as a gift? (It's a burden—)
But she was smiling, a delicate, sharp gesture; his heart stumbled in his chest, beating out hope and desperation all at once. The icy flowers reflected in her pale eyes, the starlight bathed her in its silver glory, and he knew that he stood face to face with a wolf: was she smiling, or simply showing off her sharp, sharp teeth?
Was she pleased with his choice, or would she rather he had opted for mortality, and left her be at some point in her endless duty? But if she would've been so opposed to his continuing, why give him a choice at all? Or perhaps she had expected him to be too much of a coward to live on...
Then again, it took a certain kind of courage to die, too.
So perhaps he was the coward after all, suffering in shameful, self-imposed martyrdom.
"Enjoy your stick, and your life."
Despite the gravity of what he had just done, despite the way he could never tell if her highest wish was to stick her pearlescent horn in his heart, her words brought a fragile smile to his dark lips. I will, he wanted to say, as if he could somehow assure her that it wasn't a wasted gift—wasted breaths—but he could not say it truthfully. Mauja had lived for twelve years. Many of them had been hell. He doubted immortality would immediately make him happy.
Yeah, imagine that—a happy Mauja, forever and ever.
Unlikely. He snorted softly, and as ever, she began to fade—growing translucent, merging with the night. One of his ears flicked as the tranquility broke. He couldn't put his hoof on it, but it was something.. the birds, perhaps? Or just the heartbeat of the forest—
"Take care," he offered her, oddly enough, before even her self-satisfied (and rather disturbing) grin dissolved in the moonlight. It wasn't like he thought being immortal made him a God and her equal: it had simply been the first farewell-I-don't-hate-you-that-much phrase to come into his mind. "Stupid," he spat into the silence she had left.
The world sighed, a breath of wind ghosting through the trees; the mist curved aside, and the moon's flowers—such a clear calling for the ice soul, a terrifying and beautiful mix of their beings—simply reflected her light. He glanced over his shoulder. Dacianna (what was she doing here?), Tembovu and Erthë stood beyond where the fog had walled them out. Had they heard what had passed between them? Could they guess? Did he want them to know?
Did he want anyone to know that his heart could never be silenced?
He wasn't sure. In silence, he picked up the scythe, and began to head out towards the edge.
[ This is now finished on Mauja's part, as it'll just fade into a private thread with Tembovu. ^^ Thank you, Mythical Admin of Great Awesome, for the lovely thread! <333 ]
Mauja
the white queen
