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08-15-2016, 05:28 PM
Orsino was deemed a lost cause as he wavered between snow and earth, hissing and clawing every time the tiger came near. The uncanny kitsune, hoping to extend some notion of his wiles, tried to outrun the oncoming feline, turning along a corner of caverns, rapidly curling and maneuvering towards the front, intending to be out of sight (and perhaps out of mind).
But Erebos’ mind was not on his companion’s irritation: her words fell with a poignant sense of reeling discomfort, pulling against his mind until he was forced to see, to understand, what she meant. She enjoyed being lost because then the memories of yesteryear couldn’t haunt, couldn’t compel, couldn’t seethe, couldn’t contort, couldn’t control her intentions; and he wanted to look away, because he knew he’d done the exact opposite. His past encouraged, blighted, deceived, and commanded every action he’d ever committed – when his friends wanted to run, he ran with them, when he found Arwen, dead and discarded, his hate morphed him, clouded him, altered him into a manifestation of vengeance and abhorrence, when Gods wreaked havoc and preyed upon lands, his distaste, his fascination, tugged at his movements until he was just one more monster on the scene, felling deities. She was far more free than him, not bound by the immoral lengths he’d traversed and intended to drawn upon; and he wondered what that sort of liberation was like – to simply not care and lay on the ground, stare at the stars, whistle towards the moon, indifferent, impassive, lost in her subtle, dreamy way. Perhaps she simply never allowed herself the notion to be concerned with anyone or anything, but that sounded lonely, forsaken, and isolated, like the cliffs they stood upon. He must’ve been staring, too caught in the rhapsody, in the folly, of the moments chiseled in front of him, behind him, all around him, too much boy and not enough man, touched and tarnished and mauled by the grasp of the past. Instead of flickering his eyes away, they stayed latched onto her, trying to decipher how she managed to live in such a state – where the world didn’t scrape its claws down sides or skulls. “But what happens when you return? When you’re no longer lost?” He blinked, mystified, raptured, bewildered, eager to comprehend the ways in which others worked, how the contradictions played a part when the illusion was destroyed, when reality settled and sunk across her sentiments and wounds. The prince turned away from her soon after, too close, unsettled, drawing back into the crooked, misshapen little beast he’d become; all deceptions and ruins, all enigmatic twists and turns. Maybe she was the paradox, and he just the mere, silly, stupid fool.
She’d humored him though, and for that alone he wouldn’t be rude, extending his eyes back to hers as she acknowledged his other questions. He hadn’t expected to meet the Diviner of the Throat – the title sounded righteous and superior, all knowing, omniscient, just like the Gods themselves. The lad, in truth, had always rather admired those who could speak to the celestial beings, who had the power, the designation, the distinction, to share secrets and subterfuge with those who could alter time and space (he’d never told Ashamin this; but that was likely due to being petty). Her connection to the sands, to the deserts, only increased his inquiries and inquisitions even more (and he wanted to ask her a lot of things all at the same time: what she thought of the land she lived within, if she ever saw the demi-God girl, Aithniel, and the rest spiraled off into adornments of lives changed, coiled away). He yearned to tell her that he knew of the Sun God resting amidst their lands, of the fire he’d christened him with, that he once looked upon his silly, foolish self and saw something there, but instead, the regal depths of his charismatic grin won over. “What’s it like to speak to the Gods, Maren?” His rich tones (matching her pitch and dictation for the name, humming along his lips like a warm laugh), his vibrancy, his exuberance, rippled along the core of his being, as if he could’ve been water and earth, rain and death, damnation and generosity all at once – and still so utterly confused at the world around him.
But Erebos’ mind was not on his companion’s irritation: her words fell with a poignant sense of reeling discomfort, pulling against his mind until he was forced to see, to understand, what she meant. She enjoyed being lost because then the memories of yesteryear couldn’t haunt, couldn’t compel, couldn’t seethe, couldn’t contort, couldn’t control her intentions; and he wanted to look away, because he knew he’d done the exact opposite. His past encouraged, blighted, deceived, and commanded every action he’d ever committed – when his friends wanted to run, he ran with them, when he found Arwen, dead and discarded, his hate morphed him, clouded him, altered him into a manifestation of vengeance and abhorrence, when Gods wreaked havoc and preyed upon lands, his distaste, his fascination, tugged at his movements until he was just one more monster on the scene, felling deities. She was far more free than him, not bound by the immoral lengths he’d traversed and intended to drawn upon; and he wondered what that sort of liberation was like – to simply not care and lay on the ground, stare at the stars, whistle towards the moon, indifferent, impassive, lost in her subtle, dreamy way. Perhaps she simply never allowed herself the notion to be concerned with anyone or anything, but that sounded lonely, forsaken, and isolated, like the cliffs they stood upon. He must’ve been staring, too caught in the rhapsody, in the folly, of the moments chiseled in front of him, behind him, all around him, too much boy and not enough man, touched and tarnished and mauled by the grasp of the past. Instead of flickering his eyes away, they stayed latched onto her, trying to decipher how she managed to live in such a state – where the world didn’t scrape its claws down sides or skulls. “But what happens when you return? When you’re no longer lost?” He blinked, mystified, raptured, bewildered, eager to comprehend the ways in which others worked, how the contradictions played a part when the illusion was destroyed, when reality settled and sunk across her sentiments and wounds. The prince turned away from her soon after, too close, unsettled, drawing back into the crooked, misshapen little beast he’d become; all deceptions and ruins, all enigmatic twists and turns. Maybe she was the paradox, and he just the mere, silly, stupid fool.
She’d humored him though, and for that alone he wouldn’t be rude, extending his eyes back to hers as she acknowledged his other questions. He hadn’t expected to meet the Diviner of the Throat – the title sounded righteous and superior, all knowing, omniscient, just like the Gods themselves. The lad, in truth, had always rather admired those who could speak to the celestial beings, who had the power, the designation, the distinction, to share secrets and subterfuge with those who could alter time and space (he’d never told Ashamin this; but that was likely due to being petty). Her connection to the sands, to the deserts, only increased his inquiries and inquisitions even more (and he wanted to ask her a lot of things all at the same time: what she thought of the land she lived within, if she ever saw the demi-God girl, Aithniel, and the rest spiraled off into adornments of lives changed, coiled away). He yearned to tell her that he knew of the Sun God resting amidst their lands, of the fire he’d christened him with, that he once looked upon his silly, foolish self and saw something there, but instead, the regal depths of his charismatic grin won over. “What’s it like to speak to the Gods, Maren?” His rich tones (matching her pitch and dictation for the name, humming along his lips like a warm laugh), his vibrancy, his exuberance, rippled along the core of his being, as if he could’ve been water and earth, rain and death, damnation and generosity all at once – and still so utterly confused at the world around him.
Erebos
clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in
@Maren
