Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
| Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT |
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Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit
Bunnie |
10-20-2016, 12:22 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-20-2016, 12:24 PM by Rikyn.)
sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard:
I almost expect her to plow past me and carry on with her day. Any respectable woman surely would have, not bothering to stop and appease the bratty boy who dared demand she talk about the things locked away inside. It’s how my mother would have handled it, or Xynia, if I didn’t get stabbed to boot… but Erthë?
She stares at her hooves, and cries. It is such a despicable display of weakness that I find myself scowling, again filled with the perverse pride that I am a unicorn, of the Aurora Basin, of the Plague. My steel clad heart disallows this sort of whimpering, infantile behavior, and witnessing it makes my mood curdle.
The hot wind billows through again.
So, when the cold reality of why she was crying after all splashes up against that hot anger, the result is an emotional jettison of steam. Snorting with bleak humor, and meeting her peculiar smile with my own harsh frown, I stare down at her as she attempts to use anger to defend her obviously bleeding heart.
Having a similar shard of pain in my heart, you’d think I might care more. My buck even looks at me with a bit of hope glistening in the depths of his emerald eyes, that, today, I’ll at last talk about the dark, festering pit in my soul named Mother.
"What’s funny about that?" harshly, the question strikes forth with too much contempt to disguise the truth, that her words have struck some melancholy chord inside myself. Narrowing my eyes with contempt, my tail swishes irritably behind me, not liking the fetid hurt that comes to mind when I think of loss. "Not a fucking thing."
I think about leaving, just turning away, and walking out into the sparkling, red sea of sand; the more her words rattle about in my head, however, the more tightly the lonesome feeling grips its sharp fingers into my heart, and the more angry with her I become.
She’d thought I’d laugh at her? What sort of creature does she view me as? Either way, how is she managing to act like death was some ultimate surprise, as if, all along, the end wasn’t a promise? At least it had been fate that had taken her world from her, a force that no one ultimately avoided, not even Gods. Mine had simply left me behind, to keep living somewhere else, as if I’d never existed.
Click, clatter. The steel walls and locks around my heart click and rattle into place. The angry flash in my gaze slowly dies, and becomes the muted shine of carefully bound, glass encased emotions.
I refuse to cry for that bitch anymore. She’s dead too, for all I care.
"Nothing is forever," absolutely nothing, especially not the things we have come to love (or the darkness that love leaves behind when it goes, Duir consoles), "if you can't accept that, I recommend laying down with what bones you find, and dying. This world is not suited for you."
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sing along, mockingbird; you don't affect me.
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Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).
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