| Aurora Basin Phantom atk: 7.5 | def: 10 | dam: 2.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 8 yrs HP: 60.0 | Buff: NOVICE |
| Glo |
Once upon a time, a black, twisted creature had dropped the key to Lena at his feet. He had grasped it in his teeth, under a guise of white, far too pure, too innocent for him, and had turned upon his heel, every bone in his body driven forwards with the purpose of freeing the Songbird. And yet somehow, his hooves had strayed from the north-bound path, his mind had taken a turn, the magic singing through his veins steering him on a new course. He could hardly remember the days following, only a blur of passing trees, the sprawl of mountains rolling leisurely by, the ache in his legs and the scratches across his hide from branches that swept too low, brambles and snares lying in wait.
Roland was too much like his father, too ambitious, too arrogant, too desperate to hold onto the past, and in his attempt to chase down old skeletons and suck answers from their marrow, he had left behind the one thing that mattered most to him. He had failed to think, to reason with himself. The first whisper of power was enough to send him into hysteria and turmoil, and he had left the barren desert with hardly a glance back. The opportunity, the taste of revenge on his tongue had been like a siren's song, pulling him from his home, his closest friend, and in his absence everything he'd worked so hard to build had turned to ashes. It had taken time, and far too much of it, to find himself back upon familiar ground, with a new name and new face, a whole new story settled in the back of his mind. He had embarked on a journey to resolve past problems, for closure, an ending for old chapters, but had he truly returned the better for it? Or had it been a vacant excuse to escape the monotony of a life pinned down in once place. There was a time when he'd thought he'd outgrown his old ways, but apparently they were rooted deeper in him than he'd once assumed.
After the illusion had fled from his skin, Roland sought diligently for a glimmer of joy in Lena's eyes beyond the torment and disbelief, knowing there was nothing he could do to alleviate her pain. Instead he awaited harsh words, tensed himself so he might not falter at the sound of them, and forced the slightest of smiles onto his face at the sound of his name spoken in a voice he had longed to hear once more. In the place of brutality there was only a placid touch, a caress, as she moved into his space and surrounded him in a tight embrace. Her neck curled around his, solid and sure, and even if the surrounding forest was no longer familiar to Roland he knew at last, without doubt or hesitation, that he was truly home.
He soaked in the warmth of her skin against his, turned his muzzle into her neck to breathe her scent, memorizing it, revelling in it. It was peace, at last, satisfaction and calm, and Roland sank into it with reckless abandon. She did not turn to smoke against him, did not fade into the ether as only a trick of the sunlight, an illusion kindled by exhaustion, she was real and whole and alive. The revelation was all too fleeting, and within moments the soft snowy silence was broken by the sound of her sobs, pressed into his skin like claws, just as painful as the knowledge that he had done this to her. Roland felt the trembling of her sides where she leaned against him, and his own breath hitched in his throat.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, afraid he might come to pieces against her. "I know there's nothing I can say to make this right, but I'm sorry.." His eyes stung, but he resolutely blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, tucked his chin over the crest of her neck and looked out at the forest, at the brightening sky, watched the vapour of his breath erupt and dissipate into the cold air; anything to calm himself, so he might in turn be a comfort to her.
Despite suggestions of fury, Lena was soft, tender in the quiet flutter of her words through the early morning air. It was that gentleness, that timid, reticent sorrow that drove itself like a knife into his chest, a piercing sting that settled itself against his heart and pressed, so fiercely, so viciously, that he wondered if it might ever be dislodged. Why could she not have been cold and cruel instead, as hard and unforgiving as her home of ice? It would make things easier. He deserved the pain, after everything he had put her through; would have welcomed it, if it would undo the suffering she had endured as a result of his schemes.
Her sobs quieted, subsided, and Roland rubbed his muzzle across the curve of her neck, over the sweep of her shoulder as he thought. "I spent most of my early years on the run from one thing or another," he began, pressing his cheek to her skin. "Once I had magic, it gave me the confidence- the ability to turn and face them. When I arrived here it was with unfinished business... and I could not bear the thought of letting my opportunity slip away from me." He had come face to face with old demons, had lied and beguiled his way through their ranks, tore infrastructure down from the inside and once he was satisfied with what he had wrought, the rogue, outcast, nomad (for he was no longer Thief), fled anew into the shadows, until he once again stumbled unwittingly into the light. "It was foolish of me," he sighed. The weight upon his shoulders did not make itself any less of a burden.
@Lena
Push your luck if it makes you a promise
that turns con men honest.
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Image Credit
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