Яikyn

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that only one of us has had an immediate change of heart. The magic, after all, really only effected me in a way that was obvious, and I was the only one of us who had a clue what to expect. Regardless, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Albrecht the Asshole always felt that horrible way, at least somewhere inside himself, and it helps me to not immediately react in ways he has probably come to expect me to.

It was no wonder all his wrinkled ass can manage are threats and insults, and though my ears fall back, and my head lifts indignantly, I don’t immediately lash out in return. Prepubescent, my massive dick! is the very first retort which springs to mind, quickly followed by I think I know what I saw, because my eyes aren’t a thousand years old, asshole. Both, thankfully, are restrained, perhaps proof that a boy can grow up a bit at a time, after all. My tail curls absently about my hocks, and my eyes follow him as he begins to walk away; though I try to come up with something not completely awful to say on my own, it winds up being Duir who has suitable phrasing, which I obviously modify to sound more like something I’d actually say.

"Hey, Albrecht," I call out after him, "fuck you too, old man. I might be younger than you, but even I know being a dick to me won’t make life give everything back."

Nothing gives anything back, really. Even if it does return, its different, changed by the time you’d spent apart from it. The only thing that stayed the same was the truth that it had been gone in the first place, and, if it never returned, the emptiness which it left behind. I guess you were supposed to fill those holes up, but with what? More memories of people who went away, of lives diverted from your own, of feelings rendered meaningless by the expanse of distance, of time, omitted by all those unrequited fucks-given? Were we supposed to patch it all up with hope, or love, or some other imaginary substance of the soul?

I don’t know what heals such a wound, but I know, for certain, that it is not running away, though it is certainly what I continue to do, vainly, without a better plan in sight. Having experienced his existence sparks a sudden desperation to learn a better way inside myself I didn’t know I had.

I don’t want to feel this way, not anymore, and certainly not for forever.

"Also, for the record, you ran into me, you sack of dust," I add, for good measure, earning a roll of Duir’s eyes. So much for me possibly coming off on the right hoof, right?

there's no place to hide down here