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11-19-2016, 08:45 PM
into the sea, you and me
all these years, and no one heard
i love you, let's go
all these years, and no one heard
i love you, let's go
Names on a list, each one worse than the next. Expectations fill up the spaces in her head, check off the boxes in what she must prepare herself for in what is coming.
They dwindle as the filled spaces alert her in what is to come. Fewer and fewer names make up the list til it becomes barely anything.
Valdis.
Volterra.
Cera.
Tyrath.
Bellanaris?
She questions if her daughter is young enough to feel shame in her mother’s failure, or if she’ll understand that her mother is leaving like a coward, tired, broken, realizing that no matter how facades are made to look, someone born hated is always hated.
Because that’s what members of outcast bands are, right? Hated?
Funny, how she had the strength
She wonders if he’ll even want to see her face again after this. The idea of his burns a hole in her heart, urges her to pull her cloak of shame further around herself until she can burrow into it so deep that nothing will pull her free.
She does it because she has to make herself strong again, prove to him that she is not going to be weak when he had given her something to build herself with(and failed with), to see if he’ll ever want to look at her again.
But what importance does his existence have to her other than a once giver of seed? A man who didn’t want the child she forced upon him?
Nonetheless, she can always hide behind the excuse that Hobgoblin wanted to see Vérzés.
Distaste hums in his throat from his perch, nestled in the branches of the Dragon’s Blood tree where she, the failed Sultana, paces relentlessly. Yellow eyes pass judgement without a care of how much of it she can hear.
“Weakling. Skullface no want. You fail Skullface. Skullface hate. You leave, no take.”
“I know.”
“We leave now?”
A shrug of the shoulders answer him with mute words.
“Best.”
She can’t deny herself the truth when it is all that surrounds her at this point, but at the same time, she can’t leave herself without the feeling of his hatred, the acknowledgement that he hates her, the end to something that barely even held a beginning.
OOC: screaming
hobgoblin is in his serval form and chilling out in the branches of the Dragon's Blood tree because that's totally something servals do.
but don't ask me i'm not an expert
@Volterra
you were angels,
so much more than everything
:: please tag me
:: minor force and power play allowed
