He wandered then too, much like he always did, down along the throngs of the lake’s banks, then pressing on, on, and on, Enyo lowering her head and Orsino tall and proud; until he reached the trail towards the Reaper’s tomb. The General ceased all motion and movement, however, when he noticed another standing there, and two more figures close by, drifting and placed in shadow – and a part of him seized, clenched his jaw, forced the selfishness rattling his bones to be buried amidst the other rubble and devastation. This was what he’d wanted: for his father to be remembered, not scalded away, not sent into oblivion, not tattered by scavengers. He moved closer then, silent, a chiseled guardian, and paused only momentarily when he saw shown beneath the flickering raindrop and glowing charms: Rexanna. A portion of the youth wanted to be ridiculously bitter and hostile, angry at her for being another one to leave, another being who fled the world for their own asinine desires, leaving the Reaper to continue his efforts till he faded away. But it wasn’t her fault the mighty King had perished, had fallen, and there was no one to truly blame – time had taken his father away and left him with nothing in return. It was cruel and wretched, and worse still to catch the bits and pieces of her speech, the apologies driven towards the rocks, and he had to look away, down past the pathway, into the desolate, forlorn alleys, wondering when the world would swallow him whole. The General tried to swallow down his resentment, his hostility, his rage (even when it was all he had left, beyond the scope of his misery, wrath coiled in his marrow), and maneuvered a ways up the trail, so she could hear him when he spoke. “He was disappointed when you left,” he stated, clear and fluid, face unreadable, aiming daggers at multiple hearts; harpooning it directly into his too, exasperated with himself because at least she’d bothered to come when the rest of those who’d run away did naught (and wasn’t that always the way – they followed the same damned pattern, day after day, night after night, wasting, decaying, still ignorant and useless). Was it worth it?, he wanted to ask her, but couldn’t, couldn’t spill the harsh veracity from his mouth, his tongue, tempted to just crumple right then and there. “But thank you for coming now,” was all he managed to muster thereafter, the steel gaze flickering apart.
@Rexanna