What is Lost [Psyche]

What is Lost [Psyche]

Prometheus Posts: 75

Up For Adoption atk: 4 | def: 7 | dam: 4.5

Stallion :: Unicorn :: 8.2 / 16.3 :: 4 months / 6 years [Immortal] HP: 60.5 | Buff: NOVICE

Pyr :: Siberian Tiger :: Hypnotize & Flaming Touch Adoptable

12-04-2012, 07:08 PM (This post was last modified: 12-04-2012, 07:08 PM by Prometheus.)

I have wings, and yet I cannot fly. I have spread them in their full majesty, gritted my teeth as the newly bonded feathers pinch flesh that is scarred and pink, but then I am stuck. I have jumped and spun, but the sensation of lifting them and pressing them down to beat the air is new and hard to master. I have maintained this form for what feels like days since my departure from the veins, perhaps to feel the pain and the reminder that once I was alive. But I was never alive like this, never with such a fearful look in my eyes and such a sensation of regret.

This was a terrible idea- all of it. I will never fly, I will never look down on the crows and plunge to crush them beneath me, I will never look down upon you and call down with fondness. No, because you are dead. Dead, and I will never see you again. For death now is permanent, they have changed the rules. The gods have ruined themselves and now take it down to those residing below.

I had thought I would rise above this madness, ascend past this foolishness, but no! I return to the desert to find your corpse, to find emptiness in a land where I am forbidden to walk. My wings fold and my shoulders ache with the pain. My body steps across the hot sand and my form seems to fall in on itself. Coming here was useless, thinking I could change things was foolish. I am as I am, and you are dead.

But perhaps the dead walk again.

For as my eyes open and take in the massive expanse of desert before me, you stand. Lit like a torch, proud and tall. Healed, but not by magic. Marked by burns and scars, hurt by my betrayal and my leaving, but alive. The silence between our minds is unsettling, the flames unexpected, but I know that you are real. You have found me in my hour of need, and you watch me now as the ends of long white hairs burn and deep orange eyes look into an empty soul.

Were we capable of speaking there would be nothing to say. I have come to the place which is my bane, but you- you are home. Together we are home. Dead and disconnected, but still with a sick sense of loved brimming our eyes. We are home.

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