wounded is the deer that leaps highest

wounded is the deer that leaps highest

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380

Deceased

Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE

RayoDeSoleil

01-11-2013, 06:43 PM

Silence. There was so much silence. There had always been silence between them, even when their tongues formed words. Had she been blind, before, to imagine that there was some dynamic between them? That, perhaps, once they had actually cared for one another to some degree? What was it that she missed, really? Had she ever loved him? If she had, it had not been until after she had lost him. So, then, was it the thrill of the chase? Did she simply want something that she could not have? Did she even want him at all? The silence pressed in on her anxious lobes, the darkness threatened to overwhelm her amber orbs, fixed solely on him, as though afraid to move, afraid that he would disappear into the blackness, just another fruitless apparition.

He was emotionless. He was always emotionless, wasn't he? Or perhaps her memories of him were simply fading, swallowed up into some immense vacuum of space and time, following their creator into oblivion. She reached for something, anything, that would remind her of the way things used to be; she met no resistance, found nothing substantial to grasp. Was this what it was like to lose her mind? She was drowning, she felt, in the immense nothingness of her dream. She felt only thick, roiling emotions, turbulent within her. There were no meaningful memories, only flashes of moments, sensations, feelings. Fear bubbled in her throat. What was she without her past?

"I don't know." He was bluntly honest, but then, had he ever been any different? Again, she struggled to remember, and again, she lost. Again, the silence pressed in on her; again, she fought the terror threatening within her mind. She wondered, briefly, what she was afraid of, and came up with nothing. Frustration rose, and ebbed again, replaced by anxiety, anguish, and anger again, in turn. One brittle emotion stood out, though she had no name for it. Some might call it affection. She knew of no such thing, nor how to feel it. Yet, still, feel it, she did.

Suddenly, bottled up emotions threatened to pour from her maw. She took a step forward, as though to reach across the chasm between them; thinking the better of it, she halted again, shifting restlessly. "They... miss you, you know," she told him quietly, her lyrics again devoid of their usual lilting, siren-like qualities. "They look at me, and they see an imposter. But when they looked at you, they saw a king. I try to be like you, you know..." She was not bitter, and this in and of itself surprised even her. Her voice sank to a whisper. "I miss you," she admitted, for what harm could it do in her own mind?