déodat,The crashing of the waves had brought him there and though he felt conflicted, it was soothing all the same. Invasions, battles, mindless wars… they had changed him and made him cold, but the Blood Prince was not satisfied with how his frozen coat made his skin prickle and tighten. His bones had become too large, pressing uncomfortably against his flesh so that it made him feel constricted and torn. He was a liar in all respects on that day because not only had he evaded war with the Edge, but he still stood to call himself part of the Basin. Had he not promised himself to that wintry wasteland for the sake of waging war in their name, fighting for their honor, and proving himself beneath their symbolic rule?
He had thought so at one time.
But he had not truly seen war since setting idle feet upon the snow hardened slopes of his brethren’s doorstep. It made him feel empty. No matter which way he turned his cheek, there was no comfort to be had, no sense of worship or belonging… just an emotionless shivering of the spine that let him know that the day had once again found its way to the sky. In most cases, the Prince found himself utterly alone, not that he minded the solitude from time to time, but with the recent Invasion weighing heavily on his mind, he had resorted to humming chaotic melodies to the winter in order to cure an incurable itch that had formed in that back of his dry throat. Lena had shown him the healing quality of song and though he certainly had no voice for such remedies, at times he liked to pretend that he did. But today, he could not force a single note from his tightened chords for fear that only fierce howls would emanate to the heavens alerting the archangels of earth’s sullen damnation caused by devilish entities such as himself.
Perhaps that notion had sent him away from the Basin in search of something else, anything else to occupy the time it took between the present until the day he ultimately died. However, instead of finding refuge at the sea, he only found reminders of his defeat seeking sanctuary there just the same.
D’Artagnan had always been a creature of the night and as he stood at the water’s edge, listlessly gazing out over the wide expanse of ocean, Déodat couldn’t help but smile bemusedly. However, that curiosity was quickly replaced with a cruel wrenching of his heart. How was he supposed to admit to this devout citizen of the Plague that he had not been there to witness the victory of the enemy? At first, Déodat contemplated turning heel and walking away, but from the way his cousin stared so profusely beyond reality and into the projected conscious of the sea, he knew he could not leave him to fester. This would become a moment in life that ultimately define the Prince simply because he had chosen to face his wrongs and attempt to make them right. With fear and shame bubbling deep beneath the surface of his grim resolve, Déodat approached his brother in arms with all of the confidence and perhaps apprehension he could summon.
“You look as if you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. ” It was as if that simple statement were enough to suffice for any greeting that had come to mind before finally settling in beside the Nightshade. The Blood Prince did not look into eyes of molten blue and crystalline brown because he knew that all he would find there was defeat no matter how rebellious he considered his companion. Of course he would find suffering after such abysmal endings… endings he had not even seen the beginnings to. |
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
![[Image: QV8O7HU.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/QV8O7HU.gif)
