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12-15-2013, 02:11 PM
Forged connections, once a hindrance, were now inescapable. Bonds thrust and molded time and time again, even as he managed to mar and solidify them into dissolved aspirations or forgotten, forlorn entropies, forced into his nefarious qualities, simmering and bubbling below the surface of his blackened, charred organs. Some, like those stoked at birth, could never be truly done away with, siblings cycling and circling one another like voracious hawks, plucking at their weaknesses and mauling anyone else who desired the same. Family, carved and nuanced from coals, embers and devotion, calamitous streams and echoes of rancorous resolutions and chaotic semblances of creeds, power lined with more power, blood soaked with fire, reverie slashed with icy daggers and fuzzy recollections. Even the wake, the force of elements, water slinking into the chambers of his heart, sinuous and unwinding, clandestine and rapacious, avaricious and binding, cascading in a rippling pool of constancy, repose, warmth collected and streamlined into a deadly statue. His attempts at shackling them away were seemingly impossible, for they continued trickling back into the King’s life – one by one, rhapsody and rue, raingirls and blossoms, demons and infidels, siblings and upheaval. Instead of pushing them away once more, for it didn’t appear to matter, they flocked back to his quietus, to his acrimony, to his pernicious slate each and every time and he didn’t dare to drive them away (not when there could be a moment when they were truly gone, and he’d be left bereft again), he sought to display, show, the competency of his dominion. What was a master of demise without his satanic requiems? What was a sovereign without his unending kingdom, summits, mountains, and cliff tops rising into the darkening skies? What was a tempest without the uncurling, unfurling storms breathing into his movements, his motions, his contorted armaments? What was a monolith without his subjects, bending and swaying to the Machiavellian concoctions building amongst his scheming mind? Even now, in the quiet, poised artifice of the Basin, he yearned for Zuriel to be proud of him, to manifest, reveal, convey, the true concoctions of his labor, of his efforts, of his maelstroms set to warrior oeuvres and opuses. The Reaper’s gaze lingered upon hers for a few seconds, sought to claim her distinction of this frozen land, but the mischief sprinkled amongst her tone told him. It wasn’t enough.
Disappointment coiled deep into his veins, threatened to pulse along his features into some juvenile petulance, but he held them taut, rigid, and structured into the clean rigor of a soldier, of a General, of a King immune to the damaging ridicule of his sister. He pondered over what else to demonstrate, seeking her satisfaction, grating and grasping – perhaps Loth, with her bright allure, or Huyana, with her quiet, calm glamour, but the sound of another drew his attention away from attempting to gain recognition from his family. A child, not his own, but postured from some portion of the frosted, glacial palisade, dragged into their midst either by curiosity or ignorance. The piercing fold of his stare fixated on her for a few puncturing seconds, unfamiliar, not chiseled from any of his soldiers or femmes, dipped in shadow fixtures, with her own haunting glare. He offered naught but the dreaded, trenchant, mordant, scathing diligence of his silence, but Zuriel prompted the youth, and if they were back upon the sea, children again, he would have rolled her eyes at her accusation. In the present, he continued to glare, bestowing no reprimand to refute the notion. The grating coil of his vocals stirred with nonchalance, a dispassionate figure cut into the frozen landscape, nearly as frigid as winter itself, permitted one scrawl of his reticence. “Who are you?” She was not honored with his appeasement, with his desire to unwind all the precise, calculated ruses marked along his membrane, the extensions and wealth of family, but perhaps, with time and loyalty, she could serve, and become, a reason for him to remember her presence.
