.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
06-07-2014, 03:53 PM
 |
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
HELOVIA || The Way to the Sun
›
Out of Character
›
Archives
⇒
[P] i'm not scared of monsters anymore
⇒
[P] i'm not scared of monsters anymore
the Rift
|
[PRIVATE] i'm not scared of monsters anymore
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||
06-12-2014, 11:34 AM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
Catharsis. Like plunging a needle into an infected wound, and feeling the blackness roil out, slipping down your skin and disappearing in a wash of clear, red blood—like feeling your throat nearly yell out the anger and the frustration, and the softness of tears as you run yourself ragged. Empty, lighter, but tonight he furiously blinked back the tears, refusing to let the emotional chaos of his body take physical shape. She wouldn't understand, anyway. No one ever did.
Except Sarazheha, curse that horse. Once, Mauja had been able to stand on his own four feet, but now he just felt broken, like a ruined machine. Something was malfunctioning and just wanted to crawl back to his brother, and be fixed. He was already swallowing the godsblood's bitter medicine. Honesty. Truth. And his breath stopped punching white clouds into the temperate night, the temperature of his body slowly rising back to normal. It seems he can only ever be angry for so long before the peace of a gentle snowfall claims him again. Mauja is no blizzard. "The world was warped when I was born, Mauja. Don't you think I want to be like Kahlua? In her world, it seems to be a clear, sunny day, all the time. Don't you think If I was trying to be someone, I would be someone like her?" His eyes closed, mind moving to words he couldn't put into shape—when you've been happy for so long, when you've been.. functional, you realize that no one cares. No one gives a fuck about you when you're strong. No one even considers that you might be hurting inside, or if they do, they're too afraid to ask, because what could possibly be wrong with you? So you start to let the walls down. Let the cracks show. But it's already too late. He doesn't say it, though. Haven't got the words, the time, just feels them roll in his mind like water. It's not meant to be defined. But finally, finally a small piece of the truth settled in. His ears flickered forward, hope catching on to that single, tiny spark; flared, pale and blue in his opened eyes. "And maybe not everyone hates me, but a lot of horses do. Maybe you don't hate me, but I'm sure I've pissed you off again." The corners of his mouth titled up. If he was going to hold everyone accountable for pissing him off he'd have quite the crusade on his hooves—and it suddenly seemed such a pointless thing, because his yelling had paid off, and it always went as quickly as it came. "See!" he said, brightly, not certain where his sudden light fervor came from, but it felt like angels singing in his head and church bells ringing. Maybe he was just clinging to the last thing that might save tonight from utter disaster, or maybe it was just a good distraction for his own darkness, but whatever the case he felt like prancing, or bouncing, or.. anything; but he remained grounded, solemn. He knew even this state of mind could wash away as easily as the anger had. "You finally got it. Not everyone hates you." [ godsblood = Sarazheha ] Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
06-19-2014, 10:16 PM
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
06-20-2014, 05:11 AM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
[ Dun worry. <3 ]
"Please say something...?" But he didn't. Not then. He let her rave in silence, until later, when his voice erupted like.. like.. certainly not a sledgehammer to the face anymore, but as full of cold, clear light as his eyes. Then, and only then, did he speak, but her reaction blunted some of his joy. Took the edge off it. Her head shot up, into the sky, as if to avoid the barrage of his encouraging words—and his feeling of sudden euphoria and bliss faded. Seconds ago he could've cried with happiness that something good had finally made it through her thick skull, but it faded. Because she kept resisting. She kept resisting the truth because the truth was harder to bear than the dreams. It's never easy to be forced to face yourself. Mauja promptly turned his head from whatever mirror anyone might present him with. And maybe, he wasn't all as bitter and bad as he thought—maybe he was a fairly good guy who would be happy, if he just got this trial out of the way. If he just found Ophelia. If he just stopped looking at the one mirror that painted him a monster with a black, cynical heart and poison in his veins. If everything just aligned and he could let go, sigh, take a look at the world and himself without corrupting it. Because he did it to himself. Just like she did it to herself. Aurelia the aureate, the golden, the prey, she backed away. A single, hesitant step. The silence felt like a dead, leaden weight between them, the air still and stifling, suffocating. Was she retreating from him? From his words, his hope, his faith (in what?)? Was she poised on the edge of flight, like he would've been? Mauja watched her silently, feeling the slow throb of his heart. The blood seemed to sigh through his veins; the hope he'd felt, that she would understand and embrace the knowledge instead of look as if she contemplated shunning it, it had faded, disappeared. Dispersed, like smoke blown away by the wind. "What's going on in your mind?" he asked before he knew it, voice gentle, eyes bright, and kind. Curious; genuinely curious. He'd done this to her before—poked and prodded for her thoughts and reasons, back in the forest that time, and now he poked and prodded again. Because.. much as he wanted to hammer his own version of the truth into her head (though he would not accept her blatantly stating he hated her; that made her the liar, not him), truth is subjective. There is no absolute truth. Only perspective. And in the end... Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. Fuck life. Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
06-21-2014, 01:32 PM
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
08-02-2014, 02:07 PM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar Wolf father, at the door, you don't smile anymore But he was the fortress, the perfection of a glacier in its prime, its cold, barely beating heart—not the sun-slick edges shearing off and falling into the ocean, spilling all its secrets in the warmth of life. His mind was a bastion, a crystalline maze, a place of clarity and blood-spattered walls. It almost seemed artful. "I could ask you the same thing, Ironclad." That was the beauty of a well-guarded secret, of eyes that were nothing but ice, as brilliant as the sun refracted through a snowflake but just as empty of meaning. Because in his frigidity, in his stoicism, there was beauty, trapped and carved in the fractured marble of his body—beauty as lifeless as that of a statue. Because for all the hot blood rushing through his veins, and all the pain and love he carried in his heart, Mauja's skin was as cold as his name. Shallow beauty. He waited, because waiting was the only thing he knew how to do. He was an expert at waiting. He waited so long that every moment passed him by. He could've waited forever, for the answer that perhaps no one else would've given him—he was not the only one who hoarded his secrets as jealously as a dragon guards its trove, would've expected the conversation to fall through the hourglass like the last grains of sand, until nothing remained but the silence. But he waited, because something in him wanted an answer, the key to solve the mystery, the last piece of the puzzle: he waited, because perhaps her words would fill the silence left by his. She began, as chaotic and unstructured as fire itself. Began, by closing herself off, by denying him understand, by deciding that she would remain alone, misunderstood, and special. She began by telling him he would not understand, and he sighed so softly, so quietly, it was barely perceptible. He could understand, but only if she'd let him. If she'd believe in him. If she'd believe in herself. Words spilled out of her mouth, out of her soul, and black-rimmed ears raptly drank it in. He said nothing, but his mouth quirked a time or two, while his heavy heart wondered why these things always happened to everyone. Was there not a shred of goodness left in this world? A scrap to feed the faith? His ears fell back slowly. You helped put out some of the flame. She spoke of a sense of abandonment, loss, of being lost, of herds and wraiths and companions, of drunken near-rape and gods and love— Oh, he'd heard it spelled out in her voice, tasted it in the unsaid words, but he'd tried not to believe it, because why would she love him? Why would she love a stranger whom she knew nothing about? Shallow beauty. He was beautiful, but he was dead. Silence claimed them for a moment, Mauja's mind still reeling from the onslaught of information, of a broken, scattered back-story, and everything he wanted to say was taken from his lips by another string of words: "Your turn." His eyes hardened. His heart hardened. And he remembered, fire flickering in the dripping caves of a mountain, look-out windows and rampaging colts and fillies, the pristine smell of snow and the cold wheeling, reeling stars strewn like silver dust over a pitch-black sky, aurora lights shimmering and dancing, the metallic taste of blood and the scent of frozen death— Screams and thundering hearts, hot blood and conviction, justification, purification. The Purge. His distant gaze sharpened, landed on her. Aurelia. So young, so innocent, so heavily burdened by this cruel world. His jaw was set. You do not want to know what I have done. What I have been. What I am. "I came to Helovia when I was six," he said into the cold space between them, his voice a steady, rough thing. "And before I came, I was many things." And since then, I've been even more. Did she understand, that with all the long years he'd endured, anything he would tell her would just be a fraction of the truth? That if he was to bare himself, it would take hours and hours? "Perhaps you are more like me than you think, Aurelia—a creature so burdened by its past it cannot see the future." A bitter, cynical edge to his voice, and a bitter, cynical twinge of his dark lips. "I've driven dark plots forward, held my horn towards fluttering throats in the shadows while smiling in the light—I laid the foundations of an empire, but saw it murdered in its cradle. I've bled and I've lost, and I've been lost, in another dimension; I've gone back in time to fetch one of my owls, and witnessed the Sun scorch the land with his reckless fury. I've been burned and I've been broken, I've made mistakes and I've ruined lives, and somewhere along the road, I stopped believing in that which had driven me when I first came here. I've tried to love and realized it is not a thing I have a say in, and I've fallen in love with what should've been my greatest enemy; I lost my faith in the Gods and set even more nefarious plots in motion. What should've been murder was not, and I've seen the Gods leave us and strand us in absolute darkness, and I find myself hunted, haunted; I left, to defend the place I came from, and to run from the wrath of the hypocritical, dumb Dragonwhore." He spat her name out like the poison it was, not at all sure where the vehemence came from. "I returned but I lost myself, and the wraiths nearly ended me—I woke up sick and angry, and everything's still a broken, shattered mess." Was that even what she'd wanted from him? A quick re-cap of his past? He'd said nothing. All these words and he'd said absolutely nothing. "Right now I think about you. About how easy it is to get hurt, and how much it hurts and aches.. and about how easy it is to judge yourself from what you've been through, and how hard it is to let go of all that drags you down." His gaze slid to the sky. Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
08-03-2014, 10:46 PM
[quote='Aurelia' pid='103429' dateline='1403375569']
Success isn't the result of spontaneous combustion.
08-10-2014, 01:04 PM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar Tell me how's the way to be There was a reason there never were blizzards in the desert, or that forest fires never raged in winter—there was a reason, and in a way, Mauja felt like he truly was winter. And that barrier of snow and frost, of cutting ice and driving winds, separated him from the rest of the world. Where he shrank back into himself, sought perfection in his existence and purpose in the beating of his heart, she did not. Where he pulled back and studied his life like an object, she was too tangled up in it—living every moment. Where he found reason in simply observing who he had been, who he was, and who he might become, she despaired in the feeling of suffocating, meaningless life. Where he swallowed, and hardened his heart, and bore his failures, she let them eat her up. Mauja was old enough to have learned to shelf his life. Aurelia seemed young enough to still think there was a way to live life "correctly". Like there was some kind of pattern to follow, like love and family meant you were fucking happy and had succeeded—whatever the hell that meant. Life wasn't about success. Life wasn't about what you weren't but wished you were. Life was about the blood in your veins, the breath in your lungs. He wanted to help her. He genuinely wanted to help her, to open her eyes, to make her see that life wasn't about others but about yourself. He wanted to help her, but damn, she wore away so quickly at what fragile patience he had. "They are calm," he simply responded, slightly amazed that he wasn't gritting his teeth and snapping at her yet. For her to understand.. it seemed so distant, almost as distant as him becoming who he'd been again; of circles fulfilling, and the rivers running uphill. "They are a focus—with them, my mind freewheels, and in losing myself to thought I find answers I otherwise would not. When you're too busy thinking of a problem, trying to find the solution, it eludes you, because you try too hard." "If you see no future for yourself, go and drown. Then, when the ocean spits you back up on the beach, and your lungs still draw breath and your heart still beats, you'll realize the power of life—and the will to live, embedded in us all." Still talking to the stars. He dragged his gaze down, back onto her; the sharpness of ice lingered beneath the matted surface, the dull gray of his iris reflecting the myriad of stars. "You will never find control, or someone who loves you, if you don't go on living." A heartbeat of silence. "At the heart of it, Aurelia, life is truly purposeless. We are created from driving need, and born into societies as fragile as glass, and founded on nothing but mere ideas. There is no divine law, there is no purpose greater than the functions of our bodies. Everything in Helovia can shatter in an instant, because every empire is little more than dreams held together by the strength of someone's arm and the charisma of their words. There is nothing to life but what we decide to make of it—whether we live in the despair of knowing that nothing has any true meaning or if we decide that our own happiness and dreams are enough, is up to us. You will never truly achieve anything, Aurelia, and neither will I. When the breath leaves my body and nature reclaims my flesh, I will leave no mark that lasts longer than the memory of a few generations, if even that." Perhaps not what she wanted to hear. Perhaps not what she needed. "You've only got one life; don't waste it, but use your wings and rise above it." Probably not what she wanted to hear, either. But even if he thought it would solve anything, he couldn't bring himself to fuck someone who was still just a slip of a girl. Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
|
