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i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ bay said to skip Aury this round, sorry for the wait, been ill ><; still am but not as cripplingly so xD ]
The snow doesn't bother him. Long, strong legs rose, knees pulled up high, and fell down through the snow again. The thoughtlessness of his movements made them seem almost elegant as he forged a snow-path towards some point on the map only his heart knew. Dead people and dead things. Maybe he would find her some of those, if they arrived too late, if the frozen North claimed the soul of his erratic, crippled fire-bird—his, yes, because in some dark, forgotten corner of his heart he cared, and wished only the best for her, happiness and joy and to smile without that self-deprecating edge.. for her to find someone who wasn't he, someone who could give in return all that she wanted, needed, and fly with her, not break her wings with what was simply the truth.
He cared, but he could never be who she wanted him to be. What she'd seen that day so long ago by the red pool—what was that? Had she seen him, or only a half-formed dream given tangible form? Did she know who he was, in the icy pits of his soul, or had she just made some kind of wild guess, fallen in love with her own idea of who this stoic, broken beast was?
"Dead things," he whispered to himself, the word punching a white cloud into the cold air, and he raised his head, turned it halfway back. The dead-hunter followed behind him, though why he couldn't tell (it didn't make much sense to follow strangers, least of all when they asked you to), but follow she did all the same. Perhaps she was lost and insecure—or a monster confident in her ability to slay even hardened, saddened creatures as he. One corner of his mouth flicked upward in a humorless smile as he turned to face the way he was going again. Not much farther, the coldest voice of his heart whispered, her white wings whispering in near-silence through the clear air.
I love you.
The confession slipped randomly out of the almost perfect fortress of his mind, found some crack, some arrow-slit, or just its own set of damn wings, and flew into the shared space between their souls. His eyes, still wet from his earlier frustration, nearly spilled over, and his heart contracted in his chest, nearly making him gasp. Because the truth of the emotion was overwhelming, mind-dumbing and mind-numbing, overshadowing everything else and devouring every thought until nothing remained but an aching fire throughout his body and a tidal wave hanging above him, threatening to crash down and obliterate his mind once and for all.
I fucking love you, Irma.
Amusement, perhaps, maybe embarrassment that he broke the unspoken rules of their cold, silent bond—he sensed echoes of emotions, but she said nothing, offered nothing in return. He had not expected anything else. Rather, it would've made him wonder if he knew her at all, if she'd suddenly turned into some kind of silly phoenix spouting her emotions off at anyone who happened to be nearby.
Still shattered from his epiphany, he almost stepped on Aurelia. His eyes had glazed over with tears, saline crystals frozen on his lashes and cheeks, and she was buried in the top layer of soft snow. Very abruptly he stopped, and peered down at her, still crying, trembling inside, something in his heart having rattled loose and he didn't even know what it had been, or how to find it, or how to fix it. He just felt raw and rugged and worn and on the edge of a hysterical breakdown.
"What the fuck are you doing in the snow," he asked, his voice jacked-up and teary; maybe he cursed, maybe he didn't, but he didn't sound angry, just like a man who hadn't slept in weeks and suddenly had been bashed on the head. On top of that, he'd begun to sob uncontrollably. Body as unsteady as his soul he simply collapsed beside her, fell over, neatly camouflaged in the snow. "You're n-not supposed to be here," he kept saying, rambling, mind unraveling further. "Y-you're a fu-fucking bird, Auuuu—" he drew the sound out, because her name wasn't Auphelia, what the hell was it, "—reeefuckit, you're supposed to fly! FLY!" And that was a roar, rolling out over the otherwise solemn Steppe.
[ .. no comments. xDDD @[Aurelia], @[Sikeax]
D: re-tag for bump? ]
The snow doesn't bother him. Long, strong legs rose, knees pulled up high, and fell down through the snow again. The thoughtlessness of his movements made them seem almost elegant as he forged a snow-path towards some point on the map only his heart knew. Dead people and dead things. Maybe he would find her some of those, if they arrived too late, if the frozen North claimed the soul of his erratic, crippled fire-bird—his, yes, because in some dark, forgotten corner of his heart he cared, and wished only the best for her, happiness and joy and to smile without that self-deprecating edge.. for her to find someone who wasn't he, someone who could give in return all that she wanted, needed, and fly with her, not break her wings with what was simply the truth.
He cared, but he could never be who she wanted him to be. What she'd seen that day so long ago by the red pool—what was that? Had she seen him, or only a half-formed dream given tangible form? Did she know who he was, in the icy pits of his soul, or had she just made some kind of wild guess, fallen in love with her own idea of who this stoic, broken beast was?
"Dead things," he whispered to himself, the word punching a white cloud into the cold air, and he raised his head, turned it halfway back. The dead-hunter followed behind him, though why he couldn't tell (it didn't make much sense to follow strangers, least of all when they asked you to), but follow she did all the same. Perhaps she was lost and insecure—or a monster confident in her ability to slay even hardened, saddened creatures as he. One corner of his mouth flicked upward in a humorless smile as he turned to face the way he was going again. Not much farther, the coldest voice of his heart whispered, her white wings whispering in near-silence through the clear air.
I love you.
The confession slipped randomly out of the almost perfect fortress of his mind, found some crack, some arrow-slit, or just its own set of damn wings, and flew into the shared space between their souls. His eyes, still wet from his earlier frustration, nearly spilled over, and his heart contracted in his chest, nearly making him gasp. Because the truth of the emotion was overwhelming, mind-dumbing and mind-numbing, overshadowing everything else and devouring every thought until nothing remained but an aching fire throughout his body and a tidal wave hanging above him, threatening to crash down and obliterate his mind once and for all.
I fucking love you, Irma.
Amusement, perhaps, maybe embarrassment that he broke the unspoken rules of their cold, silent bond—he sensed echoes of emotions, but she said nothing, offered nothing in return. He had not expected anything else. Rather, it would've made him wonder if he knew her at all, if she'd suddenly turned into some kind of silly phoenix spouting her emotions off at anyone who happened to be nearby.
Still shattered from his epiphany, he almost stepped on Aurelia. His eyes had glazed over with tears, saline crystals frozen on his lashes and cheeks, and she was buried in the top layer of soft snow. Very abruptly he stopped, and peered down at her, still crying, trembling inside, something in his heart having rattled loose and he didn't even know what it had been, or how to find it, or how to fix it. He just felt raw and rugged and worn and on the edge of a hysterical breakdown.
"What the fuck are you doing in the snow," he asked, his voice jacked-up and teary; maybe he cursed, maybe he didn't, but he didn't sound angry, just like a man who hadn't slept in weeks and suddenly had been bashed on the head. On top of that, he'd begun to sob uncontrollably. Body as unsteady as his soul he simply collapsed beside her, fell over, neatly camouflaged in the snow. "You're n-not supposed to be here," he kept saying, rambling, mind unraveling further. "Y-you're a fu-fucking bird, Auuuu—" he drew the sound out, because her name wasn't Auphelia, what the hell was it, "—reeefuckit, you're supposed to fly! FLY!" And that was a roar, rolling out over the otherwise solemn Steppe.
[ .. no comments. xDDD @[Aurelia], @[Sikeax]
D: re-tag for bump? ]
