"Where brilliance is good and madness is better..."
Helovia Info
Helovia opened in February 2012! We are an active fantasy equine RPG
Where once the world narrowed into naught but gray dust and desolation, the gods called for life. Wielding the elements of fire and light, dark and wind, earth and water, spark and time, they have created Helovia. The realm is set within the mythical globe of Loorien, a planet rich with all variety of creatures and blessed with all manner of magic. Originally populated by nomadic, tribal characters, they've since grown into massive empires saturated with culture and history. Separated into four distinct segments of Helovia, called "The Regions," each band of horse strong enough and capable enough, took up the power and responsibility of leadership. Unicorns, old, wise and mysterious, took to the north, hidden in forests of mists and shadows and rarely making themselves known beyond their cliffs of the World's Edge. Equines, vast, organized and militaristic, split into two, one group went north to the Windtossed Foothills and the other group went south to the Dragon's Throat. Pegasus remained nomadic, making their homes in various parts of The Wilds in a migratory manner. For many generations, the land was peaceful and calm, but peace was never the way of the gods. With a clash of argument, war and bloodshed massacred Helovia, and in the aftermath, the realm was eerily quiet. Now, as newcomers sweep into this land, they are met with the lingering bitterness of the gods and the struggle to reclaim what was lost. Nothing remains safe or certain while sorcerers and soldiers alike brood and bide their time for revenge, honor and glory.
Site Wide Plots
Kaos :: The Beginning of the End ☼ - 6/2017 - Kaos placed Helovia in a time-bubble for a short period of time, but the Helovian gods are fighting back. But Kaos is powerful- far more powerful than anyone thought. This may be the beginning of the end of Helovia as we know it.
Kisamoa :: A New Kind of Kaos ☼ - 3/2017 - Kisamoa asks Helovians to help him restore the Spectral Marsh. Which side will you choose?
Invasions :: All Out War ☼ - 5/2/16 - New layout and the brand new invasion rules are up! Thank you for your patience and we look forward to getting started with this new adventure.
The Rift :: Gods Do Die ☼ - 8/2015 - Helovia Gods are saving the Rift from corrupt gods! Can Helovians band together against these foreign deities?
The Literal Ship ☼ - 2/8/15 - Oh no! You have to pair up for Valentine's day!
Sky Island :: Murder ☼ - 10/25/14 - Vesta has been found dead on the island, and the gods have called to you to solve the murder!
Sky Island :: Peace ☼ - 7/7/14 - An island has appeared in the sky! Clouds carry Helovians from the Veins to the sky.
Restoration :: We Welcome the Dawn ☼ - 9/21/13 - The sun has finally risen on this day, giving the land new light, but the Time God and the Sun God have yet to be seen.
Endless Night :: Broken Magic Plot ☼ - 8/30/13 - The earth god has returned and is walking across Helovia to heal the land. Every area can now be considered lush and prosperous, but the sun has still not risen.
☼ - 7/19/13 - The moon has risen in the sky, heralding the return of the Goddess of the moon. Lamp trees which light the paths have grown brighter, moon flowers which grow in dark places have begun to grow and prosper and the world is brighter, filled with a new hope.
Endless Night :: Dead Magic Plot ☼ - 6/22/13 - The gods of Helovia, in order to protect the world, have disappeared into the rift, leaving the world sunless, moonless and magic-less in their absence. Only the herdlands have a source of light, but lamp-trees with glowing leaves and branches sporadically line the popular roads and paths from place to place.
Doppleganger Plot ☼ - 6/20/13 - The God of Time is still struggling to close the rift though which the dopplegangers have come. He has requested that his brothers and sister assist in closing this hole, but without knowing why it opened, the task is proving difficult. Magic still remains faulty and hard to control, but the herdlands continue to be places of refuge for those who are fortunate enough to call these lands home.
ORANGEMOON cools off the lands with a a viscious force. Colder than normal, a sign of things to come during Frostfall, Helovia is bathed in a rich tropical lushness - albiet a cold one. The coastlines of the Dragon's Throat are pelted constantly by tidal waves, and the desert climate is humid but chilly. Ice begins to form early in the Aurora Basin leaving the winding trails slick and dangerous. The mists of the World's Edge coat everything in a glistening crystalline shine which encourages mould to grow everywhere. The Spectral Marsh is the only area which remains fertile, blissfully temperature and lush.
Cotm
Character of the Month for
June, 2017
WEAVER, Corporal of the Aurora Basin, is a relatively recent addition to Helovia and has taken it by storm. Branded with the seal of Death on her chest, intrigue and interest follow both her past and present. Though she is assuredly beautiful, her sometimes sharp personality reveals that there is more to this uni-peg hybrid than meets the eye. Proving herself able on the battlefield in the Basin’s warrior ranks, we can’t wait to see her test her mettle against the looming Kaos happenings! Congratulations!
Helovia RPG was created by Tamme and Blu and coded by Tamme also known as Schwartze. All coding, palettes and imagery are copyrighted to the website and are not for use outside of Helovia. Thank you to our ServerMaster for hosting Helovia. A special thanks goes to Neo for all of her coding help and fixing Tamme's errors, Boom, for her loyal service and creation of the Time God, and to Ali for her consistent contributions and dedication.
The rage still shook the stallion's body, his eyes molten fire as he glared forward at Gaucho. The desire to take Gaucho's life, to make the stallion pay for the death of Circe was too deep for the gods around him to quench. Archibald the Dauntless, from this day forth, would wish only death upon the barbaric, stupid, monster of a stallion that Gaucho was. His heart was blackened, unable to feel sympathy, unable to forgive the stupid brute who adorned himself with ornaments of his arrogance and false bravado. As the behemoth stood there, a volcano ready to erupt and consume all those around him, Ktulu was the only presence that mattered to him.
The black dun felt the same heartbreak he was feeling now. Her words of taking the Goddess' head rang true in his ears, and he agreed with her. The Goddess would not be welcome in this world, and despite all of the hatred Archibald felt for the God of the Sun for his past sins, his hatred for the Goddess was deeper, darker, more volatile and spitting than anything he had felt before. "You bitch," Archibald spat, unafraid of the display of magic she so foolishly displayed before them. "You look lives not your's to touch, and your banishment is nothing compared to what your brothers should do to you." Archibald's voice was solid, his body done shaking with the rage he felt in his heart. A cold, cruel demeanor set upon the Dauntless as he squared his shoulders and stood tall--the tallest among them, save for the Earth Father. He had moved silently to stand on the opposite side of Ktulu than Ophelia, pressing his shoulder into her's and giving her a body to lean on.
"You blame mortals for your lack. If you, gods of this world, could not pinpoint the killer among us all and the puppeteer behind the motions, you are so idiotic to point to blame on us." Archibald spat once more, turning his eyes to look at each god in turn. His heart panged for the God of the Earth, for his loss. The benevolent one had gifted him so much, and his loyalty to power lay in the bay's hooves, but Archibald was angry in the same hoof for these gods standing before them, blaming them for something no mortal could have controlled. "Your protection of this world has faltered.
Ktulu</style> when the sky turns gray and everything is screaming i will reach inside just to find my heart is beating</style>
There was no fear nor wonder on Ktulu's face as the Moon Goddess demonstrated her powers. The dark mare was confident that on a level playing field with the moon bitch she would succeed in destroying her. It was only her position as a god that she was able to have such power. Dark ears fell flat against the Constrictor's head when she was told that death was only the beginning. The beginning of what? Loss? Grieving? Anger? Hatred? "Shut up!" She hissed angrily at the goddess. "Your words, just like you, are completely worthless!" There was so much more that Ktulu wanted to say to the goddess, so much physical harm that she wanted to bestow upon the moon bitch, but her attention was diverted when the Earth God spoke to Gaucho and offered his forgiveness.
She had been looking at the sultan, watching him, studying him, trying not to feel anger toward him when the Moon Goddess was the one who deserved it all, when her name was spoken. "My son." She said flatly when the Earth God corrected himself and called Hototo theirs. What had the god done while Hototo was a colt? When had he come down to aid her in raising their child? Who had taught Hototo to fly? It certainly hadn't been the Earth God and he had the audacity to call Hototo their child. The God may have played a part in creating Hototo, but in her mind he was a far cry from being a father.
Ktulu stood in silence, listening, as the Earth God addressed Cera and she couldn't help but snort at his words. "You don't kill? You don't interfere?" She asked incredulously. "What do you call possessing someone and using them to murder?" With each spoken word her anger only grew. "I suppose since she didn't do it herself she's innocent since you claim that you don't kill." Did they even listen to themselves? Did he think before he opened his mouth and made claims that were completely ridiculous?
The dark mare's head turned as she felt a shoulder press against her and she found Archibald by her side. She pressed her shoulder against his body, acknowledging his presence, but did not allow herself to lean on him for the moment. It was then that the God of Time spoke and he only stoked the flame of Ktulu's raging anger. "You would blame us when it was your own sister that was behind every murder? What did you do while every mortal you charged with finding the murderer searched? Did you sit back and watch? Did you think to look amongst yourselves?" She was bold, speaking the way she was to the gods, but Ktulu couldn't find it in herself to care. "You are gods. All powerful gods and yet you cannot figure out which one of you is a murderer. Did you see it coming, God of TIme?"
"The loss is regrettable, but permanent. You can rebuild your lives, or you can continue to rage against the way of things instead of working to change it. Your choice, really."
Perhaps he had a point, but Ktulu could not let it go without making a final comment. "We may have to rebuild our lives, but you, all of you, need to work to rebuild the trust that's been destroyed. Not a single one of you is worthy of any kind of worship." She was done. Done with worshiping gods, done with their self righteous attitudes, done with their hypocrisy. Contrary to what the gods may believe they needed the mortals of Helovia. Without them the gods were completely useless, worthless, and pointless.
01-31-2015, 07:35 PM (This post was last modified: 01-31-2015, 07:51 PM by Roskuld.)
There was a tiny glare of disapproval that I wasn’t seeing, and it didn’t matter because I was feeling something fiery and prickly and sick that was wrapping around my esophagus and cutting off my circulation and burning the tears before they were shed and causing earthquakes (like Toto could make) to begin trembling within me, gentle and destructive and growing into something alarming, something I couldn’t control.
The pain was everywhere and no matter where my eyes darted, I was faced with it, in the faces of gods, in the accusing eyes of mortals (what a weird word that is on my tongue; mortals, mortals), in the hoarse, angry voice of my Auntie as she grieved for her son, her son, the boy so pure and good that he died in the stead of a murderer (Hello, he says, and he cannot remember me). There was no escape and the burning in my throat was rising and something pathetic was welling inside me and my legs ached to run and my heart ached to hide and my body felt like it was crushing me and the sky split with my Pa’s wrath at the mortals’ bickering and my heart split with my Auntie’s agony at the god's inaction and it wasn’t their fault it wasn’t their fault it wasn’t their
“Auntie” she said.
Her eyes were blank as she looked into her aunt’s crushed, blazing, tear-streaked face. Something static slipped through the air; one could feel it crackle against hide and mane. The voice that came from Roskuld’s lips was low, dead-pan--almost wondering as they addressed the Constrictor. “Auntie,” she said again, “It’s my fault.”
Her chest rose and fell steadily, heavily, as though she were going to great lengths to draw breath. Her eyes were wide, glassy--expressionless. Her legs were splayed taut and rigid beneath her as though they were poised for running and some iron clamp kept her in place, keeping her firmly to the ground. She continued to stare at Ktulu--truly staring, as though she seemed afraid of moving any part of her body. Any part save her lips and her voice, which left her throat as concrete, forcibly scraped from what depths she pulled them from. There would be no hiding.
“I could have stopped this,” came the voice--devoid of a spark, an attitude that usually placed the bite on the tongue. “It was in my power. I…knew it was the Moon God’s doing.” This was shoved from those lips, words that had attempted to scurry from the light of truth and condemnation.
Those deadened eyes turned then to the God of Time, begging nothing, saying nothing. Simply looking; getting his attention. “I failed.” It fell simply from Roskuld’s mouth. There wasn’t even a note of the failure she professed, for the words were only words, and truth is nothing but.
Her gaze turned back to Ktulu, slowly. “Your son died because of it,” she breathed, her chest continuing to heave, her body blank, the air crackling somewhere faintly. “Hate me if you need to hate.”
She stood there, staring at her aunt--waiting for something to happen, it seemed.
I'm weak when you miss me.
when you roll me on your tongue
It was easy to feel it, the hatred. It bored and burrowed inside of her, attention at once forcefully shoved to the light in which it wriggled, encased within the lavender body of a goddess. The snarl that curled over Ampere's lips was impossible to contain. She didn't want it, but it came nonetheless, feeding on her weakness for emotional trauma. Thankfully, she wasn't the only one infected, and plenty of the others clamored for what rung inside her mind.
In her heart however, she believed entirely in what the god of the Time had to say. It was an honesty she had known for some time now, but hadn't yet understood how to seize it. What had Ophelia said to her that day in the veins, when the murders were still nothing more than visions dancing in fire and smoke? "The gods will not leave us powerless. We simply have to be clever enough...". At the time Ampere hadn't been ready to accept that device. She was afraid, she wanted it to be easy, she wanted to almighty gods to just protect her, and she wanted the physical strength of her body to be worth more than the swirling thoughts she could hardly pin down. What would life be though if such were the case? What value would exist in their flesh, their breath, their blood? A challenge, Ophelia had called it that, and Ampere was ready to face it now.
"They are not without limits," Ampere said aloud, her voice strong, but not loud. Another remnant of her conversation with the Forsaken, the same pale girl that stood so bravely beside her Wildfire, openly announcing her steadfast ties to him. "There are more of us than them... we can be stronger, smarter, better. We have to be." She wasn't speaking for them, although they could hear. This was for Ampere. This was the finality of the vague idea swirling in front of her.
She had tried, and possibly so had they, to solve the crime amid their groups. Yet Ampere had faltered, her justice league a mob of strangers which gathered and dispersed just as easily. She had shown up to crime scenes and sponged up their information, but what had she truly done with it? Why hadn't she acted on it? Why hadn't they?
Ampere snorted, irritated at the indulgence of their mortality. Roskuld's admission could be said with any one of their voices.
get up, get out, get away from these liars
'cause they don't get your soul
or your fire
Mesec missed the beginning, missed the first domino to fall, but there was no missing the destruction of the island in the sky from his vantage point. He had been flying there when it happened and the shock of the scene causing failures in his movement, and he lost altitude rapidly before regaining his composure. Faster than it had arrived, the floating island was just gone.
The Moon’s son materialized in a swirl of shadows into the meadow, the sight of the scene before him causing a cold chill right through the heart, and he was able to piece together some of what had occurred. Hototo was dead.
His mother was at fault for all of them, all of the murders, having possessed another to do the dirty deeds. Some of them were children.
It wasn’t surprising, not really, and it was painful to remember the conversation with Roskuld when she had asked him questions and he hadn’t been able to help her at all. Maybe he should have paid more attention, maybe he should have seen more clues than he had when he had been spending time with her. She was always cold and uncaring towards the Helovians but no more or less than usual, hardly a tip-off.
Eternally conflicted, eternally torn, and even now the decision of which way to sway was a difficult one. Morals, of course, landed him on one side but that was his mother. She created him, nurtured him in her own way. Taught him and loved him. But she was darkness that he did not want to be, he wanted nothing to do with the shadows that she attached to him - fearful of the darkness seeping into his heart and ripping it out as it had for her. He wanted nothing to do with her now, wouldn’t even acknowledge the rage towards her that was swelling in him.
He hated her and hated more that he loved her still.
Mesec lingered where he was until she left, not wanting to face her in front of his family and the strangers that were gathered there. Not even sure that he knew what he would say to her.
But what could he say to any of them once she was gone? Friends, family, strangers. He felt separate from this, a shadow veil separating him from truly being a part of them. His tether to her keeping him forever apart. Not any more, though. He had meant what he had said - he didn’t want to live in the shadows. He didn’t want to be associated with a mother that possessed someone to murder others just to prove a point.
He found courage in Ampere's words, and truth in them.
Shaking his mane, he dislodged the talisman the Goddess had given him and left it there in the weeds and dirt.
No more darkness.
mesec
original html by rottie
picture by wyldraven at deviantart
late to the party but he needed to reply
please tag Mesec in replies
non-life threatening force is allowed at all times
Cera snarled, a dog fighting the leash of masters he had always trusted in, cared for beyond belief and reason. But not any longer. The lord he had once considered a grandfather grumbled the dumbest excuse to Ktulu, not even caring to mention that Cera had been there with Hototo too. That they had grown together, loved together, flown and aged and cried as a singular being. Yet he was thrown away in favor of blood. Not that Cera condemned Ktulu for that relation, but it only burned deeper into his mind that he was separate. Distinct. Unwanted. "He's only at peace because you failed to protect him! Protect us!" His voice is strong, unwavering, as it choruses with Ktulu's disdain and agony. The disappointment in the God's gaze did not break him nor cause him to waver, eyes cold with the desire to see the bitch wither and die.
"Will it avenge the other nine?" he spat. Ktulu well summed up the other things he wished to point out, that they said they did not interfere and yet the Moon Bitch had done exactly that. "Why should we trust you any more than we now trust her?" He is venom and pain wrapped in a patched bodice, but even so he does not budge from Gaucho's prone form. Whether he is recognized for it or not is beyond his realm of potential care. He has suffered, he has bled and broken and lost for these immortal beings. He will not move aside from the only one who had never let him down. And he did not have immortality on his side. Amani came to him, to his side, his name on her lips and sympathy in her eyes. His free wing moved to claim her, to feel her touch and try to mend himself with it, but it was a chasm inside that cold not be fixed.
But Cera could only take so much when the Earth god claimed he had done nothing.
"I was in my herd, helping them while my Sultan was away! Because you told us as our patrons that you would protect us! I kept our borders strong, I did as my Sultan bid me, I trusted that you would fix this! Someone had to stay, someone had to help!" Gaucho had trusted him to remain behind, to keep peace and safety while he was away trying to find the murderer and similarly failing beneath the weight of his own forced guilt. "I was working with Gaucho and Ampere, I held their ideas at mind and heart. So much for your false words telling us the herdlands would always be safe," he snarled, hackles all but raised in the face of his God's ignorance. His wing tightened against his side where Gaucho had stood and slipped away, refusing to cripple down into his sudden doubt. Had Gaucho wanted more of him? He had done the best he could with the orders he had been given.
His heart was broken, his mind more so, and he was useless.
och jag växte upp snabbt, från min barndom var det allt—jag föddes redan slagen
då tänker du tyst och skriker högt, memorerar hela jävla monologen som skrevs för din inre röst,
"ENOUGH!" he roars from the sidelines, an angry beast pulled from its restless sleep by these voices. Bickering, blaming, grieving in the only way a bleeding heart knows—in violent words and harsh judgments. In pain, there is no logic. In pain, there is only pain, and the need to purge yourself of it.
It devours you, and you lash out, blinded with it.
He knew this, and he knew it too well, sharp little fragments forever embedded in his heart, and driving themselves deeper and deeper each time it beat. He knew he could not fault them for their accusations and conclusions, for their hatred and their words, but at some point it had to end before it was nothing but a shout-fest between the mortal and the immortal.
And which would always win? The immortal, of course. They could yell their throats hoarse and their lungs empty, but they were only mortal and with empty lungs they could not live. So Mauja stood at the outskirts, flat eyes angry, ablaze, and heart bleeding in his chest—just like theirs. Just like all of theirs, but what perhaps broke his heart the most was Ljós, looking so defeated and so worn. He hadn't caught her words, knew nothing of what she felt and thought, but he had seen it all.. the death of a god-child, the destruction of the sky island where his heart had broken anew, and the subsequent mayhem.
Gaucho's body was guilty but there was no satisfaction in the knowledge.
"Enough," he said again, into what he hoped was silence. His voice was rough, like his face, worn around the edges—he had lost at the hands of the Moon, too, and as he saw her disappear towards the cursed Edge he wondered what had driven her to these deeds. Spite? "Just as they have no right to blame us for their mistakes we have no right to blame them for ours." There was no mercy in his words, only savage conviction, his frigid gaze sweeping those gathered. "I have lost to this mess—I was not there to save her from this puppeteer's charade. But what good will vengeance do? Who will it bring back? And what purpose in blaming someone else? A soothing balm on your own wounded pride?
"We were not there for those we loved, and because of it, they died. If we need to blame, we can only blame ourselves." He was tired. He was tired of emotions and the stupidity they brought on. "The Gods are just as flawed as we. Ultimately, we can depend on no one, trust no one, but ourselves." His gaze lost its hard edge, grew tired as the soul beneath, but his voice was still harsh as he spoke and stared at each and every one of them. "Justice is the coward's vengeance and vengeance never does any good.
"We all failed, both as individuals and as a whole. Suck it up and love what you have left and try to protect what you still can protect.
"The dead are dead."
The last was quiet, and Mauja was little but a wraith in that moment, ears held back at a sorrowful angle and his blue eyes heavy with burden. What he spoke was what he knew to be truth, but it was a merciless, cold prospect, and one he doubted they would appreciate in this moment of raw pain and fresh wounds.
But it was better they be jarred back to reason, before more lives were lost, and the twisting tale of blood feuds would go on until they all laid dead and dying upon Helovia's fractured face.
One would have to look closely at her to see the way her limbs trembled slightly, her nostrils quivering and her ears twitching as she continued to gaze at Ktulu. Even her breath seemed to tremble, sparse as it was; she didn’t even blink as she stood there, waiting for her Aunt’s response. Her features were dulled, sunken to the point of collapse—and her expression remained empty of everything she had spoken of, detached from her words and the meaning within them.
Roskuld would have stood there for days and endless nights, standing as stolidly as she was. She was a golem—no. Perhaps she was only a husk of the mare-child she was, empty of her fear and her self-pity—or, perhaps she was so ultimately shattered, so impossibly doomed, that all she could do was profess her crimes to the grieving mother, and wish her hate upon her. Perhaps she thought the hate would save her, somehow. Perhaps she felt she deserved it.
Then, from nowhere, a voice boomed behind her, and she jumped—
--it was like I was ripped from the void I had been falling into, that I had tumbled into without any grips or handholds or anything—the slippery slope that I was dying in, that I was losing myself in (that I had lost myself in, briefly) and I was being pulled, tugged, yanked back into the living realm where the pain was still fresh and it was crushing my chest and I felt like I was bleeding out from the inside with the force of the misery surrounding me.
In all honesty, that void was a gift; a soothing place where my pain was dulled, and I was free of the feeling of it, and I was too dead to face what I had done.
But fuck that.
Because I turned around and the bottom fell out and his blue eyes were there and so was the rest of him and suddenly everything that had shriveled away for just a few seconds blossomed again, rising inside of me at such a furious rate that there was no stopping what I did next:
I fucking ran.
I ran from my Auntie and her pain at losing her child. I ran from my Pa and the awful magnificence of the gods that had attended. I ran from the group that had come to mourn and curse and spat their holy names, the spirits that they had trusted in and, in turn, received disappointment. I ran from Jiji’s golden pain that I couldn’t stomach to see. I ran from Ma and the comfort she was offering Auntie (and the eyes that stormed at the sight of my Pa). I ran from the tiny fire that glared at me for my failures, from my Bro’s sadness at Hototo’s passing, from my moment of a defeat that I was finally, finally accepting, after all these years of its threat.
I ran because there was Leos—and I had long since given up on redemption in my Pa’s eyes, in my Ma’s eyes, in the world’s eyes. In my eyes. I had accepted myself as a scrub so long ago it barely kept me awake at night anymore.
But I…
...I don’t think I could bear his disappointment too.
och jag växte upp snabbt, från min barndom var det allt—jag föddes redan slagen
då tänker du tyst och skriker högt, memorerar hela jävla monologen som skrevs för din inre röst,
It happened so fast—between one heartbeat, and the next. Nostrils still wide but mind growing tired he stood, pained eyes having danced between three of those gathered: Kahlua, Ophelia, and.. Ljós. One moment, they were locked on Ophelia, the back of his mind drinking in every detail, every angle and plane, every goddamn shape of that white-washed body.. and in the next moment, she was running out the corner of his eye, out of his life, again. The image burned itself into his mind, and the feeling into his heart.
He had made a silent promise to protect her, a vow to not fail this unknown child in the ways he had failed his own, and yet he had lost her to the darkness.. to the years.. to the restless, selfish crusade of his own soul.
His own redemption.
And then he'd found her, or maybe she had found him, and she'd shone a light on him in the darkness, and he'd seen this before. A tremble passed his body, a flinch, preparation; he was a deer in the headlights, frozen just before the leap, and his gaze locked on Ophelia again.
His own words—"Suck it up and love what you have left and try to protect what you still can protect."—became a curse drumming in his blood.
Love what you have left, protect what you still can protect.
He didn't know what had made her run—anger? Sorrow? Just plain old fucking darkness eating up her heart, mind, and soul? It didn't matter. She had been there for him, unasked, but welcome. She had found him standing in the north, crying, and just been there.
He couldn't abandon her now.
The moment passed, shattered like glass. His gaze tore itself from Ophelia, body thundering into motion; each stride trying to bridge the yawning void in his heart.
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