i am the vanguard of your destruction

[ couldn't help yourself with the post either, I see xDD rofl ]

And just like that...

.. doubt comes rolling back in, a tidal wave of memory and sensation, of devil-may-care excitement, and...

.. of a young girl, black coat speckled white, and her blue, blue eyes. Eyes as blue as the glaciers, eyes as blue as the winter sky, eyes as blue as his. It was an almost sickening lurch, going straight through soul and heart, tangling up in the memory of sweat and heat the gull-breeze off the ocean and the tug of teeth against a sweat-soaked skin—

It's like having a five years younger you invited back into a body it no longer inhabited, full of mistakes and sharp edges, fresh cuts that won't ever turn into scars. It's like having everything you thought you knew questioned, the ground ripped out from under you, and without neither warning nor excuse, explanation, you're just tumbled gracelessly down.

It's like staring at the woman you fucked and wondering how you can claim to love someone else.

He wasn't sure if he was big on this whole monogamous thing anyway (never mind the fact that his lips were sealed tight and he hadn't said shit to her about liking her so he had no obligations and no rights and why the fuck couldn't he stop thinking about her)—but it rang hollow all the same, and while the board had altered dramatically, the premises remained the same. Sweaty black mare, jackass stallion, heart and dick going in two different directions.

Consequences.

He tries to freeze himself with the image of Glacia's eyes.

He didn't need more mistakes running around longing for the love he never gave. He didn't need.. he didn't need.. fuck, he didn't need any of this; he didn't need the over-powering memories of her scent, didn't need her refined shape plastered onto his retina, or the knowledge that she knew who he was—there was no more Liam on the beach. No more carefree rolling in the sand, because shit had gone all wrong and she knew that he was Mauja, an angel chained by his own name and everything he clung to because it was familiar.

Never mind that it drowned him.

He gritted his teeth, and turned his head away until his cheek lay flat against the rough bark of the nearest tree. He'd taken refuge in the small copse to avoid the worst of the day's heat, but it had been futile—heat had found him anyway, and coming from a different place this time. The sun might've taken its scorching rays and gone to torment some other poor sod, but in its stead memory had come, and it wasn't like he wanted to do that with her anyway—

So what the hell was his problem?

His problem was that he had always hated this—and ever since Lotus, it had been more like a trauma. He wanted to run, not from them but from himself, from the way it chewed at his control and dared him (because commanding would not work; it had to be subtle, until it was too late).

He bit the tree. He bit the goddamned tree. It tasted rough and earthy, but it didn't help. It tasted vile after a second and that didn't help, either, because his mind just played up the memory of pinching black skin between his teeth, and in frustration his tail lashed against his sweat-crusted hocks and sides. Damn but it was annoying—frustrating—so fucking seductively sweet and in disgust he dribbled out saliva-drenched pieces of bark. Like, holy fuck, man, get a grip, because things had changed. It didn't matter that she probably knew nothing of what Mauja meant—but what mattered was that he wasn't just some handsome stranger on the beach anymore.

He was the fucking father of her child.

Because that's how these things ended up.

[ @[Sialia]. I'm sorry but I think it must be official by now that Sia + sweat is just a huge turn-on. ]

i am the vanguard of your destruction

No don't come here oh shit oh shit oh shit—

But she did, almost as if she could hear the overwhelming pull of his thoughts, but instead of being repulsed, she was drawn in by the panicked buzz going through his mind. No no no shit shit shit—

But there she was, all sleek, black fur and sweat, slender and powerful, a panther of a mare and his heart was definitely skipping beats. There she was.. two white socks, a white blaze, a blue-and-black wound horn and eyes as blue as the sea...

Blue.

There was too much blue.

And his heart was painfully conjuring eyes of fire, the eyes of a hawk.

But those eyes had gone out; they were dull and dead, ashes, along with the rest of her. She was dead. "Liam..." she was saying as he spat out the last of the bark, and his ears fell halfway back, not wanting to listen. She was who she was; she couldn't help that. It wasn't her fault that she was almost the spitting image of someone he had lost—someone he had loved, and lost.

Was that why it had happened, that other time on the beach? The idea was repulsive, it tasted vile and foul, of everything he loathed, but, shamefully, he thought there was at least some kernel of truth in it. He lowered his gaze, and glanced aside, aware of her own eyes burning holes in his skin, widening the gaps in his armor. He didn't deserve—or want, really—her attention. He didn't want to feel the heat radiating off her, or the smell of mare and sweat intermingled so flawlessly, so pleasantly unpleasant.

"Alleshia," he spits the name out, like something toxic. But at the same time he didn't want to hurt her—but he did, some part of him was angry that she wasn't her—he needed to stop this and remain in the real world. A world of blue eyes. "You're my issue." His voice was rough, a growl lurking beneath it, frustrations of every kind turning his words to sandpaper—and honest to god, he hadn't meant to make it sound like that but guess what?

Somehow he had, anyway.

[ @[Sialia] ]

i am the vanguard of your destruction

It feels like someone slamming a door shut in your face, between one heartbeat and the next. It's like they just walk out the room, no, more like storm out because it's not just them changing—it's so tangible it's unreal, like someone jolts you out of the mental space you've been occupying, leaving you in the dust to wonder what the hell had happened, because it happened so fast. One moment he was spitting out bark and her name and just feeling that mounting anger that Psyche was dead (and, that other, shameful anger, too, the one directed at himself), and in the next he had gone as cold as she, frozen over in his surprise, retreating into the depths of himself at lightning speed.

But there had been one moment—one moment of expression, a muddled mess of surprise, wariness, and pain. One moment of all those things crowding his blue eyes, but then it was gone, startled away by the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

Fuck, 'Shia, I'm sorry. He hadn't meant to—he hadn't wanted to hurt her but what else could it be, if not that? What else would've made her pull back so fast, and so deep? She bore nothing on her face, nothing in her eyes, and it was like she wasn't even there anymore. It was just a body, just a shell, and the sweat was just sweat and meant nothing at all anymore.

Her curious eyes were dulled, her gait sort of uneven as she lumbered towards him, horn aiming for a kill he was willing to give her.

He'd seen this before. He'd done this before, and it hurt, and he hated himself for it. It wasn't that she was shutting him out (we're barely even friends).

It was that he made her shut him out.

And her voice was so cold, such a contrast to his memories of her. Those memories were all heat and warmth, and here—here, there were only glaciers, not even a blizzard, because it was so calm. Just dead and frozen and he stood there trapped like a deer in headlights, staring at her with eyes as frigid as hers, and just as guarded. ".. I find it hard to believe that I am the actual issue here."

He heard it in her tone, and he heard it in the silence—this is where you speak, and try to right the wrongs, or just punch the stiletto deeper into the gap she'd so carelessly left him.

We're all walking around with daggers sticking out between ribs, left there by those who weren't brave enough to either punch them all the way in, or pull them out again.

So what's it gonna be, Frosthjärta?

"I'm sorry," he heard himself saying, body still a statue but something of life in his quiet voice. But then the silence came rolling back in, still pregnant with the words he hadn't said, and the words he meant to say, but they died upon his tongue as his heart wasn't brave enough. It was still his silence though, each breath hitching like he was about to speak but never did.

She was nothing to him—she was the mother of one of his children, a hot day on a beach, confined to memory.

She was no close friend. Not trusted. Not important in any way other than the fact she was a living, breathing creature with a heart suspended in her chest; she was important because she, too, could feel, and bleed. 'Brows crowded over pale eyes and he stared into the deepening darkness, wishing he could just turn time back and remove himself the moment he caught sight of her.

Running. It never solved your problems up until now, did it, Mauja?

The corner of his mouth curled into a bleak and bitter smile.

"You remind me of someone," he said after what felt like a second but in reality could've been so much more. "And the revelation made me question the effect you have on me." He turned his eyes back to her. They were unforgiving in their intensity. "Like, I don't know.. whether it's honest or not," and when the silence came again it wasn't his anymore—and his eyes had grown softer, sadder, slipped past her again and away, thinking of flames curling around a black body and leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.

And the yawning chasm of sorrow opened its maw beneath him and swallowed him whole, heart and all, until his held breath turned into a strangled gasp and he forgot everything but the overwhelming realization that Psyche is dead.

He'd set her on fire himself but it wasn't until then, in that moment, that he truly understood that she was never coming back.

[ @[Sialia], I couldn't really work it into the post but by the end he's sort of just staring vacantly straight ahead and he's definitely getting teary-eyed :/ ]

i am the vanguard of your destruction

Psyche is dead.

Psyche was nothing but memory, and the vague notion that he could just.. go outside of Helovia and find her again seemed so dumb, like he hadn't even been aware he'd been thinking it but something in him had refused to accept that Psyche was ashes now.

Psyche was dead. He could scour the earth for her, but he would never find her, because he knew what she was, and where she rested. And that was that. The end of it. The end. There would be no more Dark Empress and Frostheart on adventure, no more of their seamless, flowing interaction. No more.. no more of anything, except tears.

And they had begun to fall freely, now.

Gods, he'd fucked everything up so bad, and he'd fucked Snö up so bad (she had, too, when she'd left) and then he just kept on fucking things up, until.. until.. until it was too late.

They hadn't met much, but she had always been there.

And now she wasn't.

And Sialia was jerking forward, as if someone else was pulling at her feet, until her chest pressed against his and her slender neck was slung over his back. The weight of her head was comforting and familiar, the whole thing familiar if only because he seemed to always end up hugging Kahlua. For a moment he remained still, heart stumbling in his chest. She was still a bit sweaty from the day's intense heat, but he felt nothing—not from himself, not from her. That moment had passed, like so much bark drooled out. Instead, she was warm in the way most living this are warm, still sun-baked in the skin but warm because her heart pumped warm blood through veins. Just.. pleasantly, innocently warm, because it wasn't about her body pressing against his, it was about her heart reaching out.

He's not talking about "love"; he's talking about some fucking sympathy.

His stillness had not been cold and rigid, merely thoughtful as his balance molded against hers, but he broke it after a second anyway, shedding it like a cloak as he placed his own great head upon her back. It fit neatly in the curve behind her withers.

The world beyond her spine was blurred, a trickle of tears finding its way down his cheeks in rhythm with his quiet, ragged breathing.

"It's honest if you truly feel it Liam. It's only ever a lie if you have to force it."

Or if someone magicks you into it.

Because he'd felt that sure as hell, but he hadn't wanted to feel it. Bitch. He blinked, not sure if he wanted to try and clear his eyes or not, but for a moment his vision sharpened before softening up again. "I suppose so," he managed in response, voice thick. And then, he didn't know what else to say, so he just stood there, leaning a little against her and weeping softly for a friend he missed now that he couldn't ever find her again.

[ @[Sialia]! ]

i am the vanguard of your destruction

[ LOL I just read this and that joke xDD ]

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me
And just forget the world?

He wasn't sure what he sought anymore, trapped there in the darkness of her embrace. Reassurance? Comfort? Just a safe place to hide away, and cry? Someone to shield the icy, fractured remains of his heart—from the world? So that the world would not see him mourn, and know that, yes, Mauja had loved.

Or was it to shield him from the world, so he could keep living behind his ice wall, hiding underneath the armor of careless indifference? He pressed his eyes shut a little tighter against the burning water seeping from them, a different kind of heat pushing itself out between his tear-stained lashes. Maybe.. maybe he was a monster only as long as he thought he was.

Had they been monsters? He and Psyche?

Once.. he thought they had; they had been dark and vindictive, poisonous plans spun from honeyed words and thrilling jabs, like wolves engaged in a playful jaw-wrestle. They had flirted with the darkness in the world, with the darkness in their souls, and with one another, slowly constructing an empire of dreams. They had.. he had.. he had knowingly destroyed part of Delinne's life, trying to justify it with saving her. But...

Both he and Psyche had had hearts. They had, in their own way, loved and lost and moved on, in so many different ways. She had changed, just as much as he had, but he hadn't caught the moment—he hadn't done what he could do figure out the new them. He had just.. failed to hold her, because he wasn't strong enough to hold on to shadows. He had been too weak to grasp the moment. It had all been his fault.

Then Sialia spoke and for a moment he was quiet and confused, not sure what she was getting at—but then he laughed, a short, harsh sound pulled from unwilling lungs. "Really," he managed to get out, the sound of his voice dry and brittle. It was hard to speak properly when you were weeping, even if it was nothing more but the slow, silent fall of tears.

But then he kind of forgot about everything—about Psyche, about himself, about crying and hugging and things... Because she spoke, and he felt an icy talon grip his heart. Anxiety settled like a sudden boot to the stomach, a wave of vertigo sweeping through and he thought he stopped breathing for a second before convincing himself to exhale again. "What?" he whispered, more terrified than he wanted to admit.

He hated it when someone told him they had things to say to him.

[ @[Sialia] ]

i am the vanguard of your destruction

It's a fragile moment—delicate spun glass held in the hands of an unwary child, simply counting the breaths until those careless fingers would let it slip.. and fall.. and something would come spilling out, like smoke, like blood, a cloud to seep into lungs and settle like a fine film of dust, slowly choking the life out of you. He is waiting, for that moment, breath held in against her silence. He is waiting to slip through the hands just barely holding on to him, and shatter on the cold, unforgiving floor.

But when he hits the ground, it isn't darkness that seeps from his cracked veins. It's starlight.

Shimmering, cold, and pure.

Glacia.

She was talking about Glacia—and making him feel like a whore in the process. It was that "thanks" comment, pulling a small snort of protest from his nostrils. You didn't say thanks for sex, it just.. felt.. cheap. Yeah. Cheap. But it was hardly the time to butt in and protest, because she was stumbling over herself and her words, like some kind of nervous tick making her unable to just spit it out. Maybe it would've been a kindness if he had just cut her short and said I know, but.. it wasn't that he enjoyed watching her like this, words dribbling inelegantly from her maw, it was just that—that he was so relieved it wasn't anything dangerous or hurtful or.. that it was just Glacia.

Plus, he'd kind of forgotten she didn't know that he knew. Glacia must've refrained from telling her mother she'd come across him in the snows, and.. he'd hardly come visiting since then.

Just another smack in the face.

He bit his lip for a moment, heart listening more than his ears as her words kept on tumbling out, sticking in her throat but somehow still making it out. Just saying yea, I know, felt so shallow, but.. what else could he say? Thoughtfully he rubbed his jaw over her spine, allowing her to settle closer. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was glad to not think of Psyche right now. That wound was still too raw.. and if he went there, he'd just think of Snö, and, of, other things, of all the things he wished he'd done different or better but never could change. And all the things he wished he had said, but she could never hear, now that she was dead.

"I know," he finally said after a moment, voice soft and quiet. "I met her a while back. I'm surprised she didn't tell you." The words still sounded a little thick, but the tears had dried on his lashes, and his gaze was as keen as ever as he glanced at her. "She truly is something."

You should be proud.

We should be proud.

[ @[Sialia] ]

i am the vanguard of your destruction

If her reaction—blank face and eyes worthy of being called glacial—was anything to go by.. this all sat deep, deep in her heart, and drawing it out, stiff and salty, from her mouth wasn't easy. Nor, apparently, was it easy to hear that, in a way, it had all been for nothing because the winter titan she was snuggled up against already knew. Something about it felt so absurd that it warped his dark lips into a lopsided smile and made his eyes briefly light up with something that wasn't tears.

And in a way, while he didn't really grace anyone with showing emotion, seeing her stunned was better than seeing something like.. tears, or a smile, or anything that the eyes can hide (because he knows all about the shield just beneath the iris)—

Because it was raw. It was true. It was pure, a moment's complete reflection of her soul.

I wonder if I've ever looked like that?

But had he ever been so truly, so deeply shocked that he went from the emotionless, shielding ice, and into that realm of stunned? The expressions were similar, he thought, except that one hid even that from sight, masking it up with.. nothing.

Alleshia's dainty head came up again, and he lifted his from the curve of her back, to better meet her blue eyes. Part of him wanted to step back, as if the time for embracing was over, but she had come closer and, as always, he was loath to deny anyone what they wordlessly asked for—what they needed. Instead, he just flicked one ear, trying to swallow the mouthful of guilt she poured down his ear canal. "Uhm," he began when she sighed, meaning to.. apologize, or something, or say that he'd been meaning to but it just never happened and with Psyche dying—

"My name is Sialia, by the way."

The name he had not known—the name Glacia had not told him. But he knew that she knew, that he was Mauja and not Liam, but the last fragility of their shared daydream was shattered by the sound of her name. He heard its last, pristine echo ringing through his mind, a brief and beautiful dirge, and then it was silent, swallowed by the rhythmic pounding of reality.

Life had caught up, at last.

"Mauja," he said, quietly, to the air by her withers—she knew, he knew that she knew, but it felt better to have said it from his own lips. After a moment he added, "though I suppose you already knew that."

[ @[Sialia] -- wrap this up soonish? it's oldddd. :( ]