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08-27-2015, 03:30 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Mauja was a dragon, but what he hoarded was not gold, and what he spit was not fire. He was a dragon hoarding its secrets, laying upon its trove of ice and darkness with his heart heavy in his chest, errant sparks of frost slipping out between dagger-fangs into the cold, misty vault wherein he lay. His tomb, as much as his realm—somewhere deep in the ice keep of his mind.
In the real world, though, Mauja simply heaved a soft sigh. It turned to white smoke in front of his eyes, rising up and dissipating, contrast to the snowflakes that kept on falling. And what Elsa spoke of—what Elsa spoke of was forgetting. Letting go. Sacrilege to the one whose mind clung to every tiny detail of life, to the one who lay upon the pile of his experience and encounters even though their sharp edges stuck him uncomfortably in the ribs. But how do you explain that? That to will himself to forget would be tantamount to their death in his mind? It would be a complete, utter betrayal of their existence, of their impact on his life, of.. of all he had felt for them.
Of all the love that had coursed through his veins.
Her voice kept slipping through the snowfall, and to him, it sounded less than counsel for him, and more like her own hesitant, trembling fumbles at coming to grasps with the concept of what he had said: of trying to find her own way through the maze of problems he had hinted at, and maybe, something in it she could relate to. And tried to find where she herself stood in the mess of the words he had given her. She ended by saying she was sorry, and nothing about him had changed; he still stood locked where he was, pale gaze resting on her but with little weight behind it. Who are you? he wanted to ask her. What is it that you want to forget?
"No," he finally said after a moment, the word disjointed in the rhythm and flow of speech and conversation—out of place, somehow, answering something that was asked too long ago to still be considered valid. "To forget feels like betrayal. And..." Again, it surprised him no ice flaked off when his head turned, staring at the forest as if the ghosts of the dead danced between the dark trunks. "I made a mistake. Many died. I left, and kept making bad choices and spreading misery." He snorted. And then I came to Helovia and eventually learned to love, and learned what pain was.
He didn't want to forget. He just wanted the pain to dull, for something more worthwhile to take its place. "I do not want to forget because I am a product of my past—I have to learn from it, so I cannot forget my lessons. I simply.. want something else to bring me joy, so the pain gets easier to bear." His ears had fallen back in a cast of sadness, blue eyes returning to hers. "And you? What has carved you out; made you hollow?"
[ Super sorry for the wait @Elsa ]
In the real world, though, Mauja simply heaved a soft sigh. It turned to white smoke in front of his eyes, rising up and dissipating, contrast to the snowflakes that kept on falling. And what Elsa spoke of—what Elsa spoke of was forgetting. Letting go. Sacrilege to the one whose mind clung to every tiny detail of life, to the one who lay upon the pile of his experience and encounters even though their sharp edges stuck him uncomfortably in the ribs. But how do you explain that? That to will himself to forget would be tantamount to their death in his mind? It would be a complete, utter betrayal of their existence, of their impact on his life, of.. of all he had felt for them.
Of all the love that had coursed through his veins.
Her voice kept slipping through the snowfall, and to him, it sounded less than counsel for him, and more like her own hesitant, trembling fumbles at coming to grasps with the concept of what he had said: of trying to find her own way through the maze of problems he had hinted at, and maybe, something in it she could relate to. And tried to find where she herself stood in the mess of the words he had given her. She ended by saying she was sorry, and nothing about him had changed; he still stood locked where he was, pale gaze resting on her but with little weight behind it. Who are you? he wanted to ask her. What is it that you want to forget?
"No," he finally said after a moment, the word disjointed in the rhythm and flow of speech and conversation—out of place, somehow, answering something that was asked too long ago to still be considered valid. "To forget feels like betrayal. And..." Again, it surprised him no ice flaked off when his head turned, staring at the forest as if the ghosts of the dead danced between the dark trunks. "I made a mistake. Many died. I left, and kept making bad choices and spreading misery." He snorted. And then I came to Helovia and eventually learned to love, and learned what pain was.
He didn't want to forget. He just wanted the pain to dull, for something more worthwhile to take its place. "I do not want to forget because I am a product of my past—I have to learn from it, so I cannot forget my lessons. I simply.. want something else to bring me joy, so the pain gets easier to bear." His ears had fallen back in a cast of sadness, blue eyes returning to hers. "And you? What has carved you out; made you hollow?"
[ Super sorry for the wait @Elsa ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
