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09-20-2015, 06:50 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Once, he had been perfection: every detail of life carved into his memory, etched into the very lining of his skull. Once, he would never have forgotten her name, and needed to ask for it again.
But that had been then—a hazy past lost in these very fogs, scattered in the blizzards of the north.
Now, he was broken. No one. Nothing. He was a dreamer and a drifter, stubborn and restless, bound and fettered by his own beliefs, unable to act, yet malcontent in this peace. He was without purpose, fragments of the past flickering across his body as he tried to make his way through this changed world—through his changed self.
It wasn't only his memory and attention that was broken. Once, he had had a purpose, and now he simply mourned how easy life had been then, how.. given. He had risen, he had plotted, he had breathed in the toxic fumes of his misled faith, and there .. he had failed.
He peered at Naerys through the softly falling snow. Would she stand there, so peacefully, if she knew of all the vile things his mind had thought? If she knew of all the plans he had once harbored and nurtured?
And never carried out.
The closest he had come to tasting life had been his little spat in the Throat, the one that fell so short of its mark and left the Plague in shambles. Before that, they had been an unknown, reckless force, perhaps capable of great evil—they had battered themselves against the rest of Helovia, and bled out into the sand like so much blood. Harmless. The power of the unknown broken.
Was this grief? This drawn-out process of remembering, of reflecting, this burning frustration at all he had been, and could not be anymore?
He could still be cruel; he simply could not justify acting upon it.
"I prefer Mauja," he answered her, his voice a soft sigh, his gaze absent-minded—too lost in the past he was trying to shake off yet clung to as if it was the only thing that could save him.
Irma swept down from a nearby tree, white wings ghosting through the snowfall, and settled lightly upon his scarred withers. The pin-prick pain of talons breaking skin was familiar, old and comforting; ruby red droplets glittered against the snowy white of his skin. Something about it reined his mind in, made him blink, some focus returning to his gaze. Naerys was peering at him with curiosity, her question hanging in the air. And what would he say? If he said, yes, would she leave?
He didn't want her to leave.
And yet part of him wanted to simply.. walk out of the Edge, and wander again. See what the world brought him. See the sunrise from the Fields, dance under the auroras on the Steppe, watch the light bounce through the icy perfection of the Arch, explore the parts of the Meadow he had never explored before... See the world; see what it would bring him; dull the pain in his chest with the simple act of doing and saving his bitter tears for the loneliness of darkness.
"Sometimes," he said instead, white tail flicking once. A heartbeat later, "Do you?".
[ Sorry for taking so long again x_x; @Naerys ]
But that had been then—a hazy past lost in these very fogs, scattered in the blizzards of the north.
Now, he was broken. No one. Nothing. He was a dreamer and a drifter, stubborn and restless, bound and fettered by his own beliefs, unable to act, yet malcontent in this peace. He was without purpose, fragments of the past flickering across his body as he tried to make his way through this changed world—through his changed self.
It wasn't only his memory and attention that was broken. Once, he had had a purpose, and now he simply mourned how easy life had been then, how.. given. He had risen, he had plotted, he had breathed in the toxic fumes of his misled faith, and there .. he had failed.
He peered at Naerys through the softly falling snow. Would she stand there, so peacefully, if she knew of all the vile things his mind had thought? If she knew of all the plans he had once harbored and nurtured?
And never carried out.
The closest he had come to tasting life had been his little spat in the Throat, the one that fell so short of its mark and left the Plague in shambles. Before that, they had been an unknown, reckless force, perhaps capable of great evil—they had battered themselves against the rest of Helovia, and bled out into the sand like so much blood. Harmless. The power of the unknown broken.
Was this grief? This drawn-out process of remembering, of reflecting, this burning frustration at all he had been, and could not be anymore?
He could still be cruel; he simply could not justify acting upon it.
"I prefer Mauja," he answered her, his voice a soft sigh, his gaze absent-minded—too lost in the past he was trying to shake off yet clung to as if it was the only thing that could save him.
Irma swept down from a nearby tree, white wings ghosting through the snowfall, and settled lightly upon his scarred withers. The pin-prick pain of talons breaking skin was familiar, old and comforting; ruby red droplets glittered against the snowy white of his skin. Something about it reined his mind in, made him blink, some focus returning to his gaze. Naerys was peering at him with curiosity, her question hanging in the air. And what would he say? If he said, yes, would she leave?
He didn't want her to leave.
And yet part of him wanted to simply.. walk out of the Edge, and wander again. See what the world brought him. See the sunrise from the Fields, dance under the auroras on the Steppe, watch the light bounce through the icy perfection of the Arch, explore the parts of the Meadow he had never explored before... See the world; see what it would bring him; dull the pain in his chest with the simple act of doing and saving his bitter tears for the loneliness of darkness.
"Sometimes," he said instead, white tail flicking once. A heartbeat later, "Do you?".
[ Sorry for taking so long again x_x; @Naerys ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
