the Rift


[PRIVATE] love like winter.

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#1
and i know that none of it matters
I’m tired of seeing my friends in pain,

Friends. Friends, he had said, that stare that held you for only moments sharper, cutting deeper, than the chill that still lingers now, when you had dared to squirm in your discomfort, in the way that concern sculpted his face (a first, for a boy so reckless, so very stupid), dared to strike at a wound that you hadn’t even known was there. Friends, he had said, and then, as now, it pries at your heart restlessly, knowing that he had not come to you when he had needed you; that you did not (do not) come to him, despite needing him so. Friends, and yet there is a chasm that lies between the two of you.

Friends, he'd said.

And yet—for all (the nothing) that it is worth—you feel like you do not know him at all.

You simply wait along the shore, your boy but a wisp of sand nestled quietly within the expanse of your shadow, your body and his limited by things that should limit everyone, watching the boy that has aged centuries overnight, became a stranger to you in just a few seconds, a handful of words, your eyes wide, smile sheltered and taut, your heart pricked and bleeding, to see that he is fine, is so very oblivious, when something inside of you has shifted, become so irreparably changed, as he dances over the water with grace that is so very familiar and yet completely new to you, made perverse by the haunting sweeps of blue, the fragments of those beautiful things that make him: his long legs, tall body, curls of raven, the colors of carelessness (at this, your eyes narrow, what is left of your smile diminishing into naught but a line, pressed impossibly tight), of bravery (stupidity), trickery.

Trickery. It is this singular thought that breathes the tiniest fraction of perspective, of guilt back in to your mind, enough to tell you that it is unfair to make him bear the weight of your mistakes. In your bitterness you cannot help but idly wonder, for all of the things you see in him, what he sees in you. Your body shifts within the loose snow, eyes flickering to Etziel’s little cherub face, his innocence softening the edges of your defense, lending you the bravery enough to face this, all of the turmoil inside of you, instead of simply walking away.

“Hey.”
as long as i'm inside this dream with you
image credits | coding by reli♥


@Erebos
SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT.
i wanted to add SO MUCH MORE but im tired of looking at it
sorrynotsorry (but i really am, cause you have to read through this crap :'D)


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#2

Erebos
But then the have is not as good as the want

He forced the bitterness away from his throat, swallowed the bile, felt it slide down into his gut as he released the bits of tension, the knots, the gnarls, the nettles and barbs from his limber columns – because, by god, he was a prince and he had better things to do than wonder, than stare, than uselessly crawl through the murk of the unknown. He pledged determination, he staked weakness, he clawed and clasped and clenched for things he wanted, things he cared about, things that restlessly lingered along the soulless particles of his entity and the savage notions of his existence. Some sentiments were still raw, still real, still cluttered about his mind like an unwinding nightmare, and he hated to relive them. Instead, he ground his muscles into firmness, undulated duty and prowess into tangible reaches, into long-reaching strides as he buried his heartache into the lake, as he channeled each and every bounty of hate into severe movements and searing motions. He danced along the void as if he were divine; he waltzed along the shapes and shimmers as if he were mad, an incantation of war and surf, sand and shoal, mockeries and travesties, treacheries and defiance. The scion ground against the water like an enemy instead of a friend, launched and leaped and pummeled, but never fell beneath its perilous wake, king and lord of the wily conjectures of rain and sun, and wanting naught more than to be the sovereign of vengeance and reciprocity. He might have stayed there for hours, howling in silence, roaring in hushed motions, a thrusting scabbard, a malicious blade, had Orsino, yawning along the banks, not gleamed through their connection, not rattled at his core, malicious and grinning.
 
Here she comes.
 
On instinct, beguiled, allured, and spellbound her trail of mischief and regality, pulled and entranced by her mere appearance, he turned towards her unwinding presence, ceasing all movement, all motion. His nares widened, his sides heaved from those moments of exertion, from the heartless, blackguard ambitions tumbling over his heart and through his muscles, sinew growing finer and brawnier, honing skills for the time when there was more than just a war in his mind or vehemence in his plans.
 
What he wouldn’t have done to invite, to tempt, to inveigle her into nonsense, into devilry, into pranks and tricks and all sorts of misconduct – to lay waste to the petulance of innocence and disregard the world for the sake of bloody amusement. But his eyes fell to the boy, to the little wisp of someone else floating at her side, and he knew those days were over. They’d been brief and bewitching, and it figured he’d spend more time pining for those moments, for those instances, than the hours actually consumed by their feral intrigues. It was always the way of his life – daring, daring, daring to embrace what he couldn’t have only long after it was destroyed, withered, and gone.
 
The lordling smiled, ever deceitful, ever mendacious, because he’d already given her far too much of himself. It didn’t reach his eyes, it didn’t reach his soul, it didn’t reach his heart, but floated, ebullient and scattered, pushing out benedictions and well-wishes, for he didn’t know what else to give her anymore. “Enna.”  He bowed his head, and it might have been mocking until he administered one to the colt too, raising his cranium as he lingered on the plains of water and mystique, granting her naught. It felt stale, dry, half-hearted and lifeless on his tongue, on his lips, like he was better off saying nothing at all – but she hadn’t wanted his concern, and that was all he had for her now. “Is there something you need?”


Art by Yew

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#3
and i know that none of it matters
Even as he turns to look at you, to smile and ensnare you with all of his boyish nonsense, you do not know what to expect. All of your anxiety sits coiled in the pit of your stomach, your thoughts turning to ash as soon as they are hatched, your words dying upon your tongue before they have the chance to be spoken. Your anger, in all of its fruitless stubborn, stupid ways, dictates that you should expect nothing, want nothing from this child that would so easily lose you, forget you. And you want to want nothing, to be able to turn from him and let go (to forget, to forget, to forget), want to take back everything you had said, to punish him for being mad when he should have understood. You want it to be easy, but your heart is too bruised, what little pride you have too wounded. You want him to be okay (I am tired of seeing my friends in pain), but how can it ever be that way when he knows what it is to be unable to help, even to lose (something that you know, understand, all too well)?  ‘Enna,’ you can only blink as he immediately pulls you from your memories, your self-pity, can only clutch at your heart in the way that it aches, watch as he extends (false) courtesies, wonder if he had he ever been so keen to live up to the crown placed upon his head, so willing to be more than just a boy with all his stupid (wonderful) ways.

Where you feel only that he is poking fun at you, antagonizing you, Etziel is decidedly less turned off by his display, his grin wide and entranced, his heart curious; you can feel his muscles tense, the gentle lean of his body before it snaps back in place, too timid to stray. He wants to learn, wants to know, is acutely aware of the others that live and breathe the North, but you have kept him sheltered, away from their judgments, their harsh words, cold hearts, from all the harm that seems to perpetually follow them. You know that it is not forever that you will be able to protect him, know that, someday entirely too soon, he will be too willed, too wild, for you to keep him within your shadow. It is something that you dread, something that weighs too heavy on your mind each time another passes by, reminds you of the world that exists outside of the cocoon of safety that you have made for him. Even now, looking back to the prince (child, you think—he is nothing but a child, a devious little child), someone that you trust(ed), it sets your teeth to grinding, your heart lurching uncomfortably to think of them with anything less than a lake (an ocean, a world), between them.

Is there something you need?

“No.”

You answer too quickly, your eyes narrowing ever so slightly—annoyance and worry and hurt blooming within your soul, festering until it becomes something ugly; something that sets your blood on fire, bows your sympathy to the flame to be engulfed, smothered, lost. From the moment you recognized his tall frame you had only stayed to understand, to make amends and to be fine again, and yet here he is acting like nothing happened, as if all of the nameless things between the two of you have not been marred, broken, changed. It angers you now that he makes light of it, angers you the way it had angered him, and for moments you allow yourself to sit in this heated silence, eyes dropping from his face to the rippling reflection in the water, inwards to the stones that line the shallow bank. “What I said the other day,”

Your voice is shaky, unsure, black tongue heavy with all of the words you would rather say, all of the hurts you would rather inflict. “I,” you stumble again, brows furrowing as you struggle to get anything coherent out. When did it become so hard to apologize? Even without his needless provocations, his indifference, from the moment you had seen him, drowned that swell of excitement that is so familiar to you whenever he's around, remembered all that had transpired in moments, you had been so reluctant to say anything, to acknowledge, to delve into the fact that you may have been wrong. It is only as anger resides in to a restless stillness, the feeling of the emptiness of his eyes, waiting, that you lift your head once more, ears tilting back in apprehension as you reach for his gaze, afraid to ask, afraid to know everything that had torn the two of you to this. “What happened?”
as long as i'm inside this dream with you
image credits | coding by reli♥


@Erebos


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#4

Erebos
But then the have is not as good as the want

Nearly a master of pretenses, of forgoing reality for something greater, something grander, he allowed her the cheeky smile, the growing grin, the elastic grip on his sanctity rippling along the lake. He permitted her secrets, her wounding words, her stinging statements (I can take care of myself, you know. You don’t need to worry.), because Erebos had the same things nestled in his crown, in his skull, tethered and chained and ricocheting, bounding and bouncing, along their ties. Like knotted coils, like gnarled fingers, they grazed and rasped, yearning to explain, to tell, to spill everything from his lips - how he missed her and their ridiculously stupid antics, how he wanted to burn away the snow just to see her laugh as they splashed some other hapless victim, how he wanted things back to the way they’d been before and how every time he wished for those days they never came to fruition. It was an endless cycle of his affections, of his yearnings, of his passions, how one day he could enjoy and embrace everything around him (playing knight and Queen with Asch, lessons with Rikyn and Aithniel), and in the next moments it was gone, slashed, cut, abolished from his sights without his permission, without his wishes. So he either hid his desires or unleashed them upon the world, and she wouldn’t want either, he was sure, because it would likely cause her more pain and they’d all had enough of that. The little fiend wouldn’t tell her about dreams of mischief and silliness, of moments gone by and passed. He wouldn’t tell her about visions of absolute chaos and mayhem. The world wasn’t fair – he’d learned the notion first hand when childhood ceased and innocence was condemned and his world started shifting from wants and needs to longings and cravings, to danger and disaster, to ruin and oblivion. Perhaps, in time, he’d realize, he’d understand, he’d comprehend, why the realm worked the way it did – made the virtuous suffer and the faultless tremble and the innocent die, while monsters and demons went on their barbaric onslaughts and terrors.

His stare settled upon her son, studying, inquiring, trying to think past his doubts and her bitter, barbing statements, trying to entice him with one of his devilish nuances and boyish grins. “What’s your name? I’m Erebos.” There was nothing else to it; but his eyes lingered along the press of the child’s hues and markings, trying to place a sire, a crisp of familiarity, of who Enna had been fond of, of who else had craved her –

Orsino hissed between their bond, shaking his head, narrowing his eyes, threatening something to bring him out of the maddening, boiling fractures sizzling in the scion’s chest. He breathed, releasing the molten, simmering segments, confounded from where they’d come from.

Her phrases snapped him away from the spellbinding juncture, so much so that his eyes, all blue, all sapphire, all ocean and Poseidon adventures, regard her like a harpoon, like a piercing, puncturing lance. Riveted and revered, they stayed resolutely upon her and the statements she struggled to loosen; she didn’t need anything from him (No – why would you, he thought bitterly, why would you require my presence at all - then go his mind echoed), but he, she, still remained, locked and quartered amongst the wide-open air. Enna’s pieces roll away into something unexpected, and his grin flickered out, dimmed, falling out of place, out of the masquerade. His gaze narrowed, suspicious and irritated, like she touched upon something she shouldn’t have, like she wandered too deep and he’d already told the story so many times (and each time still hurt - stabbed him in the chest, in the gut, in his soul, because he’d been so utterly useless and incapable and he never, never, never wanted to be that again). “It’s not for a child’s ears,” his tone, flattened and listless, sparked and incensed, rattled from his throat, safeguarding, protecting, innocence again, stare catching upon the boy who shouldn’t be told, know, what it was like to watch a friend die.


Art by Yew


@Enna

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#5
and i know that none of it matters
“Erebos,” he repeats nearly thoughtfully, looking to you before turning back to the other boy, grinning a sheepish, unsure little grin, not wanting to outwardly admit how much he enjoys being included in adult conversation. “Ama said that you’re her friend too. I was beginning to think that she had made everyone up cause I’ve never seen them. Did you know that she doesn’t allow me to talk to strangers, or even leave—“  a soft shh sound leaves you, enough to interrupt his train of thought and illicit an eye roll. You smile stiffly, despite the shard his impatience, unhappiness, drives in to your heart. You had hoped it would be enough to tell him that all of your worry, all of your need to keep him close and safe is for his protection, his well-being, but the lesson, even after what feels like months, seemingly has not sunk in. “He asked you a question baby.” You press your nose to his head in encouragement (as if he needs any of that—from the moment that Erebos had given him the time of day, he has seemingly forgotten how to be shy). “Oh.” He giggles, ducking away from your touch before standing up straighter than he had before, proudly holding his little head up. “I’m Etziel.”

But as you look back to the other boy, something has changed. His gaze is sharp, harsh, different despite the smile and you bend against it, ears tilting back in apprehension. You move to shield your son, gather him and his withering glare, all of his innocent lack of understanding, behind you, out of instinct. It pains you to doubt him so, knowing that, for all the things that he may have kept from you, all the anger that he may harbor, all of your doubt of how well you know him, he does not possess the malice to take it out on a child. You will not apologize for it, despite the guilt that has nestled itself within the shadow of your heart, will not offer explanation when none should be given for a mother’s love. Surely, he can understand as much, even if he is only a boy himself; surely he can forgive you without the need to plead for it, even just this once.

For moments it is silent, your muscles tense and beginning to ache as he simply stands, all of the amicability he had shown to Etziel diminished into the folds of something darker, something that you can only guess to be anger. Your boy has grown restless beside you, peeking around your shoulder to catch glances of the man that had tried to befriend him, his curiosity no doubt bubbling uncontrollably with each passing second, until, finally, something gives. ‘It’s not for a child’s ears.

You inhale against the gravity of the words, suddenly understanding just how serious, how important, it is to him. Slowly, your body relaxes as you turn to Etziel, trying your best to smile, trying your best to keep him from the same realization that you have come to. “Why don’t you go build a snow-creature like I showed you, hm?” Your smile grows, if only for his sake, nose pointing to a near-by build up of snow (something, as Etziel has always been keen to notice, that there is no shortage of). His eyes narrow ever so slightly and you lean towards him, your tone growing quietly playful, acting as if what you are about to say is a secret that should be known between only the two of you. “I promise we’ll come see it when it’s done, and then we can smash it together if you want.” The concept of enjoying smashing something one worked to create is lost on you, but the boy obediently bounds towards your selected choice of snow, conveniently near enough to keep a very close eye on him. Your skin-deep humor is lost as you turn once more to Erebos, struggling (and failing) to find anything to say when you feel as if you have said entirely too much.
as long as i'm inside this dream with you
image credits | coding by reli♥


@Erebos


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#6

Erebos
But then the have is not as good as the want

The boy had known pain – he wasn’t so entitled, so privileged, to not understand the barbs and nettles, the stings and measures, the weight of anguish settling over brows, chests, and joints. Some had been self-afflicted rites of passage, the first scars borne from first battles, bloody lacerations torn into hide, muscle, and bone because he’d been too wicked, too stupid, to see impending damnation. Others had been caused by inhumane beasts, murderers set on wreaking havoc and maiming the innocent, or the mere trials and tribulations of a child who simply hadn’t gotten what he wanted. He wasn’t sure what it was now that plagued him – a series of circumstances he’d likely managed to whittle himself, either from the unknown or the depths he’d gone to caring and compassion. He adored and cherished Enna for the finery of her devilry, for the secretive, furtive sways in which she traced the world (it reminded him of himself and his band of cutlass-bearing ruffians, all pursuing the same dreams, the same goals in another time, in crisper seasons, where their minds were fruitful and their aims were true), for the art of her heart and the mysterious entanglements layered between antlers and mending, soothing paradigms. She was like a witch, a siren, a piece of Machiavellian tendencies veiled and clothed and garbed in subtlety, and he’d basked in her songs, in her sonnets, in her laurels just as many others had done. But now, now they seemed to be reaching some great, ridiculous rift, and he was utterly confused and befuddled on how to navigate it without losing some portion of himself; he was too twisted, too angry, watching her watching him, pulling her son away, funneling Etziel from the prince, from his side, before he had a moment to conjure the meaning amidst his words and shy, beckoning speech.

He’d committed some grievous error, but he didn’t know what it was (his rage? His displeasure? His befuddlement?). To watch her shield her son away from him gave him an overwhelming, looming pause, and the dark corners of his eyes narrowed to specious depths. His jaw clenched. His disappointment funneled and furrowed down the length of his features until he felt utterly despondent, reckless, and stupid – but the notion couldn’t grate past his lips, uttered on shackles of confusion and indignation, wondering what he’d done that was so terrible, so dangerous, so treacherous, that she tightened, became a guard, a screen, against his nameless onslaught. “Enna,” he began, on a taut whisper, on a trident, on a spear, muttering between his teeth, his despair (because he was always losing something or someone, and he didn’t think it would ever be her), “You think so little of me,” and there his eyes searched to meet hers, head tilted, gaze alarmed, skull chiseled so much like his mother’s that it resembled the soft finery of rain, the calm before a storm, “that you believe I would harm your son?”

Her stance was an annihilating, crushing, knife against his throat; a sword striking against his chest, carving out his insides, slicing and dicing until there was only a residual, burning, stinging pain lancing through him (he’d always fought for the innocent, damning himself over and over again because it was delightful, because it was justice, because it was more than selfishness and corruption).

But she turned away from him, and towards Etziel, the one who resembled his father (whoever that was, whoever it happened to be), allowing him the means of escape from Erebos, the bestial, threatening oaf, and the scion just watched as the child obliged his mother’s orders, stung back into the void of stillness. He stayed on top of the water, no longer Poseidon but a renegade, watery completion of death and corruption, horror and hatred, wrath and vengeance, speckled and stained with whatever bits of ebullience lay crumbling around him.

Suddenly, he didn’t want to tell her a thing – no stories of broken, beaten children, no legends or foreshadowing of what was to be (for he would get his vengeance, or die trying, and all those promises, those benedictions, those convictions would have served for something greater, grander, than these needles poking, stabbing, into his heart). Even though she’d told the youth to disappear, so he didn’t hear the nuances, the predilections, the bitter rancor of children lost and spoiled and deceased across bloody snow, the situation would only get worse. Erebos could do naught to assuage the situation – he was no Mender, just a devil, just a fiend, just a scalded boy who’d clearly lost his way somewhere – and she didn’t trust him anyway. That much was written all over her figure.

His feet backed away, further and further, until he was in the middle of the lake and she couldn’t reach him, couldn’t see the pain, the anguish, the bewilderment of the world crashing down around him. 


Art by Yew


@Enna

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#7
and i know that none of it matters
It was stupid of you to believe he would understand. The way his face twists, your heart twists with it, his stare puncturing deep down to all of the things that lay hidden in the bottom of your heart. The way he speaks your name only crumbles your defense further, face contorting with the throbbing pain that has ceased your chest. ‘You think so little of me’ as his eyes search for yours, you can only stare back through a blurry line of tears, refusing to recognize the brushes of disbelief, of abandonment on his face. ‘that you believe that I would harm your son?“No.” You strain to speak, your throat uncomfortably tight as your head shakes, body trembles. “No.”

Again, it is all you manage despite the memories of betrayal, the crippling agony it is to remember her—stolen before she was ever yours, laying mangled under a tree that you refuse to ever see. How long had it been since you (you and that beautiful—lying—man, your face angled with the sharpest grief, his in anger, an anger that you understood all too well, one that reaches now to color the tangled mess of I’m sorry’s and explanations that you do not owe anyone) had been stained with the dirt that hid her, spun of indian ink and innocence, all of those pieces of your heart that had been only for her, the fragments of the could-have-beens and the remnants of your love for a heathen? How long? You only close your eyes as silence answers, pulling you into your regrets, your sufferings.

What would it mean to see it now, to reaffirm that she had been real (you have questioned it, questioned how something so incredibly untouched and pure could have been robbed of her first breaths, of all the life that would have followed, all the beautiful things that would have been laid out at her feet) and that he once looked at you as if you were something more than the nothing you’ve become to him, and that man that had hovered so intimately close to Etziel is the same monster that mauled her? You breathe, rib cage aching with effort underneath the gravity that has found you, the sound of his retreat forcing your burning eyes open. Suddenly it is not enough to simply cave in, the wounds his words forced to the surface, his cowardice in simply walking away igniting a craving for revenge, for justification.

“Do you think so little of me,” you mock, eyes narrowing with misplaced convictions, shifting blame, anger, just like he has done to you. “that you believe that would I act without reason?” He continues moving, and you move with him, water swallowing your ankles, your knees, and what you wouldn’t give to have it swallow all of you, to swallow him so that he could not run in this moment, your anger and grief blinding you from your desperate need to simply hold him. “I believed in that man, that fucking cretin that dared to even look at my son within that cave. Some part of me even loved him (as I do you, my blind little fool), I trusted him. And for all that is worth, when I birthed my daughter and her eyes were riddled with death, skin cold to touch, he took her from me, mutilated the only thing that I had to remember her by, hated me for having had another man, a man I never even wanted to—“ you stifle a sob, sucking in air as you fight against the weight still pressed so heavily against your chest, struggle to stay standing with all of your trembling, ashamed to let him see the darkest sides of you, all of the things that you have tried to hide laid bare for his judgment.

“He stole her because I believed,” it is a quiet, quivering admission, naked in all of its pain. Moments pass, and where you had been watching him, only him, your tear-streaked face turns to your universe, the ghost of a smile finding your lips. “Half the time I find myself just watching him, unable to understand what I did to deserve him. I can’t sleep, and when I do, I find only nightmares waiting. He hates me for it, but I cannot bear to have him away from me for even a moment because I live in fear every day of losing him, because I was too careless, too stupid, too willing to trust.” Kaleidoscope eyes move to find Erebos’ face again, quietly pleading for him to at least try to comprehend. “I trust you; love you, with all that I am, Erebos.” You offer him a fracturing, fleeting smile before you somber again.

“But try to understand, to lose him, it would destroy all that's left of me.”

as long as i'm inside this dream with you
image credits | coding by reli♥


@Erebos


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#8

Erebos
But then the have is not as good as the want

Not all misery appeared in the same way – he’d learned that as a mere child playing and tripping, stumbling and fumbling. Skinned knees and bruised egos had seemed so barbaric and annihilating, but were easily soothed by a mother’s gentle touch and sweet nothings. Failure on the battlefield, in the twists and turns of a labyrinth, rattled one’s confidence or heightened their determination, until the agony was a pulsing, unwinding madness, a toiling din ringing in the ears. Success, triumph, conquering and devouring could push the memory of losing, of being less than someone else, away for a time, for a spell, because somehow, someway, they’d managed to become better than another poor, unknown sap. But death, he’d learned, added a whole new meaning to pain – it was always fresh and enduring. It never quite went away. The images stayed put, firm and stagnant, listless and lethargic, blurring together along the traces of what the individual used to be. The prince had known Arwen as gold and liveliness, glimmers of satin and pearls, never truly joining their section of fools, sometimes funneling and tracing her way through their scholarly lessons under Zikar’s watchful, eerie eyes. But those images were ghosts, wraiths, phantoms, compared to the scene of her lying broken in the snow, snapped and disjointed, bloody and still. All he’d done then was scream and shout, become immersed in contempt and wrath, not knowing what to do with it except embrace the emotions, the sentiments for what they were – grieving later, much later, when he no longer saw the painted Colossus and his terrible, odious dragons. It was a shame that he didn’t have more memories of her alive, beautiful and gilded, shuffling through their frozen tundra, silly and destined to whatever fate threw her way, whatever fortune deigned to hand to her (she hadn’t deserved that brutal, barbaric, mutilated end).

But Enna had more pain to give, to grant, to slide and skewer him on than he’d ever imagined possible. She struck and hit, bit and tore. He stood there, silent and stupid, as she dashed him against the rocks and threw him to the wolves and laid him out into the sea, dull and ridiculous, terrible and ruthless. The boy, the stupid, stupid little boy, lowered his head and stared at the lake beneath him as she tore into her own wraiths and phantoms, a series of works and moments and ventures that seemed only to ride on the glory, the tragedy, of anguish and agony. His heart leapt and his throat closed, breath lapsing across the winter thaw and the promise of spring, narrowing his slits so they didn’t recall what it was like to cry. Her reasons were long and carved, sculpted, through the tyranny and terror she’d faced; he’d known nothing about her, naught at all but devilry and torment, and he could see now, as he raised his face to stare at her, a woman who’d been forced into mournful roles more than once. She spoke of other children, a daughter, who hadn’t lived, and his gaze followed over to little Etziel building his tower of snow, swallowed the bile threatening to coat his throat, and understanding just how foolish, just how incensed he’d been over something far more massive than he could ever be. The scion released a breath, let it flicker, let it die along the water line, yearning to fight her monsters, her demons, if she’d just let him. The idiot from the cave would’ve been the first (he remembered the way he’d curved in the catacombs, drawn in veneer and then suddenly there, and to know, to realize, that he’d maimed something so dear to her before was enough of a reason to seek him out and destroy him).

Maybe he didn’t need her permission. Maybe he’d just do it on his own – cherish the way his sword struck bones and marrow, tissue and flesh, the way it cut and lacerated and punctured. And the other man for whom she had no name (was he the same as the one who’d sired Etziel? How many more were there, all lined up to receive his rage?)? What had become of him?

I trust you, I love you… - and there was his answer, for there was a chance she’d never forgive him if he went out striking her foes. He cherished her too much to lose her (and lord, was he sick and tired of being deprived of those he revered).

But the taste of rage didn’t leave his mouth, sitting, smoldering, brewing in its intoxicating blend, remembering, tracing, sketching the foundation of her words, so if he found them, they’d know the pain, the torment, the anguish of her losses. That’s all they’d recall too, when he was done with them.

So instead of yielding, instead of retreating any further, he presided again along the lake, princely and dignified, closing in as her knees sank into the water. His maw reached out to her frame, extending guidance and support before she was swallowed by the tempest, by the swarm of their misunderstandings, lowering his head further and tugging her close to him. The child, the warrior, the foolish youth, curled his crown around her and pressed her against his chest, feeling her antlers tickle and stick at his jaw, loosening his jaw so breaths played out with less vitriol, with more hope and resolution. “And you don’t want me to worry about you?” He whispered, offered the barest smile she couldn’t see, the flash of bewitching enticement haunting his eyes, before lowering his stare so it rested on the boy. “If you just say the word, I’d hunt them down for you.” Them; like there was a tidal wave of threats rushing against her, like there were legions of monsters battling for her flesh (and perhaps there were, with all these entanglements, with all these harsh, caustic pathways she’d managed to find herself on). They wouldn’t be the only ones I’m chasing. “You deserve him,” he assured her. She deserved a lot of things – especially happiness with her son.

Somewhere on the bank Orsino’s eyes gleamed, golden and blistering, scalding and unwinding, like secrets, like promises, like benedictions carved by hot iron and knives.


Art by Yew


@Enna

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#9
and i know that none of it matters
Just like that, he returns to you. He reaches out and you fall tiredly into his embrace, pressing yourself closer to the warmth of his chest, all of the comfort that you find within the thrum of his wild heart. Just like that, the anger that had given way so easily to pain, to grief, dissipates, leaving within its wake a throbbing numbness within your chest. His words force a soft and short but breathless laugh, your mind flooding with answers that would only upset him, drive the two of you apart yet again. And so you remain silent, leaning in to his strength as if you are afraid of falling, as if you need him (you do, you know, the thought breaking the thin line of your lips into a secretive smile), as if he is the only thing keeping you from drowning. ‘If you just say the word, I’d hunt them down for you.’ There is an uncomfortable twist within your gut as his words begin to sink in. You cannot imagine him the man that he claims himself to be, washed in violence.

Cannot imagine that the boy, spun of childish devilry (the way he danced with his flames, smiled at you as if he knew your heart) would ever truly harm without his own reasons, not only yours, spoken out of anger, out of hurt, allowing him visions of your shame, your deepest regrets, all of the things you have tried to keep hidden as if not speaking of them would keep them from being any more real; cannot imagine that his words were said with any conviction. You cannot, and yet some sheltered part of you knows it to be true. You remember what it had been to see him fall, unable to stand, to see the blood, his blood, seeping from angry wounds. Beneath the fear, the rivulets of electric emotions that had overwhelmed you, there had been red-hot anger.

To think (just in those few moments before Ashamin had explained) that anyone had dared to harm him—even now your blood rushes, bitterly hot—you would have gone to the ends of the earth to see them suffer in turn. But he is different. He is different, and never would you allow him in harm’s way if you ever would have a say. You move against him, shaking your head gently in rebellion of his words, offers, promises, your eyes watering all over again. It would be a lie to say that you have never thought about it, never thought about harming them, stealing from them their very breath. But that is only thought (all you had to do was push, and he would have bled out, alone in the snow), only thought, not promises made for the sake of someone else’s skewed perception of happiness (what is the point of chasing a ghost? It would never bring her back, would never fix a thing). ‘You deserve him.

Your head turns, gaze following his own until it finds your boy, still so diligently (obliviously) at work on a mound that is no less a shapeless mound than when he started, but a sense of pride fills you nonetheless. “I just hope I can be what he deserves.” For all of your imperfections, he is more than enough reason to try where you had already failed too many times. The silence that finds you is quiet in its contemplation, questions that had been asked and left unanswered crawling back into your focus. You cannot help the tentative bubble of curiosity that grows within, nearly cannot help it as you pull back from him slowly, head tilting upwards. A distinctive anxiousness grasps at your heart as your lips part, ears falling back in apprehension, uncertain of how you would be received. “I want to know what happened before.”

I want to know you.

as long as i'm inside this dream with you
image credits | coding by reli♥


@Erebos


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#10

Erebos
But then the have is not as good as the want

Erebos was struck by the quiet, by her silent acceptance, by the vigilant current coiling beneath his feet. The boy breathed in the stillness, in the hushed platitudes, in those brief instances of peace, forgiveness, and understanding, pressed her nearer, closer, to his chest, watching her child play by stones and snow. He said nothing of her gentleness, of her ferocity, of the ghosts toiling over both their bones, over the layers and lacquer between antlers, swords, and skin, simply existing in their watery interlude, in their enduring intrigue, in their restless abandonment and snagging of camaraderie (how quickly it had gone, then come back, and he wondered just how far he’d pushed it today – if he’d nearly lost her to anger, to hostility, to so many things unspoken, and if he’d have mourned her as one more loss to his blackguard heart). Maybe she didn’t know, couldn’t fathom, just how far he’d go for her (he’d do anything she asked; soundless or consecrated, yearning or desperate). The fiend didn’t even counter her noiseless, inaudible argument, the contrary shake of her head as he offered his sword, his abilities, or his predacious prowess (carnivore amore). He’d already sunk the figure into his memories, into his fragments, into his Machiavellian mind, and spun them for another venue, another time, another place, where he could lance and brutalize, paralyze and devastate, where she’d never know, she’d never see, she’d never realize how much menace was ensconced, buried, within him (molten and barbaric, savage and instrumental, like a finely tuned piano, reciting melodies of vehemence and mayhem). He’d sting through shadows. He’d puncture through parlors. He’d devastate and condemn and maul because someone had dared to hurt one of his own; his convictions tied her soul back into his and whittled away at the marrow, at the flesh, at the depths of his mind, painting pictures, scenes, of impending massacres. His smile grew, enticed, by the promise of predilection (maybe he’d be known as the lad who chased ghosts, who hunted wraiths, who maimed phantoms – always longing, always wishing, always hoping for something he couldn’t have).

He allowed her to push away, to glance back at her child as he basked in the wilderness of the Basin – one part a piece of the ice, and the other portion unknown to the prince. The youth followed her gaze, listened to her words, pressed against them with assurance, with authority, chiseling fortitude through his parted lips, drumming confidence along his mouth. “You will be.” There wasn’t a single segment of doubt in his vocals, in the level gaze he offered her, in the piece of mischief collected in his eyes and the violence curling through his entity. He hid all the other nuances, all the other notions, behind his veil of charisma and amiability; she didn’t need to know, didn’t need to guess what he was calculating, deciding, between those layers of iniquity and immorality. The beast likely would’ve been content to bask in reflective pieces of her strength, of her endurance, of her power and prowess, how she’d be capable of anything and everything, all the sentiments she wanted and all the motions she craved – but Enna remembered where it’d all began, striking him again.

Erebos didn’t flinch at the phrase, didn’t wince, start, or shudder at the renewed conversation. Instead, he merely turned to look elsewhere, past the lad and his shapeless pile, past the caverns and hot springs, past the sweeping valleys, eyes masked in ghostly figurines, of gilded fillies and colossal giants, of draconic claws and pools of blood. He didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t want her to know, because then she’d realize how truly weak he was. She’d seen him at his worst, driven to nothingness, to a heap of scars and failure, but the bitter, harsh reminder that there was even more catastrophes and disasters riddled over his frame, along his memories, was a knife, a sword, a blade, to his chest.

For a few moments, he merely said nothing at all. His mind debated, his machinations mired, and his bestial shades revolted. She didn’t need to hear about one more bit of harshness in the world – not when she’d already suffered her own devastating trials. Enna should’ve been allowed to enjoy time with her son, at peace, in repose, without the world tumbling down around them. But she’d granted, given, him (an unworthy piece of the earth) portions of her painful history, and some part of him thought he needed to return the favor.

But to what end? What would she do with it? Would she glance at him with pity, with shame, with disgust? Would she destroy him with the notion of his failures?

Perhaps he’d let her.

His tongue moved on its own accord, present and speculative, but his stare remained firmly rooted in the past. “There were a lot of us born around the same time in the Basin.” A tiny smile registered there, tucked against his cheek, remembering the crowd, the horde, the gang of mercenary little beasts and banshees. “We had a set of twins, Asch and Arwen. They were quiet, not like Aithniel, Rikyn, and I.” He breathed in, a tiny nuance, locking his frame into place to continue the tale, despite temptation to flee again. “I didn’t know Arwen very well.” Asch had been more like them on her own – silly and mercurial, but charitable to a fault, not caring that he’d nearly burned her alive on a fickle spit of anger and contempt – but he didn’t tell that story. “But I followed her scent once, along the Steppe, thinking we could play.” For a moment, his gaze narrowed, dangerous and unholy, vile and nefarious, recalling the seconds thereafter, the barbaric discovery, the treacherous layers of terror, of contempt, of not understanding what to do or how to save her. “When I got there, though, she was dead.” He didn’t throw in the details of her lacerations, of her maimed body lying in a pool of blood; harsh, radiant red against the blinding, blistering ivory of snow (how lost, how desolate, how forlorn she’d been, allowed to take her last breath with no one around but that disgusting, horrid oaf). He still didn’t look at her, carefully orchestrating every inhale and exhale, trying to maintain control over something. “She’d been murdered.”

Only thereafter did he dare look at Enna, hoping she didn’t see, didn’t feel, the corrupt entanglements threading through the anger, the wrath, curling and coiling behind his frame, or the haunting, poignant carving of failure hovering over his eyes. “I couldn’t do anything.”

But one day, I will.


Art by Yew


@Enna

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#11
and i know that none of it matters
It is hard to mistake his distance, to see the way that the memories have molded and shaped him as he speaks about the ones he once (does?) held close to his heart. You cannot help but to remember Rikyn, the tiny span of time that you had spent trying to teach him, the pull of something (perhaps it was that he had been like Erebos, though you had not known it, still do not know it) making you want to know him, despite his displeasure of your black tongue that had been provoked by the insipid girl (creature) that had been with you. Cannot help but to wonder what it would have been like to grow up in these mountains, away, safe, from the rest of the world, so very secluded. Wonder what Erebos had been like, if he had always been just the same or if he had grown into his mischievous ways.

He continues, and as he narrows his eyes, you feel your heart begin to sink, your breaths coming faster in fearful anticipation, the sense of lingering on the edge of treachery nearly overwhelming. Even more than before, you are unsure that you want to know, afraid of the things he’d seen, things he’d done, afraid that opening up to you would only push him further away. ‘When I got there, though, she was dead. She’d been murdered.’  It is not what you had expected, if you had even expected anything, and you can only look at him as he looks at you, brows furrowing as your body leans forwards, wanting desperately to hold him but unsure of just what to do.

I couldn’t do anything.

“Erebos,” it is but a breath, crackling within its sorrow, too rough to belong as you reach to kiss his brow, lingering until you find the courage to pull away, to look at his face and see the depth of loss, of blame and accusations, in those too-blue eyes all over again. “There isn’t a single soul that could have. Not with all of the willpower, the might, not with all of the magic in the world.” You press in to him once more, head resting against his neck, lips tracing along the sinewy lines of his shoulder. It hadn’t been enough then, when you tried, tried, and tried again—when you had tried to save her even though there had been nothing to save, and all of your knowledge, the gifts of your beloved North’s god, your failing strength, your need—it had not been enough. How could he have expected anything different? “We both know that if there was someone to save her, it would have been you.”

Maybe he doesn’t, but you do. For all of the things that you have ever thought of him, all of the things that he has shown you, done, he has never ceased to build your belief that beneath his childishness, foolishness, he is capable of great things; that his heart, despite his trickeries and adolescence, has always been in the right place. You breathe softly against the pain in your chest, wanting to say more, say anything, wishing you had the words, the mind, to comfort and protect him from his own misplaced blame, the shadow looming over his heart. A part of you, despite the impossibilities, the repercussions, wants to shelter him, to be able to make him forget so that he would not have to live with such pain as loss (to forget, to forget, to forget). But once more, you find yourself incapable, powerless, to do anything but stand, so far, so terribly out of reach (lost, like he had been) even though you can feel his heat, his heartbeat, through your skin.

“Who…?” It’s the only thing you can think to say, hoping to put a name, a face, anything, to his pain, so that, maybe someday, it can be more than your feeble support that you give to him.

(Just say the word and I would hunt them all down for you, too.)

as long as i'm inside this dream with you
image credits | coding by reli♥


@Erebos


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#12

Erebos
But then the have is not as good as the want

He waited. He waited for her to acknowledge his weakness, laugh, laugh, and laugh at his failure. He waited for her to rain more blows upon him, for his chest to tighten, to hurt, for his memories of that day to become further haunted by mocking decibels and a cheery din. He waited in between the hollows of silence and the murky unknown, where the walls of his youth, the shame of his loss, caused him to lower his gaze to the ground. The boy couldn’t bear to look at her, couldn’t bear to see what she thought of him now.

You’re such a fool.

Erebos wasn’t sure if those words were from him or Orsino, but they stung all the same, because he knew he was being stupid. It was a ridiculous habit, one borne from being young and foolish, from being naïve and ignorant, from being audacious and not thinking about consequences until it was too late (and if fortune favored the bold, had he already missed his touch of glory?). He couldn’t stand the thought of her seeing him as feeble, reduced, or diminished – he should’ve always been bright, brilliant, silly, mischievous in her eyes – destined for something because he yearned, he wanted, he craved. His desires weren’t meant for gutters and catacombs, for erosion and despair. When the world recalled his name, and its many uses, its many parallels and pretenses, he wanted it strung together on greatness and power, prestige and vengeance. There was renown in triumph, in conquest, but not in downfalls. No one remembered the weak. Their callings were everywhere – in bloodstains, in broken, shattered bones, in desolate, forgotten dreams.

Hadn’t she already seen him at his worst, crawling across a sodden floor, pretending to be felled by wolves, when all along, it had been because he’d dared a little too far, and received exactly what he deserved?

Erebos. At her voice, he flinched, expecting a harsh retort. He remembered, recalled, the way his rage had simmered as he bellowed against the Colossus, claimed he wasn’t a God, that he’d had no right to dictate who lived and who died, and how little it had mattered. He’d been shouting and screeching at a tormentor, at a murderer, at an executioner and naught else had happened – he would’ve been better off cursing the wind. Which was going to be worse? The giant’s face as he ignored the futile railings of a child, or Enna’s impending mockery? Hers, he knew. Her derision and ridicule would drive the sword further into his skull.

Then she drew closer, he watched her feet move within the water, and pressed her lips to his brow. The scion raised his eyes back to hers, staring openly (in shock, in awe, in amazement and divine reverence), while his heart hammered wildly in his chest. Her words, her phrases, were just a quiet, serene reverie - There isn’t a single soul that could have. Not with all the willpower, the might… - and perhaps she understood him more than he could ever imagine, freeing him from the chains that had always held him taut, tethered, dangling from a noose. He’d always believed there’d been a chance, an opportunity he’d missed to save the poor golden girl made of silk and steel. If he’d been a little bit faster, a little bit quicker, capable of finding someone larger, stronger, to take down the beast. If he’d found a healer, if he’d cried out for a Mender nearby, if he could’ve dragged her body to the Basin in time, if his determination could’ve melded, molded, and fused into action instead of disbelief and hate.

But even she couldn’t pluck the wrath, the contempt, completely from his heart. It’d festered, it’d brooded, it curled and contorted until it simply remained, blistering and smoldering, seething and tormenting. It gnarled and knotted down into the marrow of his bones, and he didn’t bother trying to alleviate it from his skin. It’d consumed in the fickle, feral, ferocious way damnation settled into anything and everything, touching, caressing, stroking over his sinew as he struggled to possess power, as he fought to stay above the current. Then, finally, he accepted it as part of himself – a dark, malicious, conniving thing nestled and creeping amongst his soul, his entity, his existence.

The boy couldn’t come up with anything to say. He leaned back into her touch, taking her comfort, her assurances, and swallowing them until they felt real, felt secure, lodged in his throat, in his mind. He remembered the mentioning of her daughter, and tried to blink away the tears threatening to escape from his eyes, because she deciphered, fathomed, and apprehended the ways in which the world was completely, utterly vicious. She’d know why he couldn’t accept how fiends concocted, how they were permitted to control, to malign, to destroy anything and everything in their path. His head lowered along her neck again, pressed her into his shoulder, embracing every ounce of her love, her acceptance, her belief, she was willing to grant. We both know that if there was someone to save her, it would have been you. “Thank you,” he stammered, he whispered, incapable of stating anything else. What would she do if he professed all his sins?

She asked who, and he could see him now – the big, blundering, painted cretin with his nonchalant features and smug, caustic indifference, standing over Arwen’s corpse. Again, amongst battlefields and plains, when Erebos had been nosey, curious, whittling his way through scenes and drama to witness more of the beasts’ crimes, when a girl had saved him as he unleashed a timely attack on the Colossus’ turned back. Once more, with dragons rising towards the heavens, screeching, calling, gold and ivory, bestial and mad, feeding off the adversary’s diseased, decrepit mind. The youth didn’t let her see the narrowing of his eyes, the flickering of hate stirred all over again, keeping her close, caged in his veneration. The malice, the abhorrence, surely crawled and slithered its way through his vocals, made its path just as tainted, just as savage, as the loathsome enemy himself. “I don’t know his name.” The little girl in the Throat had tried to tell him, but even she hadn’t known. “He’s black and white, built like a draft. A Unicorn, but no one from the Basin.” Did the biggest always fall the hardest? “He has two dragons, one white, the other gold.”

He leaned closer to her now, moved so that his lips, his mouth, pressed against one of her ears, firm and resolute, stern and determined. “You have to promise me that if you ever see him, you run.” I couldn’t stand to lose you too.


Art by Yew


@Enna

Enna Posts: 172
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 6 | def: 9.5 | dam: 4
Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.1 :: 5 ( TALLSUN ) HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Mehr :: Arctic Wolf :: None kels
#13
and i know that none of it matters
You have to promise me that if you ever see him, you run.

Had you been so transparent that even he could guess at the paths of destruction and vehemence your mind had so quickly (just in the moments it took him to tell you how something important had been taken, stolen, ruined) carved? At the machinations of devilry that you have delved into (and failed) countless times, and of the thoughts of just how far you were willing to go to save him from spending too long, becoming lost, in the notion of retribution (how long had it already been?)? You breathe, and it is all you can do; no words of denial are spoken, and you do not ask anything further about the man that had taken too much. ‘He’s black and white, built like a draft. A unicorn … two dragons, one white, the other gold.’ You dare to wonder, for as much as Erebos recalls, if a man (can he be called such a thing?) would remember the child whose life he had snuffed out.

You press closer into his skin, lips moving to ask him of things that you fear, know, (how long had he no doubt harbored the same thoughts as you, of revenge, of teaching a beast that with every action there is a reaction, that he is not a god, deserving of choosing when or how someone dies? And that is all, for you cannot bring yourself to think of Erebos falling to the same mistake, of wanting to be the last thing that the cretin sees) he will not grant you so that, should you find them (black and white, gold and ivory), it will not be your own words to hold you back: “as long as you promise me the same.”

as long as i'm inside this dream with you
image credits | coding by reli♥


@Erebos


please tag enna in every post
violence permitted barring permanent injury / death

Erebos Posts: 474
Aurora Basin General atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 6.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.1hh :: Four HP: 75.5 | Buff: DANCE
Orsino :: Plain Kitsune :: Dark Illusions & Enyo :: Common Griffon :: Draining Clutch Heather
#14

Erebos
But then the have is not as good as the want

Pressed and intertwined, hearts beating, Erebos still thought of nothing but revenge. Even as her words clipped over his ears, the refusal was almost automatic. “You know I can’t,” he murmured into her ear, quiet but not suppressed. To invoke an oath that wouldn’t be able to outlast the day, the evening, without notions of conspiring to destroy his eternal enemy, would be a farce. The youth was full of pretenses, charisma, and duplicities, but he didn’t want to give her any doubts, any hindrance to his character. Others, surely, he’d trick and deny and pretend towards, but not Enna. She knew the weight of his strength and the folds of his weaknesses and the silly bits nestled in between, where assurances raged rampant and the depths of wrath, of contempt, simmered below the surface. She’d seen him falter and stumble like an insignificant piece of soil, but he was convinced, sure, she wouldn’t see him like that again. His voice rumbled through his throat, caught and tethered, tied within power and upheaval, nestled against her and skin-to-skin, prospering the only convictions he found worth acknowledging. “I’m going to get him, one day.” It sounded like an echo, like terms he’d spoken over time and time again, trying to snag the power, the prowess, of what he craved the most. The boy nearly laughed, not a prince, not a regal, noble creature, but a cretin, refined by the devil’s favored hand – vengeance, desire, and iniquity. He’d destroy the other or die trying, slash and lacerate and damn until something stopped him (the other’s death? His heart crying its accursed swansong?). He’d worked too hard for far too long to simply give up. Erebos didn’t know the meaning or the notion of resigning or relinquishing. Even if she begged him, pleaded for him to not come home with wounds and lacerations, the youth always would. It was a part of him – just as justice, just as desecration, just as gallantry curled and coiled its way through his veins and soul. His entity would be crushed without the opportunity to annihilate the thing he hated the most. “I’ll avenge her.” He nodded, pulled her closer so she didn’t see the lengths of which he’d truly unraveled, seething and monstrous, staring out into the void, not seeing her son playing amongst the snow, but the foretold bloodbath between dragons and foxes, between princes and thieves, between giants and soldiers. 


Art by Yew


@Enna


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