the Rift


[OPEN] Perpetual Motion Machine

Caneo Posts: 133
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3h :: 6 years HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Ophiria :: Dragon Snake :: None kae
#1



        For a few days, he goes blind.

        Caneo leaves Ampere in the forest, and with her are the bones of a promise he made. He forgets the Dragon's Throat, his senses succumbing to that strange paradigm between static and acuity. It's familiar now; it's panic, and it's the most familiar thing he knows. Run, cries his body, and he runs. The guilt doesn't come until later. By then - by now - the days have all galloped past and time is a wild, roaring thing far behind him and the only sensation is need.

        The sensation isn't even his. It originates from the circlet of scales crowning his brow. Until now, with fear wearing into exhaustion, he has failed to fully comprehend just what he's done. It felt right at the time, until Ampere was there and he was seen and everything -

        Breath shudders in his lungs. It's cold; not unbearably so, but reminiscent of years past. And he sees now he's come north. And the road is familiar, even under a sunlit sky, even though he hasn't truly glimpsed the mountains since he last escaped Helovia. "I lived here once," he tells her quietly. He doesn't know if he ought to speak, or not. She sleeps tangled in his sparse mane, black eyes hidden beneath slender coils, and the whole of her could fit inside the hollow of one hoof with room to spare. Caneo thinks of what if she fell, or if something plucked her from his head, and his insides grow hollow once more.

        Too exhausted to run, he meanders on, a ghost of a memory returning to a mountain that has no reason to cherish this reunion. He doesn't know what he wants - what she wants - only they both need something. So he is here, here alone in the rotting snow, here under a sky as empty as it is blue. By the time he reaches the herd boundary proper, he recalls the Sentinel, and he searches for it as his gait draws slow and slower still, until he isn't moving, at all. He gazes in silence at the Basin, remembering when it felt like home and hope and he met the kitsune. And he thinks of Natraj, and the serpent on his brow, and he hasn't even given her a name.

sxc.hu


@Lena
He's standing just outside the border and... staring.

* violence & magic use always permitted *
Do not tag Caneo unless you are starting a new thread you would like me to see! Thank you!


Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#2
I want to reconcile the violence in your heart
The Birdsong air drew her out from caves, and the pair began their dance. On bright mornings they sang to the shadows and called to the valley, pulsing and unwinding, trying to remember days not spent in restlessness, in melancholy, in self-loathing, but bliss and peace and contentment. Perhaps they are too far gone, and the fox and her beloved merely trampled on bits and pieces of what used to be – yet, they still tried, immersing themselves into cloaks, daggers, and splendor, drinking in the plumes of radiance and regality. Their steps were light, composed and comprised of ethereal banter and elegant toils, one limb elongated and the other three following suit, until their waltz is a spinning, silly masquerade of laughter, giggles, and arias, and something lifted from their hearts. The spell unraveled along their frames, across their brows, and was left haphazardly along the wind, plucked and pulled, segmented and torn, untamed and savage as it reached for the sky, and they didn’t look back at its worn, timeless, old face – the tangible crags and dials of misery. One day, they believed, their demons would be conquered and the haunting measures scratching over their skulls would be nothing, nothing at all but the slender pitter-patter of rain or the ghostly apparitions of winter’s dying breath. It would disappear along with the other miserable tokens of their lives, all friends lost, all companions scattered, all precious, cherished souls flown into the abyss, and curve, sculpt, its way anew; their determination, their perseverance, could never quite be denied. Songbird trills still held their same beautiful, lyrical orchestras; her symphony couldn’t, wouldn’t, be altered by anyone else’s motives (for it was her passion, her ardor, her cravings, her desires, her ability to chase the stars and still long for nights bathed in freedom, in liberation that made her who she was).

They might have continued as ivory fox and earthen maiden, down into the dusky hollows and roots of fir, where the little saplings were springing up from their frosty solace, when a familiar scent trickled its way through their nares. Lena ceased movement immediately, a silent poet laureate, gaze sliding toward the borders, on the steel edges of the Sentinels and the strange notion nestled beyond it. Caneo - her heart and mind remembered – a man who’d once belonged in the Basin, all white, all snow, all intrigue and mystery. Roland had brought him within their peaks and summits, smiles and charms, enigmas and quandaries. But thereafter, she couldn’t recall seeing him (either of them; a traitorous, mutinous glow curled its way from Imogen, and Lena had no response), soon thereafter. Perhaps he’d been one of the many who disappeared into the mountains, or choked on too much wind, fleeing into the midnight oils as fast as they could. However, the nestling of hope, one she’d attempted to extinguish but it sparked and incensed amidst her chest nonetheless, renewed its blossoming twirls, and before she knew it, her limbs were bounding across thawing ice and speckled rime, Imogen closing in behind her.

Her thoughts buoyed from one to the next, a funnel of excitement, tension, and possibilities. Weren’t they friends? She hazarded a guess. Could he have gone somewhere with Caneo, and now they’re returning? She speculated, and Imogen shook her head, knowing full well the breadth of anticipation was to be ruined (for naught surrounding the former Thief existed there). Still, the sylph, the fairy, the fae, burrowed herself into the confines, the aperture, of the mountain bliss and surged beneath the Sentinels’ grim stares, smile widened and elongated and radiant, staring down at the familiar beast below. “Caneo!” Even if they’d only met on several occasions, she treated him as an old, dear friend, hustling and hurtling down into the depths of remaining snow and chiseling her way towards his, allowing a few yards of distance as her breath coiled in delicate, vibrant curls. On a wish, her gaze looked beyond him towards the trees and the outcrops, and Imogen chirped wildly, trying to snag her away from what surely would be heartbreak. The sprite’s features bloomed as they rested once more the stallion’s figure, all warmth and generosity. “How have you been faring?”


the songbird


@Caneo

Caneo Posts: 133
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3h :: 6 years HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Ophiria :: Dragon Snake :: None kae
#3



        And Caneo doesn't know what he seeks, anymore. He is here, maybe drawn by the memory of when he last felt purpose. The last vestiges of a life dedicated purely to survival fell apart here. The last of Caneo as the boy knew himself... He stands quietly, his thoughts drifting, and doubtless he carves a strange shape against the sky: neither coming nor going. He wonders if anyone here still remembers him, if he is missed. And his thoughts curl very tenderly over the name of Roland and the specter of disappointment Caneo felt upon the beach. Say he is dead. It's happened before. But he met Tandavi in the meadow and the joy she gave him left Caneo wanting, aflame but quickly burning out, unable to grasp the insistence of her glow. He feels now she is not for him, and fears Roland is no longer for him, and like the child again watches fear trickle into his mind. Something interrupts it, though.

        It's a familiar something, though his thoughts grind for a long, silent moment as he struggles to place the pang of remembrance. She was long ago, significant only because of the one who introduced them (and he cannot know she thinks this same thought as she now approaches him).

        "Caneo!" And in her voice his name is a bell wrought in silver, a joyful echoing chime. He remembers Lena; he remembers her with all the fondness of nostalgia for an era past. Now the silver creature's ears twitch forward and something in him shifts, like a cloak falling away. He says nothing for a long moment, but the light in his eyes is bright, and he simmers with a quiet brilliance, a warmth so often missing from his gaze. He doesn't recall the last time he felt this (safety) but he is glad. Intrigued, the serpent crowning his head pushes her blunt nose past his ear to stare. Her little tongue flicks out, tasting the air, tasting the scent-name of this creature her silver one knows as safe.

        (such a rare, such a treacherous word)

        "Hello, Lena," Caneo says at last when they stand near enough for the quiet of his voice to reach her ears. The words are soft but full of feeling, as if they are old friends and not hardly acquaintances; as if acting can make a thing true. She asks a question of him, and so many things have happened - Caneo falters to answer. The polite thing, he knows, is to bring up something good. He learned a long time ago how to make empty conversation while searching out weakness - learned, but never perfected the skill. Now he feels the serpent on his brow slipping down, resting the front part of her body across the dip in his horn as she strives for a better look. He'd smile again if he wasn't already.

        "I've been away," he says obviously. Even while he says it, he thinks she isn't quite looking at him. And maybe she's making empty words, too, waiting for... something. One ear cocks toward the rear but nothing moves there. Spring blooms peacefully around them and ahead of him the Sentinel is silent, terrible and behind is only the road. He wants to frown, but he keeps his features pleasant, instead. Gesture forward with his head, bringing his nose near enough horizontal for the snake to travel along it. He's almost surprised to find he likes her, bends to her whim without even questioning why. "I found this," he says cheerfully. "She's mine. Have you found anything good since last time?"

        He wants to ask her what she's looking for, but he won't.

sxc.hu


@Lena

* violence & magic use always permitted *
Do not tag Caneo unless you are starting a new thread you would like me to see! Thank you!


Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#4
I want to reconcile the violence in your heart
There was a certain sanctity, a tranquility, lingering along the depths of the spring blossoms and the melting snow, and her grin remained, so aloft, so poised, so elegant amongst the ruffled corridors. The femme, the fairy, had learned to appreciate the quiet, the hushed footfalls, the petal soft, ardent, dulcet feathers and silent serenity, especially when everything else yearned to give way to monsters, demons, and odious requiems. She studied him, closer now, beyond the scope of the boy Roland had brought from locked gates and nestled, cloistered groves, because he deserved to be more than the shadow who’d brought him amongst tempests and runes. He seemed older, maybe wiser, and she wondered if he’d been on incredible journeys since they’d last met, strong and enduring, restless and yearning, pressing on through thickets by sheer determination and will, or if he’d been among the many who turned away from things they barely knew for something else, something more. Those siren calls could be strong, especially when the ties to lands were not as taut, not as tethered (she’d escaped her own melancholies once, and then bridged gaps, wide berths of cliff tops and ruins, shuffled and shivered within icy caverns, only to find herself kept in glacial walls, always capable of fleeing but never doing so). He must have found a pinnacle, a rise, to stand upon and proclaim his loyalty, his prestige, his prowess, his ambitions, and her smile rested firmly along her lips and cheeks now, grateful he’d had a chance to find moments beneath the sun, moon, and stars.

In the midst of their silence, her eyes strayed to a hint of movement along his brow, instantly feeling foolish for not noticing the little creature beforehand (but she’d been distracted, deterred, hoping and praying for another figure that would never come). If possible, the fey glimmer rises, radiant and grand, a picturesque moment of glee and ebullience, along her features, mellifluous voice reaching past the curls of his forelock and to the unwinding, unraveling reptile slinking down his brow. “Hello there!” She knew of snakes in myths and legends; of their wiles, of their mischief, of their lies and temptation, how they could coax and inveigle, how they could entice and brew. But she proffered none of those claims upon the slender serpent, gaze taking everything in, Imogen bounding and chirruping, begging for a closer look. The Songbird regaled the lissome beast as cunning and shrewd, much like her own kitsune, and she pondered over the ways in which Caneo had come to claim it as his bonded – if he was so much more than just a silver face, if he begged, craved, and yearned just below the surface, if he ached and chiseled and sculpted his way through devious plans and enriched ministrations.

His voice called her back, away from the careful perusal, from the shining, beckoning study of newfound companions and the delight they brought. I’ve been away, and she almost laughed, because everyone always seemed to be away. It was almost commonplace, in a sad, pathetic way, to believe they’d leave her, the Basin, the caverns and crypts, the mountains and the summits, for more. Sometimes they were destined to settle their feet elsewhere, be it sand, soot, grass, or another world entirely, where darkness descended faster or light gathered quicker. She wouldn’t begrudge him that (but a sentiment, a notion, always stirred within her when she thought of all these losses, all these beings she’d known, cherished, all too rapidly; as if she’d had no stake in revering or admiring them, and they’d flee, back from where they’d came. She’d be alone again – a vicious, tormenting cycle). So instead of chiding, instead of scolding, instead of feeding the fire of disappointment, her eyes remain firm and noble, dignified and regal, nestled in her fairy queen expanse, in her snowy elements, in her glowing, resplendent boughs, so she didn’t have to remember the thorns keeping her in place. “But what a beautiful thing to have found on your journey.” The Songbird’s stare flicked back to the snake, smile still there, resilient and beautiful, a complete benediction through everything – she wasn’t sure which prevailed more amidst horrors and tremors, her heart or her soul. “She’s quite lovely.”

He stirred again, polite, bending to safe runes and easygoing queries, but she had naught to give him. She’d found love, and then heartache. She’d found loss. She’d found pain. All of those things were undying; they’d stay with her until she broke down into pieces and became bleached bones in the sun. She wished she’d found Roland, but her sojourns and crusades had been worthless, empty, vacuous things. She yearned to ask him, to question, to dip into that unknown, unsaid thing: have you seen him?, but the words only simmered on her tongue, grew to ghosts on her lips. “Only herbs,” she said with a bright laugh, with a subtle cheer, as if all she did was linger in the long hours, scouring the valleys and stars for plants to bring back to her people, to nourish them while forgetting herself. “Nothing as wonderful as your discovery.”

the songbird


@Caneo

Caneo Posts: 133
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3h :: 6 years HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Ophiria :: Dragon Snake :: None kae
#5



        The realization of how much he's lost dawns gradually in Caneo's mind as he recalls just how bright Lena is - like a songbird - like a dream. Nostalgia (or regret?) blooms in his heart as her voice blooms between them. He wants - again. Feels the first pricklings of anger at his younger self and all that narrow, aching boy did leave behind. What could he be, now? If the desert never spat him out? If Grandfather taught him sharpness instead of fear? He smiles, and its half empty and half true, and the serpent mirrors this odd, slick feeling in his breast. Lena smells of warmth and liveliness, of soft and safety (good). Withdrawing now, a little smug, Caneo reflects that he has never met anyone so wholly deserving of the word (good).

        Lovely, she calls the creature, and Caneo nods. "Yes," he agrees, and adds, "She's mine," quite unnecessarily. "Like Imogen." With a slight tilt of his head, he acknowledges the kitsune, until now merely observed in passing and largely ignored. However much Caneo respects the companions of others, he feels odd addressing them as one would an equal, and prefers to ignore, to observe without being seen to do so. He remembers Imogen though - his first. Lena had taught him much in very little time; he realizes he thinks of her as a friend, too, though she inspires nothing like the feeling Tandavi does. Like Essetia. He doesn't feel like dwelling on the difference now.

        Politely, he listens as she carries the conversation on. There are things he wants to know - things he will not ask - so he thinks a little harder than he sometimes does when others run their mouths. The scarcity of her response strikes him with force - it's odd. To think she does no more than skip through the snow, singing to flowers, gathering leaves.... Here his gaze narrows just a bit as he contemplates the reasons for Lena to lie. It can't be for a nefarious purpose because he's just recalled how good she is, so... The snake atop his brow cocks her head too, watching, patient. "Herbs don't make very good friends," Caneo observes. It's a prodding statement, testing. He doesn't speak like this (with purpose) very often. His tail flicks then, and he blinks at the peaks surrounding them, at the lonely sentinel in the distance. Less terrible the longer he looks, the more decrepit he thinks it may be.

And because he's older now than he was when he first set foot in the peaks, Caneo decides he can show a little honesty if he wants to get some in return. "I miss it here," he admits. He thinks of his new brethren, of the scent sand leaves upon him, and it isn't new and clean like the snow. It isn't Deimos, towering and dark, or Roland, wise and secretive. It isn't home in any way except it's where he happens to live. And the snake recalls the way he fled when last he met Ampere, and she prefers the smell of Lena, even maybe of the cold. "I wonder if Roland would accept a failed sneak back."

sxc.hu


@Lena
eurgh :\

* violence & magic use always permitted *
Do not tag Caneo unless you are starting a new thread you would like me to see! Thank you!


Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#6
i want to reconcile the violence in your heart
Her smile was radiant, aglow, varnished in resplendence, in kin and kind regard for the runes of creatures and their bonded friends. She was content for Caneo to have found something to tie himself to – even if it wasn’t the snow, even if it wasn’t chilling valleys and dark, icy caves. "A companion,the Songbird’s voice curled, soft and ardent, beautiful and mellifluous, gliding through the last vestiges of winter and the radiance of oncoming spring. There was a certainty in her following nod, in the way her eyes flickered back to the snake’s, genuine, compassionate, and benevolent despite all the warnings about serpents and their ilk. Caneo could not possibly hold a sinister creation, and so she presided in the way she always did amongst those blessed to have another tethered amidst themselves - fond and sweet, warm and bright. The fairy pondered over their connections, their ideals, if they’d found their entities wrapped and coiled amongst one another, each thought a twin to the other, or if the reptile was too young to have emboldened him on anymore feats and journeys. Her heart widened and ached for the two – cherishing their newfound bond, their restless spirits, acknowledging that one day they’d be so joined, so together, that they could conquer whatever they faced. The femme was certain; her convictions, her oaths, her promises with Imogen had always found her favor (at this thought, Imogen grinned, a little bit smug in her foxy eyes, chirping fondness and intertwining between the femme’s black columns). "You'll do well together." A second nod followed, always positive, always assured, of the strength forged between souls. She just never knew how much hers would falter, wane, or grow.
 
Lena watched his eyes narrow as their diatribe continued, paying close attention to where she’d strayed, to where her moments had been too light, where she’d played at hiding beneath a blade of grass, where she’d proclaimed innocence and nothingness when there’d been so much more tampering with her perseverance. Her ears flicked, once, twice, catching over the snare of his words and wondering if he was attempting to lay her into a trap (wouldn’t it be just, she thought, for a once sneak to slither his way into a serpentine of secrets?). But the fey gave him naught, nothing at all but the bare bones of laughter, a gentle sprinkle of giggles and warmth that had been administered so many times before – and then she’d be left alone, with no one asking, no one conjuring more queries and questions. "Yet, they make wonderful assistants.She even embellished her smile, as bright and brilliant as ever, proving an ambience, a pretense, over all the bitter, harmful, rancorous moments she’d been dealt. The rest of the world didn’t need to know of her failures, not when they already burned a hole in her chest, not when they already seethed and tormented her dreams.
 
Then, he shifted, and her guard dropped, smile dimming a fraction, a lightness fading from her gaze (I miss it here, he said, and her mouth almost loosened, almost obliged him), because the vocals pressing thereafter shoved a knife straight into her heart. I wonder if Roland… was enough to dismay the residual hopes she’d clung to (that he’d been safe, sure, fine with Caneo, and they were journeying together, miles and miles away from them, craving and hankering to discover new worlds without her. That’d been okay too, she’d told herself, but never believed). She’d walked straight into his trap without knowing, without understanding, without comprehending the fabrications behind walls and shields; hers was too lowered, armor gone, eyes shifting downward so she didn’t have to look at him and realize Roland was never with him. The pain and confusion flooded over her again, as it had done over the past fleeting seasons (why had he just left her there, in the hall of mirrors, trying to burn her way out of hell? Was he safe? Was he in danger?), pressing and gnawing at her mind until she focused solely on the peeking grass at her feet and the curl of Imogen’s white tails. Lena choked back a question - you never saw him then? - because she knew the answer. Instead, her vocals were granted, given again, sad and soft, dulcet and forlorn. "If he was here, I'm sure he would."
 
Her gaze crept back to his when she dared, when she tried to face the truth (aspirations damned, dashed), when she attempted to make peace with the despondency clinging to her lungs, her chest, her veins. It was just one more thorn, one more barb, lancing over her – to know Roland was still so far out of reach, gone, vanished, discarded into thin air. "You are welcome to stay, if you'd like."

the songbird


@Caneo

Caneo Posts: 133
Hidden Account atk: 7.5 | def: 10.5 | dam: 2.5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3h :: 6 years HP: 61 | Buff: NOVICE
Ophiria :: Dragon Snake :: None kae
#7



        A wall; the word she speaks is no, but it's wrapped up in other words, bright and smiling. For just a moment - half a heart beat at most - Caneo wants to strike out. Anger strikes brittle as flint against the edges of want; he had never pegged Lena as particularly clever. She turns away his probing with a note of laughter, though, as gentle and precise a no as he has ever heard, and he will not ask again what she's been up to, what secrets she keeps between the high walls of the mountains and the empty, obscene face of the sky. He didn't even care that much, he tells himself, but failure stings. And though he's quiet still, vacant still, the serpent curls herself into a smaller, tighter knot. It presents as a sudden shyness, maybe weariness (she is young, after all).

        Caneo laughs, light and musical (he will never forget his manners). "Something only a healer would know." And I am not a healer, is the unspoken half of that statement. And I would never care to be, is the third. And true, he's sharper now than the boy who came here years ago. His growing self has grown into harder, sharper angles - sleeker lines - less kind. The yearning he perhaps mistook for loneliness is something else. His expression is passive when she tells him Roland isn't here and it's - the last no Caneo wants to hear.

        Where is he, then? The child in his heart, distraught.

        (it doesn't matter)

        And Lena is reflected in the cold blue of his eyes: Lena, looking away now. Lena, the Songbird, potentially distraught. Caneo neither remarks upon nor stores this away as a particular point of weakness - he needs none when it comes to her. The silver stallion looks away as well, disregarding the sad mystery of her face and drinking instead the Basin. And he doesn't know if he wanted this or wanted the possibility of the past. And he stinks of sand, of heat and sunlight -

        Caneo sighs.

        Nothing is ever how he wants it. A decisive gesture, a quiet flick of his tail and he buries the child he was. Leaves it to smother. The serpent retreats into the sparse threads of his mane, and though it's not enough to hide in it's enough to cover her tiny face. It's only now - too late - that Lena offers him what he thought he came for all along. It's only now Caneo wants to throw the offer out, because he would never be happy. Because all Helovia is, is a nightmare of his. Its gods dream in different colors than whatever ancient made him. "Am I?" he wonders more softly. Not a hint of malice or of discontent makes it into the question, but he thinks his answer lingers there already.

        He cannot.

        He cannot go back. He cannot be what he might have been - just what he is. Maybe he ought to thank Roland, wherever Roland is, for giving him this last honest thing. Caneo turns before he speaks again. He doesn't breathe another word of want, of loss. Sorry serves no one. Halfway on the road to home, though, the silver stallion pauses and regards his friend again. And there's sadness in his eyes, though it's tempered by a thousand other things. "Sorry, Lena. I live in the Dragon's Throat now." And maybe there's a tiny flicker of disdain as he speaks those words. Maybe he can't keep his irritation back - for the many many wings and the smell of sweat and beasts bigger and stupider than he. Caneo simpers; almost an apology for the lapse.

        "If you need anything..." He hesitates, because it's a very sincere thought coming from a place of emptiness. He doesn't know if he cares about her. He doesn't know if he ought to. They do have this particular loss in common, at least. His tail twitches again, restless. "If the Basin needs anything..." Well it doesn't hurt to leave the offer open. Winter was never his color, but he does love it in the way he never loved the sun. "This was my first home."

sxc.hu


@Lena
100th post! :o

* violence & magic use always permitted *
Do not tag Caneo unless you are starting a new thread you would like me to see! Thank you!


Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#8
i want to reconcile the violence in your heart
The light began to fade; one sublime chime after another pulled away, and she was left feeling cold, bereft, and empty. His laugh faded off into the throngs of ice. His words blistered instead, wore against the grain. She’s missing something again, like always, that kept creatures here, within the washing glow of resplendence and the beautiful tapestries of snow coveted by day, because as soon as she said Roland wasn’t here, Caneo seemed to drift. It was the cycle, cruel and malignant, flailing wildly at the seams of all her trials and tribulations, for no matter what she did, no matter what she tried, no matter how many times she’d offered her heart, her kindness, her compassion, it seemed to be trod upon. The Songbird could watch her heart bleed along the winter floor if she’d liked, beating and red, incandescent and full of passion, full of love, full of understanding, wanting to be cherished, wanting to succeed, only to be ignored. She’d bestowed the world in her radiance, in her beneficence, and it never seemed to do any good. Her perseverance was always seemingly, swiftly, denied; and when the world sought for her to rise up from those sunken ashes, she flailed and fluttered, blossomed and bloomed, and let the realm set her ablaze again. She didn’t understand what she’d done to be spurned, to be isolated, to be forlorn when all she’d ever craved to do was smile and be smiled at in return – unless she just simply wasn’t enough, for anyone, for anything.

Worthless, the echoes rang, clawing, biting, and rasping, always there, always waiting.

You’re worthless, they hissed, long and low, down the length of her nape and through the coil of her shoulders. There they stayed, haunting and looming, poignant and grating.

Wasn’t this why everyone left her? Wasn’t this why her connections were brief, quaint, fragile, fickle? Wasn’t this why every time she lent out her heart, it came back crushed? Because she wasn’t worthy of anyone’s time, of anyone’s patience, of anyone else’s kindness?

Maybe Roland had seen it in the mirrors, when they drifted across carnivals and masquerades, had seen how little value she conveyed to the realms, had seen how her devotion, her compassion, her desires were simply little bits of nothingness. What would they amount to, in the end? What did anyone gain from knowing the Songbird?

Strength and love, Imogen whispered through their connection, and Lena couldn’t help but deny it. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, and she blinked them away, staring at the snow, at the void, at the walls she’d built all around her to avoid this pain, this hurt, this twisting, feral agony, and how none of it ever mattered.

Am I? He twisted it back onto her, as if the bestowal, as if the invitation, is a rotting, ridiculous thing, an absurd declaration made by an even odder creature. She wanted to bury her head in the ice or crawl beneath the Sentinel’s wake, hide, hide, hide because her fortitude was leaving her and she was so pathetic, so stupid –

I live in the Dragon’s Throat now, and the nymph only nodded, understanding loyalty, even when it wasn’t brought back to her, even when the eyes of so many that she’d healed, that she’d sung sweet songs to barely glanced her way, when she was as isolated, as desolate, as the rest of the mountains. When she’s returned to her glamour, to her pretenses, to futility and pointlessness (a regal bow, a carved nobility, the mask she’d always borne when her parents looked her in the eye and told her to die, when the world forgot who she was and ceased caring altogether, when she was alone and adrift in forests and meadows, singing her sad lullabies), her eyes shifted to his. There might have been sadness flickering in his depths, or merely hers mirroring the sentiments and emotions for both of them, but she didn’t speculate on its nuance. “Of course,” she uttered, like it was a token thing, for him to refuse her request, for him to dance off back towards the dunes and sand and the rising sun, snake in tow, just her and Imogen left in the howling wind and the Sentinels’ watchful eye. The sylph wondered if the decrepit statues ever felt so terribly, hopelessly lost, known only for their barbarity, for their potential savagery, for the protective guise they forged across the land.

His next set of words caught her off guard – his own parcel of bestowals – but she gave him naught in return. Even when the words settled across her mind (I’d like to be needed), she knew she wouldn’t give them voice. She’d continue in the same pattern, day after day, night after night, hour after hour, pretending that naught was amiss and everything was fine, whittling and waning until eventually, there’d be nothing left of her but a small, fragile aria and some withering flower. Instead of breaking apart in front of him, she smiled, sad and fond. “Thank you for the offer. Perhaps I will come find you when I can think of something.”

the songbird


@Caneo


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