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05-09-2016, 06:04 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Perhaps—
Perhaps breaking did not have to be so hard. Perhaps (as his thoughts finger the trigger) all he had to do was—let go. His heart was burning in his chest, disintegrating into poison and sweeping through veins rushing on panic alone, his breath so thick it barely went down into his lungs. Perhaps, if he simply caved in, shattered the ice and catapulted headfirst into his own misery, it would make him more alive. More tangible. Less strange.
But what lay on that other side of the divide, he did not know; he peered frequently through the frosted glass but all he found was .. nothing.
Perhaps, on the other side of that, he did not exist—and so he trod forever in the land of just-barely-holding-on, containing the rushing flood of emptiness where his emotions should've been.
He wondered, idly, what would happen if the fury smoldering in Tembovu's gaze broke through that wall. And part of him wanted it—to plunge headfirst into cold darkness, brandish it like a weapon in the face of this man and screech at him are you happy now, that you figured it out?. A dark undercurrent shivered through his gaze as the beast deep within stirred. The world grew a littler clearer, a little darker.
(This isn't how it was supposed to be.)
Tembovu's ears were flush to his neck, his eyes dark, blazing, hard, angry. They met: darkness and the light, and it made Mauja feel sick.
He wasn't sure if he ever had felt this small before.
(—standing before the War Council, his Sergeant hovering unhappily behind him—)
This .. worthless.
('What happened?')
As if every wrong in the world was his fault; and since when had he cared? He had come here, proud and harsh and merciless, and what was he now? What did he want now? He wanted peace but peace meant he was left with only himself to fight—
(—nothing but gentle concern as they had questioned him, his Sergeant .. dark, kind eyes, wishing desperately to understand; to fix things, if he could.)
There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight. Did peace reign here, now? He doubted it, doubted it would last, but it wasn't enough, he was trapped with his thoughts and twisted and turned and he would, forever and ever and ever.
(But he had said nothing.)
His name was a curse falling from Tembovu's dark lips, a whip lash stinging down his spine. What good had Mauja ever done? He had destroyed things his entire life, he didn't even exist, he simply took on whatever guise was needed of him... He could be their monster, he could be their savior, mercilessly trampling the struggling remnants of himself into the mud.
That large head reached out, came closer, hovered in the charged blackness between them. From the corner of his eye, Mauja studied the lethal tip of the thick weapon, followed the gleam of sunlight along its twisting length. A shudder went through his soul.
He hadn't taken immortality just to play with the perversity of mortal injuries.
But wasn't that always why he fought, these days? To feel the lash and sting of horns scoring his skin, tearing open the fine white into fragile red lines—
He had the irrational urge to scream burn me!, to throw himself at Tembovu's feet, but something lodged itself in his mind, refusing to budge.
The feeling of Roskuld pressed tight to him, head slung over his back, holding him, trying to catch him as he fell, and as The One Question Without Answer fell into the air between them Mauja's eyes slipped shut. Life was easier when confined by ice, when the heart slept under a blanket of snow, and the mind pounded mercilessly on down a set, cruel path. Less time for thinking. Less time for feeling. His accomplishments had been hollow, but it had given him purpose. Chattering teeth ground together, eyelids pressing hard over blue eyes, and, fumbling, he edged a little closer—giving in to everything screeching in his soul and simply trying to toss his head over Tembovu's back.
If I knew that, I could stop it, he meant to say.
"I love you," he croaked out instead.
Perhaps breaking did not have to be so hard. Perhaps (as his thoughts finger the trigger) all he had to do was—let go. His heart was burning in his chest, disintegrating into poison and sweeping through veins rushing on panic alone, his breath so thick it barely went down into his lungs. Perhaps, if he simply caved in, shattered the ice and catapulted headfirst into his own misery, it would make him more alive. More tangible. Less strange.
But what lay on that other side of the divide, he did not know; he peered frequently through the frosted glass but all he found was .. nothing.
Perhaps, on the other side of that, he did not exist—and so he trod forever in the land of just-barely-holding-on, containing the rushing flood of emptiness where his emotions should've been.
He wondered, idly, what would happen if the fury smoldering in Tembovu's gaze broke through that wall. And part of him wanted it—to plunge headfirst into cold darkness, brandish it like a weapon in the face of this man and screech at him are you happy now, that you figured it out?. A dark undercurrent shivered through his gaze as the beast deep within stirred. The world grew a littler clearer, a little darker.
(This isn't how it was supposed to be.)
Tembovu's ears were flush to his neck, his eyes dark, blazing, hard, angry. They met: darkness and the light, and it made Mauja feel sick.
He wasn't sure if he ever had felt this small before.
(—standing before the War Council, his Sergeant hovering unhappily behind him—)
This .. worthless.
('What happened?')
As if every wrong in the world was his fault; and since when had he cared? He had come here, proud and harsh and merciless, and what was he now? What did he want now? He wanted peace but peace meant he was left with only himself to fight—
(—nothing but gentle concern as they had questioned him, his Sergeant .. dark, kind eyes, wishing desperately to understand; to fix things, if he could.)
There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight. Did peace reign here, now? He doubted it, doubted it would last, but it wasn't enough, he was trapped with his thoughts and twisted and turned and he would, forever and ever and ever.
(But he had said nothing.)
His name was a curse falling from Tembovu's dark lips, a whip lash stinging down his spine. What good had Mauja ever done? He had destroyed things his entire life, he didn't even exist, he simply took on whatever guise was needed of him... He could be their monster, he could be their savior, mercilessly trampling the struggling remnants of himself into the mud.
That large head reached out, came closer, hovered in the charged blackness between them. From the corner of his eye, Mauja studied the lethal tip of the thick weapon, followed the gleam of sunlight along its twisting length. A shudder went through his soul.
He hadn't taken immortality just to play with the perversity of mortal injuries.
But wasn't that always why he fought, these days? To feel the lash and sting of horns scoring his skin, tearing open the fine white into fragile red lines—
He had the irrational urge to scream burn me!, to throw himself at Tembovu's feet, but something lodged itself in his mind, refusing to budge.
The feeling of Roskuld pressed tight to him, head slung over his back, holding him, trying to catch him as he fell, and as The One Question Without Answer fell into the air between them Mauja's eyes slipped shut. Life was easier when confined by ice, when the heart slept under a blanket of snow, and the mind pounded mercilessly on down a set, cruel path. Less time for thinking. Less time for feeling. His accomplishments had been hollow, but it had given him purpose. Chattering teeth ground together, eyelids pressing hard over blue eyes, and, fumbling, he edged a little closer—giving in to everything screeching in his soul and simply trying to toss his head over Tembovu's back.
If I knew that, I could stop it, he meant to say.
"I love you," he croaked out instead.
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
