All my life I’ve been searching for something

He waited for judgment on the rank clambering along his shoulders (held his breath, steeled his heart) – perceived an incoming blow, a rankling of disbelief from a friend who wouldn’t refuse granting him what he truly deserved. The boy considered a whole notion of words would come tearing from Rikyn’s mouth, measures of why on earth would they do that and what a stupid idea curled and calculated through his sentiments (and he would agree with them too, muster up a sad smile, a hollowed laugh, and remember how undeserving he truly was of such a noble title, of a role he’d surely wreck and ruin). He didn’t have his father’s talents for natural predilection, for a possessive, decaying destruction that unfurled with his every movement, or a fierce, ferocious stature locked along his edges. He didn’t have a sizzling, bewitching depravity clinging to his skin, harbored and harpooning, threatening to dissolve in a single movement; some days, the prince didn’t know what he possessed at all, besides a labored heart, a talent for amusement, and a spirit that failed to yield when it should’ve seen the writing on the wall. But as he lifted his eyes from the forest companion to his most cherished brethren, he only saw Rikyn’s eyebrows rise and a smile linger, and thought, in the smallest of grins and the feral ease of his smirk, that perhaps he hadn’t made a massive blunder after all. Acceptance clung past the apprehension and the nerves, the destructive forces pulling him in alternating directions, bedlam’s anarchic trace pinpointing directly into his sights, into his frame, into his figure, as if he were always meant to wander into its harsh, beguiling currents. The youth didn’t say thank you to his friend, but he proffered it through the length of his dastardly grin, through the overwhelming confidence suddenly bound and tethered to his lungs, to the whole of his being sharpened to resolution and defiance, and to the glimpse of his conniving nature, the lengths in which he’d go to achieve his aspirations. “They’ve only grown,” he hinted, glancing off into the distance, not dispelling the monumental surge of acrimony and abhorrence stirred along his stare – of all the cretins he’d fell and toss out to sea.
 
Orsino simply glanced back and forth between companion shards and nods – and Erebos’ attention was reverted along the deer again, a thousand inquiries resting across his tongue (How had he acquired him? Where’d he find him? Was there a task?). He didn’t share any of them, because he presumed Rikyn would share in time, in measures, in the glories of his actions when it suited him, and laughter flickered through him just fine, in the peace, in the repose, of moments spread too thin. “They didn’t have to,” he winked towards the bay boy, a joke, a chuckle flowing his nares and along his mouth, relaxed and calm in the haze of liberation and deliverance, weaving his sights primarily on the juxtaposition of beast and fawn. Duir, he’d remember, even as Orsino eyed the regal spirit with narrowed slits and a hostile bidding; shuffling his gaze solely on Rikyn for the moment thereafter, indulging the sensation of curiosity again, never quite knowing when to cease and desist. “What have you been up to lately?” If he hadn’t been hiding, crumbling castle walls, or foiling dastardly plots, what had caught the other youth’s intentions and deeds?

(something never comes)

erebos

never leads to nothing—nothing satisfies

but I’m getting close