Rainforest Cliffs
Erebos <3
07-23-2017, 05:53 PM
It wouldn’t be the first time, nor the last, that he yearned for simpler days, when the rush of blood didn’t sing through his heart and carve out irreverence after irreverence, boil at the notion of sedition, teeter, tilt, and lean towards the promise of sacrilege. Kiada wouldn’t have been so broken then either, just a tiny filly eager to make her mark across empires and civilizations, discovering magic, gaining new friends. They should’ve been able to have something more than this: rubble, ruin, desecration, and annihilation. Perhaps he was merely being avaricious and greedy again, taking, taking, taking, because they could’ve had naught at all, been swallowed, condemned, and devoured just like their brethren, and he couldn’t help wishing to flee entirely and run right back to the gallows, be christened in the sepulchers next to his fallen comrades. But his eyes caught hers beneath the rose hued mask, the gilded facets, the gleaming blades, and he stepped back as she denied his request, watched in one more helpless stance as she took them apart herself (reminding him of stored knives slicing apart skin, rippling across flesh; then gone, gone as if they’d never been there in the first place, dissolving completely into shadow, into mist, into nothing). He saw her wince, he saw her bleed, he saw the dried remnants of tears blemishing a face that he’d always believe to be one of the untouchable – strong and guarded, always ready to enchant the world – but life had a way of reshaping, unthreading, unfurling, loosening a foretold knot and hastening everything to the wind. The warrior wondered how many she’d lost in that debacle, when the darkness had cleared and bodies lay either strewn or disappeared altogether, how it’d change her, how it’d warp everything and everyone around them (and maybe then others would see the value of revenge, maybe others would be willing to join in the game, in the hunt, in the glory, in the triumph, of ripping a being apart that had taken so many things). It wasn’t fair, but naught ever was, and to utter the notion seemed ridiculous. He couldn’t even understand, fathom, how she managed to smile at all.
I’m glad you made it came on a ghostly path, a phantom’s whisper, as she stared out over the cliffs and the jungle, and he wasn’t sure if he could agree. What was here for them now but bones and survival, the merest, slightest scraps of information, the entangling webs, the constant feeling of being watched? What the hell was he supposed to look forward to (and he wanted to shout it to the heavens, but the Sun God wasn’t here, couldn’t take his spite, couldn’t hear his vitriol, his rancor, his defiance)? What was out there? Or was this all part of the mystery, the great, debauched, damned web of life, and they were all little beasts and pawns within it, moving to the sounds and waves of catastrophe and ruin? Let’s see what they do this time, the earth seemed to say. It made the infidel want to burn everything down, until it was all ash, soot, and embers. “There was nothing else I could do,” followed her words, sullen and discordant, not full of the exuberance, the charisma, the charm they’d embodied once before; gaze narrowed, sticking to the shadows, to the waves of darkness, to the fine mist. It was the truth – he’d been helpless and pathetic, incapable of doing anything but escaping, fleeing, feeling the destruction sizzle over his skin.
Then she asked how he was, and he laughed – it was laced and lanced with dark humor, with coal, with a wild, vicious bark, entangled in too many barbaric tendencies, in the remnants of who and what he used to be. There was no point in lying to her, not like before, when she’d wondered about his wellbeing and he’d said fine, he was perfectly fine (as his father lay buried under mountains that no longer rose into the sky, as the world threatened to cave down over heir heads). He was miserable, he was condemned, he was a discarded mess, he was so utterly, stupidly lost – and Orsino’s silence fell over him too, because even when he thought he had someone, their was a connection, a cord, snapped. “Sometimes I’m filled with so much rage I think I might burst.” A cruel smile coiled itself over his lips, as he stared out into the wilderness, a warrior circling his prey, promising and pledging all the vicious, abhorrent things he yearned to do – then it dissipated, until that too was only a ghost, a hallucination, a fantasy, an apparition. “Other moments I’m consumed by sadness.” He let the phrase hang there for a snippet of time, hollowed out reasons and decrees floating, barbaric and nefarious, until he turned his head to glance at her again, wonder just how far she’d fallen too, just how much the world had taken out of her. “How are you?”
I’m glad you made it came on a ghostly path, a phantom’s whisper, as she stared out over the cliffs and the jungle, and he wasn’t sure if he could agree. What was here for them now but bones and survival, the merest, slightest scraps of information, the entangling webs, the constant feeling of being watched? What the hell was he supposed to look forward to (and he wanted to shout it to the heavens, but the Sun God wasn’t here, couldn’t take his spite, couldn’t hear his vitriol, his rancor, his defiance)? What was out there? Or was this all part of the mystery, the great, debauched, damned web of life, and they were all little beasts and pawns within it, moving to the sounds and waves of catastrophe and ruin? Let’s see what they do this time, the earth seemed to say. It made the infidel want to burn everything down, until it was all ash, soot, and embers. “There was nothing else I could do,” followed her words, sullen and discordant, not full of the exuberance, the charisma, the charm they’d embodied once before; gaze narrowed, sticking to the shadows, to the waves of darkness, to the fine mist. It was the truth – he’d been helpless and pathetic, incapable of doing anything but escaping, fleeing, feeling the destruction sizzle over his skin.
Then she asked how he was, and he laughed – it was laced and lanced with dark humor, with coal, with a wild, vicious bark, entangled in too many barbaric tendencies, in the remnants of who and what he used to be. There was no point in lying to her, not like before, when she’d wondered about his wellbeing and he’d said fine, he was perfectly fine (as his father lay buried under mountains that no longer rose into the sky, as the world threatened to cave down over heir heads). He was miserable, he was condemned, he was a discarded mess, he was so utterly, stupidly lost – and Orsino’s silence fell over him too, because even when he thought he had someone, their was a connection, a cord, snapped. “Sometimes I’m filled with so much rage I think I might burst.” A cruel smile coiled itself over his lips, as he stared out into the wilderness, a warrior circling his prey, promising and pledging all the vicious, abhorrent things he yearned to do – then it dissipated, until that too was only a ghost, a hallucination, a fantasy, an apparition. “Other moments I’m consumed by sadness.” He let the phrase hang there for a snippet of time, hollowed out reasons and decrees floating, barbaric and nefarious, until he turned his head to glance at her again, wonder just how far she’d fallen too, just how much the world had taken out of her. “How are you?”
Erebos
i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want
@Kiada
