The Portal
08-16-2017, 06:01 PM
like breaking diamonds with your hands
His heart, was empty.
His mind a storm so wild it became perfectly still—a noiseless sound, a contradiction, spanning the distance between the walls of his skull. A black reflection of a black sky, placid, so utterly still, but not frozen.
How long he stood like that, he didn't know.
It seemed wrong of his heart to keep beating, but it did, a steady, rhythmic vibration threatening to shatter whatever fragile spell kept him from crumbling. The lake's surface began to quiver. The sound that was not a sound became a low, distant roar.
As if refusing to acknowledge what had transpired would undo it; as if staring through the hazy forest where she had disappeared could bring her back. It's a dream, was his first coherent thought, as his lost son ambled by and looked like death itself. It's just a bad dream he told himself as Naerys skidded to a halt next to him. It's just a nightmare he lied to himself as she touched his rigid neck.
It did nothing to soothe him. It did nothing to break him. He remained motionless, transfixed, a statue fighting the inevitable.
Fighting a truth so deep and so dark and so terrifying he was not sure it would fit in his skull; a reality so hopeless he did not know if he wanted to exist in it. Better, then, to be a ghost, carved from ice, a thing with no mind, no memory, no heart, no future.
Dead.
But his treacherous breath kept on slipping in and out of wide, tense nostrils. His damned heart kept on beating, carting warmth through his veins and thawing him from his shock. His skin itched where incorporeal tongues licked his hide, stealing things from him.
It all paled in comparison to what had left him in the rain-soaked forest, and what he had left did nothing to soothe it.
It's a dream, his mind began again. It's just a bad dream. He began to shake. It's just a nightmare.
The rain, Naerys, Diego—it felt too real.
It's not a dream. His too-tense muscles began to spasm, unable to keep their hold on the tension; his jaw worked grotesquely. It's not just a bad dream. It's not just a fucking nightmare—
His eyes rolled back and he staggered, crashing madly for a few steps as he flailed and fought to keep from falling on the owl he had left, and when his shaking limbs finally stilled he was shored up against a tree, trembling and crying.
It was real.
Irma was gone.
[ @Naerys ]
His mind a storm so wild it became perfectly still—a noiseless sound, a contradiction, spanning the distance between the walls of his skull. A black reflection of a black sky, placid, so utterly still, but not frozen.
How long he stood like that, he didn't know.
It seemed wrong of his heart to keep beating, but it did, a steady, rhythmic vibration threatening to shatter whatever fragile spell kept him from crumbling. The lake's surface began to quiver. The sound that was not a sound became a low, distant roar.
As if refusing to acknowledge what had transpired would undo it; as if staring through the hazy forest where she had disappeared could bring her back. It's a dream, was his first coherent thought, as his lost son ambled by and looked like death itself. It's just a bad dream he told himself as Naerys skidded to a halt next to him. It's just a nightmare he lied to himself as she touched his rigid neck.
It did nothing to soothe him. It did nothing to break him. He remained motionless, transfixed, a statue fighting the inevitable.
Fighting a truth so deep and so dark and so terrifying he was not sure it would fit in his skull; a reality so hopeless he did not know if he wanted to exist in it. Better, then, to be a ghost, carved from ice, a thing with no mind, no memory, no heart, no future.
Dead.
But his treacherous breath kept on slipping in and out of wide, tense nostrils. His damned heart kept on beating, carting warmth through his veins and thawing him from his shock. His skin itched where incorporeal tongues licked his hide, stealing things from him.
It all paled in comparison to what had left him in the rain-soaked forest, and what he had left did nothing to soothe it.
It's a dream, his mind began again. It's just a bad dream. He began to shake. It's just a nightmare.
The rain, Naerys, Diego—it felt too real.
It's not a dream. His too-tense muscles began to spasm, unable to keep their hold on the tension; his jaw worked grotesquely. It's not just a bad dream. It's not just a fucking nightmare—
His eyes rolled back and he staggered, crashing madly for a few steps as he flailed and fought to keep from falling on the owl he had left, and when his shaking limbs finally stilled he was shored up against a tree, trembling and crying.
It was real.
Irma was gone.
[ @Naerys ]
