I hope he takes your filthy heart
and then he throws you away someday
and then he throws you away someday
The afterlife had trembled when the gates broke.
He had felt it in the far corner of darkness that he had chosen to reside in for the last hundred or so years, a subtle tremor that rippled across his abysmal expanse of nothing that he created for himself. The afterlife was a vibrant and colorful world for some, but Dacian had chosen darkness. This was the closest to peace he has ever felt. All that fury and rage that he fought to harness when he was alive, it suddenly disappeared once he was dead. That impossible unrest, that toxic poison that had lived for long in his veins was suddenly sucked dry.
He felt it, the moment it had the chance to creep back in – like tapping on a door, and only needing it to open just a crack.
But it was a mistake to step back through. Things that were dead were meant to stay dead, this he knows. His curiosity gets the best of him this time, though.
When he crosses back over, it is a shock to his system. He sucks in a sharp breath and the air nearly assaults his lungs, and his heart kick-starts into a beat so hard and fast he thinks it might bruise itself against his ribs. He blinks his rich brown eyes, and for a fleeting moment he knows what it feels like to be alive and tranquil all at once.
He is surprised at how quickly the anger returns.
Memories come flooding back to him, all of them bad, all of them the things nightmares were made of – but most often he was the nightmare. A feeling of betrayal is the first poison to creep back in, followed by a twisted need for revenge, with a flicker of remorse that is chased by anger again. It was a vicious cycle, one that he had never managed to escape.
For now, he keeps that darkness captive inside of his chest. He stands shrouded in the shadows of the forest that flank the meadow and he watches them, taking in their vibrant new colors and powers that run rampant. She would be easy to spot now, he thinks. A winged bay mare would be an oddity now, but something tells him that the source of all his heartache and rage no longer lives here.
And he is torn between a sigh of relief and an ever-growing flame of anger at that thought.
He had felt it in the far corner of darkness that he had chosen to reside in for the last hundred or so years, a subtle tremor that rippled across his abysmal expanse of nothing that he created for himself. The afterlife was a vibrant and colorful world for some, but Dacian had chosen darkness. This was the closest to peace he has ever felt. All that fury and rage that he fought to harness when he was alive, it suddenly disappeared once he was dead. That impossible unrest, that toxic poison that had lived for long in his veins was suddenly sucked dry.
He felt it, the moment it had the chance to creep back in – like tapping on a door, and only needing it to open just a crack.
But it was a mistake to step back through. Things that were dead were meant to stay dead, this he knows. His curiosity gets the best of him this time, though.
When he crosses back over, it is a shock to his system. He sucks in a sharp breath and the air nearly assaults his lungs, and his heart kick-starts into a beat so hard and fast he thinks it might bruise itself against his ribs. He blinks his rich brown eyes, and for a fleeting moment he knows what it feels like to be alive and tranquil all at once.
He is surprised at how quickly the anger returns.
Memories come flooding back to him, all of them bad, all of them the things nightmares were made of – but most often he was the nightmare. A feeling of betrayal is the first poison to creep back in, followed by a twisted need for revenge, with a flicker of remorse that is chased by anger again. It was a vicious cycle, one that he had never managed to escape.
For now, he keeps that darkness captive inside of his chest. He stands shrouded in the shadows of the forest that flank the meadow and he watches them, taking in their vibrant new colors and powers that run rampant. She would be easy to spot now, he thinks. A winged bay mare would be an oddity now, but something tells him that the source of all his heartache and rage no longer lives here.
And he is torn between a sigh of relief and an ever-growing flame of anger at that thought.
Dacian