• Logout
  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    I feel it running through my veins; desire
    #1

    — I'm not here looking for absolution —

    Stave was not brought by love into this world.

    And thus, he does not truly feel it.

    Possession, perhaps. This he feels acutely when he looks at his sister and the things that he deems his own. He knows the keen edge of want, even from a young age. It settles in between his bones and drives him, makes him nearly furious with it when he feels that something grows beyond his young reach.

    These are the things that become like weeds in his thin chest. These are the things that have him staring for too long at the earth, concentrating until a headache begins to form behind his eyes. But these are also the things that allow him to finally feel that rush of success when the dirt begins to move—when the soil shifts and the bones crawl out. Nothing large, for now. Just the corpses of small animals. Squirrels. Rodents. The occasional raccoon or something similar, although they are more tiring to control.

    He finds pleasure in the way that he can manipulate them.

    Control them.

    Give them something like freedom before he wrenches it from them.

    It is cruel, he knows in some distant part of his brain, but it does not affect him as it should. It does not cause him to feel regret or guilt. These things just roll off him, leaving him empty and cold and hungry.

    He feels it today as he walks through the meadow, lip curling as he regards those around him.

    Frustrated, he pauses, angling his fine head backward to the shadows that chase him.

    “Desire,” his boyish voice is deep for his age and sharp. “Hurry up. We’re nearly there.”

    STAVE
    Reply
    #2

    sometimes I'm terrified of my heart;
    of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants —
    They were not born out of love, but they were a nearly perfect representation of the strange, twisted romance that let them exist. 

    Where he was black, she was white; both of them dripping in constellations and galaxies, but on entirely opposite canvases. The magic that manifested inside of him was macabre and sinister, and in her it was a tainted sort of good. Dark and light, but forged from the same fire, born from the same stars.

    Stave and Desire; their mother was developing a flair for eerily appropriate names.

    There was a hunger that gnawed inside of her that she didn’t understand yet. She hadn’t had the chance to explore the depths of her damage, because being with Stave was like a balm to the wound she had been born with. She doesn’t feel quite so empty when she’s with him, and from the moment she had blinked her black eyes open it had been him she was drawn to rather than their mother. There was no one that could possibly ever understand her the way that he did; not her mother, not their other siblings. She was linked to him in a way that would be impossible to break, and in a way that blinded her to how corrupt he would grow to be.

    She trails after him today, and when he stares at those around them with a disapproving, unapproachable glare, she only watches them in rapt curiosity. She is easily distracted, frequently falling behind whenever someone caught her eye. She didn’t interact with them all that much; she didn’t really need anyone besides Stave, but she cannot help but to wonder what they must be like. Many of them were beautiful and vibrant, and some of them were decorated with stars like they were. She finds herself wondering what they could do; if they could manipulate the dead or create illusions of love the way that they could.

    But the sharp way he calls her name snaps her back to reality, and in a moment she is drawing flush alongside of him. She is not afraid of him the way that she maybe should be, and she does not hesitate to press her delicate nose against the slope of his shoulder. “Where are we going today?” She asks him in the high melody of her voice, and the rest of the meadow fades to the background when he commands her full attention.
    Desire
    Reply
    #3

    — I'm not here looking for absolution —

    Stave has little care for the rest of their family, sprawling as they may be.

    At best, he feels a faint indifference to them—barely understanding or recognizing them for their familial ties. At worst, he feels annoyance for even thinking that he would be associated with them. Bound to them. The only one to escape such bitter annoyance is his sister, his other half. Whether she uses her strange gift on him to instill some sense of love or it is just the odd way of siblings, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t truly care, because as long as she is around, there is something like an anchor holding him down.

    So, the bite of anger he feels when he calls her to him is quickly snuffed out when she comes to his side. He smiles—a cold and empty thing, even for her—and presses his nose to her cheek. Perhaps a reminder of his possessive nature or perhaps simply an affectionate touch, although it’d be impossible to tell.

    “Does it matter?” he asks, annoyance twisting in his words, but he sighs, rolling a thin shoulder and looking toward the northeast of where they stood, where the meadow began to slope and he could barely see the landscape beginning to shift and change. Something lived beyond that, he knew. Something dark and empty and twisted that called out to him—crooking a finger and begging him to come forward.

    Exhaling, he shakes his head.

    “If you must know,” his voice measured, as though explaining to a child, “there is a land near here called Pangea. Apparently our father helped raise it.” Of course there father is the father of dozens, hundreds, of children. Not that he knows the full scope of it. But such things do not matter. Stave has a greedy heart and a greedier mind and the things that he chooses as his own remain as such, untouched within him.

    “Don’t you think we should visit it?”

    STAVE
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)