Take apart your head -- Rome - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: Meadow (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=3) +---- Thread: Take apart your head -- Rome (/showthread.php?tid=11194) |
Take apart your head -- Rome - Eight - 09-07-2016 no matter what they say, I am still the king @[Shelbi] RE: Take apart your head -- Rome - Rome - 09-07-2016 he laid low the warriors of old He dreams the same dream every night. It starts the same way always. He dreams of a cold, wintry day. He is somewhere in the dark shadows of the forest that is just at the edge of the meadow. There is a soft breeze, cold and harsh, and he shivers severely as the wind crawls up his spine. He knows, even as a young colt and now in this dream, that he is in no physical condition to be in this place—he belonged back in the sandy dunes, where the sun was warm and kind to him. But he is here, in the dream world, dreaming the same dream (always and every night since then). He is drawn to the sight of a small flower in the blanket of snow. It’s peculiar, especially in the time of winter. He doesn’t understand why there is a flower growing in the dead of winter—still this idea of a flower growing puzzles him. He dreams the feeling of confusion, the same feelings he felt during that time, at the statement his mother had told him once that flowers die in the winter and in the spring they grow back. Then the flower had come alive – he had been so amazed by it. The rush of excitement pumps through his body when he dreams this dream. And then there are vines, latching – he feels surprised and afraid – but then the vines start to tickle him – he laughs out loud during this moment when he sleeps. The next part he knows, so very well, the anticipation grows so heavily in his heart at this moment. Eight appears, and their conversation and scene are played over and over. He knows the words, the next step in the storyline. Eventually, the part he hates the most, comes to play next. The dark bay stallion pulls into the thick trees, he runs after the stallion as fast as he could (and he is quite agile considering what he is), but it wasn’t enough, it never was every time he dreams this dream. He loses the bay stallion in the cold wintry forest, and Eight is simply gone—nonexistent in this world it truly feels now. Still to this day, he doesn’t know why he dreams the same dream every night. It has begun to tear him apart, the unknowing of what and why it always must be that dream. There seems to be no secret or hidden lesson in the dream itself either—Rome knows this because he thinks about the memory and the dream all the time. He cannot figure it out, and truthfully, he may never know the answer to it. This dream will forever haunt him. It haunts him right now as he stands in the meadow—recently coming down from the mountain and feeling completely lost for what he is. He is no longer the small ocelot horse (though he is still small and young) that had the cat like features and endurance that was far better than any other horses he knew. Instead, he woke up with a pair of wings. He isn’t sure how he got them, and doesn’t hate them entirely since he had always liked his mother’s wings. But everything right now seems out of order, almost chaotic like—the old kingdoms and herds are gone, except for the common lands. Uncertain of what to do, or where to go, he stands idly in the middle of the meadow. He becomes lost in his thoughts—mixed thoughts about the dream and in the new place that somehow is still called Beqanna—as he forgets the world around him. But when his name is called out in the silence, the familiar voice alive and so vivid, pulls him away from his self-analyzing of what has happened. His eyes widen in surprise and excitement all at once at the sight of the familiar dark bay. “Eight?” He says in a deeper voice, though still childish (but he is almost a full grown adult now). “The woods?” He asks, confused and dazed by the very event happening before him. He shakes his head, trying to get ahold of himself. “I did make it out,” he says returning his nutmeg eyes to him, “but you weren’t there.” The statement is said with a sad and disappointed voice. ROME tarnished x lucrezia RE: Take apart your head -- Rome - Eight - 09-08-2016 no matter what they say, I am still the king RE: Take apart your head -- Rome - Rome - 09-11-2016 he laid low the warriors of old Time went on. When Rome could not find Eight at the end of the woods, time went on. The days continued on as the sun rose up in the east and the sun set in the west. The season came and went as well. The autumn leaves fell, winter brought the cold snowflakes, spring restored life, and summer brought the heat. He became taller, filled out into more of a muscular form. He became faster and more agile than ever. But he, always and likely forever, remembered that day in the snow with Eight. The innocence in him remained—naïve and so curious of the world around him. Rome only sought of answers, never fearing what he wanted to know. Even if the answers to his curiosity held any wickedness or bad intentions he became more curious of it. It was everything in and out, and around the world that he wanted to know. He wanted to know why, what, and how it all worked. This magic around him, filled him constantly with wonder. And even now, in this very mess of a situation, he still wonders at the concept of it all. But, for now, his curiosity of the recent event in Beqanna has come to a halt. The very thing that has eaten him for days, months, and almost years, is finally standing before him. Eight stands in bones and flesh, not in blurry images of memories or dreams that only happen when he sleeps. Rome wonders at this very moment, even standing her listening and speaking to Eight, if this is even happening. It felt more like a dream, if he was to be completely open and honest to himself. He wonders what makes this time different than any other time when he went back to the woods to look for him. What was so special about this date and time? Did the world, some magic beyond all of this, need certain events to occur before he could see Eight again? It was all possible – this curiosity of his pushed him to believe so. Rome thinks over the answer to where he went. He didn’t like the answer very much, but it at least filled the empty void that ate at him for all this time. “Oh,” he simply says. It was satisfying at least to know that, but Rome was not too caught up in that. He had every part of him all on Eight – the creator of the flower that bloomed in the winter. The very idea of a flower capable of doing such bothers him, eats at him to know how it happens and is capable to live without the warmth and the sun. He laughs at his question. “I’m not sure how to with these things,” he says ruffling the wings a little. “It feels awkward.” Rome even wonders how his mother ever got used to her wings. He knows she had earned them while living in the Deserts, and even she had made it seemed easy to fly. “I don’t know if I even like them.” He says with a little frown, childlike almost. “I miss my paws… I could run so fast.” He says with a big grin, growing quickly on his lips. “You should’ve seen how faster I got every day, Eight.” His nutmeg eyes shin with brightness as he watches the magician. ROME tarnished x lucrezia |