04-14-2023, 07:06 PM
who could ever leave me, darling,
but who could stay?
but who could stay?
When she had heard that the Chamber had returned she had not expected the mixed emotions that would follow.
The first had been happiness, of course; a piece of the past once again risen, a place once thought lost brought again to the light. And she knew how much the kingdom had meant to Atrox—how much of his past was so deeply intertwined with it that anyone that had lived there knew the stories of the panther king that had given his very heart to it. She remembers the way his heart had once beat steadily beneath the soil, a sound that reverberated into the bones of any who walked there.
She remembers, later, wishing she had paid closer attention to it—wishing she would have known that someday that would be the heartbeat she wanted to hear more than anything.
She remembers, too, the long trek up the mountain, determined to get his heart back.
It had been a failed endeavor, returning instead without his heart and only new scars of her own—she still does not think Carnage knew why she had gone to the mountain, but she doubts the outcome would have been any different even if he had.
Selfish and insecure as always, the happiness is short-lived, and jealousy blooms like a toxic weed in its place. Perhaps she would feel differently if she had played a part in the Chamber returning, but she had not. It had been easier to live with her first failed attempt when she had thought it was impossible, that the old lands were lost forever; along with his heart. It felt like the universe was giving him the gift she had wanted nothing more than to give him herself, and it was all she could do to swallow the bitterness when it rose in her throat.
Mostly though, she is afraid.
Afraid that he will remember who he had been back then—that he had not been hers, just as she had not been his. That he will remember he had once had things worth dying and giving his heart up for, and that even if she would never ask it of him it is a thorn behind her ribs to think that he does not love her the same.
She knows she is being foolish, and also hypocritical. Her past is worse than his, and she has done things far more treacherous under the guise of being in love. It is why she looks beyond her projected insecurities and makes the suggestion that they go to the Chamber—just to see.
“Does it look the same to you?” she asks, her voice soft and cautious, once they finally arrive. Her own memories of the Chamber are dim; she had not been there many times before she lost her sight, having mostly kept to the Valley. She steals a sideways glance at him, searching for something in his reaction that she cannot even name.
The first had been happiness, of course; a piece of the past once again risen, a place once thought lost brought again to the light. And she knew how much the kingdom had meant to Atrox—how much of his past was so deeply intertwined with it that anyone that had lived there knew the stories of the panther king that had given his very heart to it. She remembers the way his heart had once beat steadily beneath the soil, a sound that reverberated into the bones of any who walked there.
She remembers, later, wishing she had paid closer attention to it—wishing she would have known that someday that would be the heartbeat she wanted to hear more than anything.
She remembers, too, the long trek up the mountain, determined to get his heart back.
It had been a failed endeavor, returning instead without his heart and only new scars of her own—she still does not think Carnage knew why she had gone to the mountain, but she doubts the outcome would have been any different even if he had.
Selfish and insecure as always, the happiness is short-lived, and jealousy blooms like a toxic weed in its place. Perhaps she would feel differently if she had played a part in the Chamber returning, but she had not. It had been easier to live with her first failed attempt when she had thought it was impossible, that the old lands were lost forever; along with his heart. It felt like the universe was giving him the gift she had wanted nothing more than to give him herself, and it was all she could do to swallow the bitterness when it rose in her throat.
Mostly though, she is afraid.
Afraid that he will remember who he had been back then—that he had not been hers, just as she had not been his. That he will remember he had once had things worth dying and giving his heart up for, and that even if she would never ask it of him it is a thorn behind her ribs to think that he does not love her the same.
She knows she is being foolish, and also hypocritical. Her past is worse than his, and she has done things far more treacherous under the guise of being in love. It is why she looks beyond her projected insecurities and makes the suggestion that they go to the Chamber—just to see.
“Does it look the same to you?” she asks, her voice soft and cautious, once they finally arrive. Her own memories of the Chamber are dim; she had not been there many times before she lost her sight, having mostly kept to the Valley. She steals a sideways glance at him, searching for something in his reaction that she cannot even name.
Ryatah