"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
The day has grown a humid moth: whimsy and fluttering against the stark morrow-light. And there lays Hyaline, sprawling at the whim of twilight and ambiguity; swathed in sterling and birdsong. Khaedrik tastes this, indifferent and khol-eyed as he comes - - a monster, a revelation of the twisted.
He weaves through the worlds like some sickly worm, bone-pale and aimless, not belonging anywhere. Dead-hearted, with shadow and smoke tendrils wound about his legs, like parasite vines. Hyaline´s bright-hot sun stings against fevered eyes. Burns prickly hot against his matted flesh, swathed in shadow and ruin. Hyaline was as becoming as ever, wrapped in the mystery of a new day and shrouded with the secrecy of its timeless passion. But Khaedrik is not astonished by this subtle beauty; adorning the back of every leaf and bated in the eyes of every soul that inhabits these lands. No, his eyes are set on the path he threads, and in his wake the shadows follow – yellow-eyed and terrible, as if every step he takes makes the world a darker place.
He is void-dust and stale apathy, but he is homeward bound and that is enough to smooth the edges of the void in his chest. He sends the wolf to find her; his queen of dreams, his unbending, unwavering sister. It does not move like a wolf would – but like a ghost of liquid smoke, blending in and out of the darkness. He trusts her to know who has come home for a visit as the monster finds her. There is a throb of guilt in his chest – a child’s mellow voice telling him that he should visit his other Hyalinian friends. How long since you spoke to Ilma, Solace, your nephew? But then he remembers her with asphyxiating clarity. He remembers, and the world falls apart.
Oh, part of him wishes for nothing more than to recoil into the tender gloom. Wrap himself in darkness and regret – but the other part, the greater part longs for the motley face of his sister.
But when she comes it is not the face he remembers so well and loves, but something twisted. His cold eternity-eyes trail across the scar that disfigures her beautiful face. It seems as though his sister has been maimed. For the most fleeting of seconds – his eyes dart to his own creature; a monster of shadow and sharp-claws. But the thought is instantly shed, his creations would never hurt her, she is his blood, and the wound is not fresh. His tormented eyes soften as they meet hers but his voice is steel and ice as he speaks
”Who should I kill for this?”
@[Kagerus] I thought they should have a new thread <3 since I am a shameless stalker I read about her scar, but let me know if you want me to change anything <33
{ and in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times }
Underneath the layers of snow which cloak Hyaline to near invisibility, a strong, thrumming heartbeat can almost be heard; at least, I hear it in my dreams. Despite the fact that we are but barely two queens, two council members and some children, Hyaline lives passionately (if quietly) beneath the layer of ghostly whiteness. And though I know that She exists for more than just my family and I, representing something far greater than our short blink of an existence, I feel that she grows alongside us all the same. In line with the scar which now poisons my once unchallenged beauty, Hyaline too has come to bear something more worthwhile than meekness and grace.
There's a strength to Her voice, a firmness where something once wavered: in the depths of Her heart, Hyaline has found a fire by which to live, despite how it scalds her innards.
It's been too long since last my brother made his moonly visit, called forward by the night - or at least, he usually is. It's broad daylight when the scent of his magic sweeps along the drafts of the winter's wind, ruining my focus as I pause along the route of my southern border patrol. My antlers reach skyward as I raise my nose to the scent, attempting to decipher from whence it came; but my darling brother leaves little to be questioned, in what ways he can manage. Nutmeg eyes sparking like wildfires, a piercing whinny soars with the breeze, calling my brother to me with eager desperation.
The wolf - strange, utterly - beckons to me wordlessly, a wraith where one might imagine only angels come. It's bone-yellow gaze insights something akin to a fight or flight response in me, sending chemicals racing through my veins and slickening my perception of this reality. But there is no predator here, and the only thing to which I must run is Khaedrik. Lead me, I think to the arcane magic, stepping towards its otherworldly movement slows and spins in a new direction. Follow, it whispers back; and I do.
He seems pensive, anxious, when I find him. The smile that parts my lips is not unlike the scar which now cleaves my face in two, a new development on what was once otherwise stagnant. But the expression on his face in turn gives pause to my joy. His perceptive eyes cut the wolf at my side, but we have the same thought at the same moment: No. His magic would never harm me. Instead, I'm left feeling dry-mouthed and concerned, awaiting his reaction to my newfound mutilation; panic loosens my tongue, and we speak at once.
"I'm sorry I'm not beautiful any more."
A split moment afterward, my brain pieces together what he'd said beneath my own words; an uncomfortable laugh shakes my frame, eyes dropping as I realize that both of us are being quite stupid - though I also know that my brother is being dead serious. Stepping forward, I place my mouth just on his, our whiskers mixing. Once, I'd soothed his nightmares and held him curled against my chest, a babe; but before me now is an undeniably grown man, existing utterly in his own right when once I might have had a say.
"No one, little brother," I murmur against his lips, looking up at him from below my lashes. Above, my antlers arc over his head, hiding us both beneath their branched might. "It's nothing... But what is something is the politics." My eyes drop, brows furrowing, sigh blossoming from the depths of my lungs. "And you are perhaps the only one who can help me escape them."
The cadence of his heart steadies as his gaze of endless black meet hers. Kagerus, scar or no scar, flesh made to atrophy, and mind made to glory has always soothed the boy of shadows and ruin with her mere presence. His eyes (turmoil and darkness) close against her touch – and for a breath he lets go of the control he so desperately clings to.
He ghosts his own lips along her whiskers, and there is a smile as he answers her worries. ”If anything it gives you more character.” - as if his queen of dreams with her crown of thorns needed it. She wears her resolve like armour – and he can see that the labour of ruling her nation has begun to grate on her. If he could, he would have plucked the millstone from her neck – carried it together with his own but he knows it´s not possible. She has her own demons, just as he has his.
The way in which the dawning light streamlined from his body left the shadows in a wake of confusion, misting, it seemed, in the dying humidity. The pale rays of a yawning sun glowed faintly against the striking gold of his coat, forcing the darkness on him to retreat into silence. The air thinned and his breathing grew steadier, relieved of the weight that the shadows constantly burdened him with. He relished in the coolness as it sighed against his flesh. ”Politics is a cloying concept.” it is an enigmatic voice that slips out between his lips and it is rare that he makes known his arcane thoughts – but this is more musing than speech, it is hesitant and weary when it treads upon the winds to not dance but tiptoe to her ear.
He pauses, and the scent of clean, cold air intoxicated his senses as he breathed it. There were memories in the fresh air that brought him faded images of a past he lived to forget, and as they swam before his vision he struggled to see past them into the honeydew eyes of his sister. Somewhere, outside the canopy of her antlers his wolf howled, and he shuddered.
”How is all your children?” he murmurs, just to say something; he longs for the mundane, for senseless banter and hard-earned smiles. Things lacking in his life.
@[Kagerus] <3 sorry about the crapiness - but I just wanted to get something up for you
{ and in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times }
In the closing of his eyes and the letting go of the breath that we both knew he was holding, I sense a small victory for my brother. His soul weighs heavy with the ink of abstract, his being woven together entirely but what only makes up a half of mine. We find in each other an equilibrium, a setting aside of wrongdoings in the name of familiarity and safety; even fifteen year my younger, the stallion before me is wise in his arcane darkness, a prophet of the shadows when all else have failed to meet said calling.
The soft brush of his lips against mine settles my stomach, though I'd not realized it's clenching. A sharp chuckle sends a billow of steamy breath around our closely held faces, its cloud cut into pieces by the branches of my antlers; many pieces of one whole. "Yes, because I of anyone was lacking in character." But I can tell by the way his smile lingers and by the almost tangible mental connection between us that he feels the same way; he knows me as none other might, once as a protector but now as an equal. My own eyes close momentarily at the thought. It's not a feeling I want to forget.
When my eyes open, the dawning sun is whisking away Khaedrik's shadows - or perhaps they are running from its radiance. My lips momentarily leave his to playfully bite at a thread of darkness lingering near his ear, a terribly odd coolness filling my mouth and making me smile at the alienness of it all. Of us. It's all I can think of some days, of how he's the only one who could truly understand my specific breed of darkness; Abysm might, in time, being a dreamweaver himself, but I hope he'll remain unstained by the voices and the weight. Lips tingling, I step forward and begin grooming Khaedrik's newly lightened neck, ears tipped back to hear what he has to say to my simple request.
"I would hardly use cloying to describe it, brother." My mouth lifts off his skin as I give my answer. "It is disgusting yes, but not for any excess of sweetness. I'd rather say there's nothing sweet about it." A scoff. "In fact, it tastes utterly sour."
But Khaedrik seems lost in thought, and so I pass the time by working at his fur and giving him the physical attention I am positive he is being denied in the other areas of his life. What at last seems to revive the stallion is the unnerving howl of his wolf; and my body, too, shudders in response.
How are all your children? It's absent still, his voice teeming with otherworldly thoughts and what I interpret as longing. Longing for what, I can't quite say... But it's one I try my hardest to meet.
Stepping back to consider his question, my eyes fall to the scenery before returning gently to Khaedrik. "Abysm will never be fond of me, but when he thinks I'm not watching, I can see that he loves his siblings - and that's more than I could have ever asked for. Velk is looking for his purpose, I'm a little suspicious that Valdis has been stolen by -- but nevermind that, that's the politics I was hoping to avoid." I chuckle, clearly unperturbed by my adopted daughter's potential abduction - because it's being dealt with, of course.
"And the triplets, well, they're yet young. Warlight is bright and determined and reminds me so much of Warrick. Sviko is young-hearted and absorbed largely in his own mind... I hope he doesn't stay lost forever. And Rhaegor - well, he's been out recruiting and he's trying so hard to make friends. But it's hard, with his mutism. He'll get through though."
I pause, ear flicking back. There's been another addition to this family too, came her telepathic voice from not far off in a nearby copse. A grin widens my expression, and I beckon the leopard with a swish of my tail. "There's also Panthera, though I certainly didn't birth her. My reward for runner up in the alliance."
The big cat stalks forward, purring almost louder than an avalanche; and without a mote of hesitation, her languid body presses and wraps itself around his legs, across his barrel, and then whips around and repeat. Throwing her weight back, the cat - more kitten as she meets one who I love so so strongly - stands on her hind legs and bats at his nose harmlessly, a kiss of a snarl revealing the teeth which she has used to save my life before.
My laughter rises in billowing steam as I watch the scene play out, but my next question is serious, delivered at the most inappropriate time all things considered, but that's what's special about us; there's no right time or place. There's only now.
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