that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
The curse grows heavier with each passing day.
It nearly drives him from Beqanna entirely. Nearly drives him mad. There are days where he considers letting it. Would it be the worst thing, he wonders, to descend into true madness? Would there be any who miss him? Who notice him missing? He’s not so certain any longer. He’s not so certain that he knows who he is any longer or if he has simply found himself into a looping nightmare. An endless cycle of it.
When dawn breaks, the curse breaks with it.
He stands in the shadows of the forest as the sun finds him. As its watery light begins to wash over him and draw him forth from the muck and the mire. Life floods back through his crushed barrel. The veins that had collapsed expand once more. His lungs fill. His flesh knits together, the grey curled edges of them finding themselves and turning to the sheen of gold once more. He shudders as his heart starts once more.
When he draws his first breath again, it’s with a gasp.
It does not get easier.
Firion closes his eyes and tries to settle himself. Tries to control the shaking that will inevitably come. It is an alarming feeling to come back to ones self and have no idea where his body had been the night before. When he does open his eyes, he realizes that he is near the meadow and something like cold fear laces up his spine. He suspects that his body eats at night—his belly always feels uncomfortably full in the morning—but he does not know what it finds. What it eats. What twists in himself.
He prefers to not know.
When he finally does move from his spot, he is composed once more. To the outside eye, he looks simply like a young stallion in his prime—healthy, robust. It’s only him that knows how his insides rot.
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
@[Mazikeen] surprise!