07-28-2021, 08:48 PM
I can see through you, see your true colors
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
For the first time in his young immortal life, Ob was at a crossroads.
When he had awoken, he had been certain it was all a dream. Just another bad trip, another overly vivid hallucination from one too many red-petaled flowers. Except the nauseating smell of blood and shit and roasted crab lingered in his nostrils. Because he could see the smoke fading around him. Because a smattering of golden stars were now burned along his pristine chest. A reminder of the last thing he had seen before he had been glitched back into the reality of which he belonged.
He stood on the cliff by the sea and he thought. Retreating slowly into himself as he brooded over the brackish waves. His mood as dark as the monsoons of summer. Everything in that world had been real. As real as he was. As real as the thing slithering in the darkest parts of him. That dragon, all those deaths… the fire snake. All of it. He understands now. He understands. That thing he can’t control inside of him, that thing that is a part of him but not. It will consume him. Like he had once warned his niece, it would consume him and then consume the world. It started with flares of emotion, emotions that even he cannot deny any longer. It would surpass that, not even needing an emotion to spark its ascent. Until he would become lost inside it, the mind of a hungry senseless beast taking over everything that he was.
It wasn’t a matter of soon, it was only a matter of when.
It is his turn to avoid his partner, his deviously deceptive Seneschal, to stay out of reach of what she might sense in him and manipulate in turn. The ghost of the Pampas avoids him in turn, when he thinks he might seek her out. But it’s all just a distraction, a procrastination. To figure out what he was going to do about it. And he can’t. He can’t find the answer. So he turns back to an old favorite, sinks into the farthest state of inebriation he can reach and still be standing. It’s all he knows, after all. And he wanders.
He wanders from the idyllic wildflower fields and explores regions he hasn’t seen before with only Light as his companion. He wanders back to old haunts and faces even older ghosts. He almost steps into Tephra, into his birth-land, and then thinks better of it. Finally he finds himself in a familiar place. What had been home long before he claimed the Pampas.
Where he had first met her.
It always comes back to her. That annoyingly grating tone of her voice, the pretentious jeweled princess of the South, taken under the Queen’s own wing. Pampered and precocious, as always. She was everything that he hated in others, everything he hated about himself. And yet he can never get too far from her image, of that memory when she had once been pressed against his chest. The kiss that he still thinks of even after the most satisfying of nights with Aela.
Her silence is deafening and he cannot forget.
Perhaps she had cursed him that day in the Meadow. Yes, he must be bewitched. When he had seemed to be summoned by a storm and she was there with doe eyes and a heart that seemed to open entirely before him. He couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand a lie. She was so easy to pierce with a few simple words. It was so easy to make her hate him. Too easy. It was for the best after all. That’s what he still told himself, even now. To keep everyone out and just in arms reach. Not too close. Especially not an open heart like hers.
He had told her something once, here where he is standing. A truth amongst his lies in that night they had sheltered from the storm.
(“Fae do not control death.” He states, just loud enough to be heard over the continued crashing above them. “They tell riddles, they trick unsuspecting ignorant horses, they play with magic as if it’s nothing but they do not control the whims of death.” He pauses, continuing to keep his gaze elsewhere. “Fae cannot lie. Ask them if you don’t believe me.”)
He broods, a dark figure in the lush open hills with a small glowing orb hovering above his head, and he wonders. And the thing inside of him stills and waits.
When he had awoken, he had been certain it was all a dream. Just another bad trip, another overly vivid hallucination from one too many red-petaled flowers. Except the nauseating smell of blood and shit and roasted crab lingered in his nostrils. Because he could see the smoke fading around him. Because a smattering of golden stars were now burned along his pristine chest. A reminder of the last thing he had seen before he had been glitched back into the reality of which he belonged.
He stood on the cliff by the sea and he thought. Retreating slowly into himself as he brooded over the brackish waves. His mood as dark as the monsoons of summer. Everything in that world had been real. As real as he was. As real as the thing slithering in the darkest parts of him. That dragon, all those deaths… the fire snake. All of it. He understands now. He understands. That thing he can’t control inside of him, that thing that is a part of him but not. It will consume him. Like he had once warned his niece, it would consume him and then consume the world. It started with flares of emotion, emotions that even he cannot deny any longer. It would surpass that, not even needing an emotion to spark its ascent. Until he would become lost inside it, the mind of a hungry senseless beast taking over everything that he was.
It wasn’t a matter of soon, it was only a matter of when.
It is his turn to avoid his partner, his deviously deceptive Seneschal, to stay out of reach of what she might sense in him and manipulate in turn. The ghost of the Pampas avoids him in turn, when he thinks he might seek her out. But it’s all just a distraction, a procrastination. To figure out what he was going to do about it. And he can’t. He can’t find the answer. So he turns back to an old favorite, sinks into the farthest state of inebriation he can reach and still be standing. It’s all he knows, after all. And he wanders.
He wanders from the idyllic wildflower fields and explores regions he hasn’t seen before with only Light as his companion. He wanders back to old haunts and faces even older ghosts. He almost steps into Tephra, into his birth-land, and then thinks better of it. Finally he finds himself in a familiar place. What had been home long before he claimed the Pampas.
Where he had first met her.
It always comes back to her. That annoyingly grating tone of her voice, the pretentious jeweled princess of the South, taken under the Queen’s own wing. Pampered and precocious, as always. She was everything that he hated in others, everything he hated about himself. And yet he can never get too far from her image, of that memory when she had once been pressed against his chest. The kiss that he still thinks of even after the most satisfying of nights with Aela.
Her silence is deafening and he cannot forget.
Perhaps she had cursed him that day in the Meadow. Yes, he must be bewitched. When he had seemed to be summoned by a storm and she was there with doe eyes and a heart that seemed to open entirely before him. He couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand a lie. She was so easy to pierce with a few simple words. It was so easy to make her hate him. Too easy. It was for the best after all. That’s what he still told himself, even now. To keep everyone out and just in arms reach. Not too close. Especially not an open heart like hers.
He had told her something once, here where he is standing. A truth amongst his lies in that night they had sheltered from the storm.
(“Fae do not control death.” He states, just loud enough to be heard over the continued crashing above them. “They tell riddles, they trick unsuspecting ignorant horses, they play with magic as if it’s nothing but they do not control the whims of death.” He pauses, continuing to keep his gaze elsewhere. “Fae cannot lie. Ask them if you don’t believe me.”)
He broods, a dark figure in the lush open hills with a small glowing orb hovering above his head, and he wonders. And the thing inside of him stills and waits.
obscene
@Cheri
![[Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/fTkjKh9Q/Obscene-Pixel.png){kind=tracking}