12-12-2021, 08:14 PM
mazikeen
Gale had said he’d come, and though the threat loomed over her Mazikeen hadn’t let it needle at her. She hadn’t let its shadow touch what she was trying to repair, the light she was enjoying living with. The new and old joys she was discovering in this life that felt right, even if it had too much sorrow to feel completely whole.
She doesn’t even get a chance to feel shock when she steps into the clearing at the exact moment she watches her son and daughter have their throats slit by their father.
No shock, no numbness to shield her from the hurricane force of her grief.
The sound that erupts from Mazikeen is not one she has ever made before. She had shut down when Sickle had died, blocked off her emotions and even when she had cried out afterwards it had been a simple wail of distress. This time, though it is tempting to try for the emptiness again, her emotions wash through her with an intensity that makes her knees shake. It is a scream, a howl, a cry - it is unearthly in its pain and anger and horror.
This time, she does not care whether all of Hyaline or Beqanna can hear her. She does not care if it draws others to this fight because this time.
All along she thought she had to do it on her own but that’s wrong. She wants all the help she can get.
If she was strong enough to defeat him, she would’ve done it already. And she doesn’t want to die alone.
Her eyes focus on the fallen bodies of her children and she knows she can’t die. Not yet. Not even when the pain in her chest feels like it could take her down all on its own.
Coherent thought slips away from her or she might have tried to call out for Firion. And perhaps a sign of her lack of clarity is that she actually thinks she would need to shout his name to get his attention after that cry had echoed through Hyaline. If he could come, he would.
Grief churns into anger which then empties out her mind. It blooms across her skin in white-hot markings that crack along her skin just before she becomes engulfed in flames. A phoenix made of pale fire, except for the burning brands of her eyes that only just now move to Gale. She cannot tell if she cries out again or if it is just the echoes still reverberating from that last one. And she knows, she knows she can’t lose herself fully to her anger - it makes her sloppy - and so she is a conflict of desires. To give in, to let the fire fill her as it had when she was not herself, or to hold onto everything that keeps her rooted in this life. Even if two of those roots are now severed.
No, Myrna will be fine. She can heal. It is Malik she needs to find help for. It can’t be over like this. She cannot have failed him so spectacularly yet again.
Kill Gale, find help. Kill Gale, find help.
These thoughts seem to replace her heartbeat, the rhythm of them matching her wing beats as she closes the gap between them, a sharp hooked beak matching the talons that stretch out, glinting in the light she casts and seeking purchase in flesh.
She doesn’t even get a chance to feel shock when she steps into the clearing at the exact moment she watches her son and daughter have their throats slit by their father.
No shock, no numbness to shield her from the hurricane force of her grief.
The sound that erupts from Mazikeen is not one she has ever made before. She had shut down when Sickle had died, blocked off her emotions and even when she had cried out afterwards it had been a simple wail of distress. This time, though it is tempting to try for the emptiness again, her emotions wash through her with an intensity that makes her knees shake. It is a scream, a howl, a cry - it is unearthly in its pain and anger and horror.
This time, she does not care whether all of Hyaline or Beqanna can hear her. She does not care if it draws others to this fight because this time.
All along she thought she had to do it on her own but that’s wrong. She wants all the help she can get.
If she was strong enough to defeat him, she would’ve done it already. And she doesn’t want to die alone.
Her eyes focus on the fallen bodies of her children and she knows she can’t die. Not yet. Not even when the pain in her chest feels like it could take her down all on its own.
Coherent thought slips away from her or she might have tried to call out for Firion. And perhaps a sign of her lack of clarity is that she actually thinks she would need to shout his name to get his attention after that cry had echoed through Hyaline. If he could come, he would.
Grief churns into anger which then empties out her mind. It blooms across her skin in white-hot markings that crack along her skin just before she becomes engulfed in flames. A phoenix made of pale fire, except for the burning brands of her eyes that only just now move to Gale. She cannot tell if she cries out again or if it is just the echoes still reverberating from that last one. And she knows, she knows she can’t lose herself fully to her anger - it makes her sloppy - and so she is a conflict of desires. To give in, to let the fire fill her as it had when she was not herself, or to hold onto everything that keeps her rooted in this life. Even if two of those roots are now severed.
No, Myrna will be fine. She can heal. It is Malik she needs to find help for. It can’t be over like this. She cannot have failed him so spectacularly yet again.
Kill Gale, find help. Kill Gale, find help.
These thoughts seem to replace her heartbeat, the rhythm of them matching her wing beats as she closes the gap between them, a sharp hooked beak matching the talons that stretch out, glinting in the light she casts and seeking purchase in flesh.
@
Gale