I counted my blessings, now I'll count this curse; oksana

[magnus]

we all carry these things that no one else can see
they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea

It has now been days since he had been pulled from his saltwater-grave and spat onto the beach. It has been days since his body had reformed under the waves and refashioned into something new; his lungs inflating with air and strength flooding back into his body. It had been strange, to crawl back onto he sand where his life had bled away; even stranger to walk back into the meadow where there were more unknown faces than ones he recognized. Still, the part that has been the most surprising was the way his memories had become piecemeal—the way he would grasp onto a thought only to have it filter between his fingers and fall away again. It was frustrating to grasp onto an idea only to have it gone but a second later.

Not to mention that the order had left his temperament…temperamental. 

There were times when he felt at peace, like at the dawn, when he sat and watched strangers flood into the meadow one or two at a time. There was a tranquility in that silence before conversation broke it. He almost did not recognize himself in these moments because so little of his life had been peaceful; during these moments, he felt himself anticipating Joelle’s approach. His heartbeat was languid, and he felt at ease. 

But it was a lie.

Then there were other times when he felt the sorrow that his life had been steeped in for so long. He felt the grief as deep as his marrow—his failures overcoming him one by one. He saw those that he had fought so hard to protect broken and bloody. He saw his kingdom in flames. He saw Joelle falling into the ocean. He saw his friends being overcome by battle. All the tragedies he had done his best to avoid and yet always seemed so powerless to stop. No matter how hard he worked, he hadn’t been able to stop them.

But, at night. At night was when he felt the rage and the violence. It was part of his bloodline and perhaps what had cosmically tied him to Makai. The fury was his birthright and the darkness was his home. But, unlike Makai, he did not spend his life indulging that desire. He did not exploit it like Atrox. He had, instead, fought against it. He had tried so hard to turn his cheek to the shadows of his very nature and deny the predator within him. Ultimately, it had been a mistake. He could only hold back the dam for so long before it had sprung a leak…and that leak had been catastrophic. It had forced him to look into the mirror and stare at what he had always known about himself, at what his family had always known.

So in the coolness of midnight, he stood under the branches of the same tree, feeling the breeze along his back, sweat sickening his neck. It was easy to get lost in the anger—both righteous and not. He wanted to rail against the heavens for what he had lost; he wanted to break others to right his wrongs. As in his first life, Magnus spent his nights wrestling with his demons—and he often won. Tonight, he did not.

His gold-flecked eyes were sharp and wild as he began to move into the meadow, hoping to distract himself from the poison leaking through him, the memories that slipped knives under his ribs like thieves in the night. His mouth was a harsh scowl, his handsome face stony as he moved with a grace both inherited and learned, his step smooth before he came to a sudden stop, watching the mare with piqued interest. There was something about her that stirred memories. Perhaps there was something about her that reminded him of Joelle—perhaps he was simply fated to meet his fallen brother’s love.

Regardless, he was powerless to stop himself from approaching.

He circled around so that she could see him approaching, the moonlight’s silver light spilling over the golden dusk of his coat, Magnus doing his best to temper the flames in his eyes. Perhaps she too would notice something familiar about him: the anguish that his family wore so well, the barely contained feral nature, the edge to his otherwise polite words. “Hello.” He paused, shifting restlessly as he looked at her, wondering at the twisting in his gut. “My name is Magnus.” Another pause. “Do we know each other?”

MAGNUS

once king. once general. once dead.