02-24-2023, 01:58 PM
It was solitude that Animus always craved.
It was solitude that led him astray.
Never was he Draco’s golden boy nor Despoina’s avenger. A child, caught amidst the tides of cruelty and confusion, he drifted. His demon of a father always nudged him along, pressed quiet encouragement into his ears on the nights his body cracked and morphed into some otherworldly creature.
Animus was never a child with a strong constitution, never eager to learn the whims of his magic. Exhaustion became his lonely state—alone and adrift on a sea of changing lands and bright-eyed strangers. Solitude taught him the treasure of silence, soothed the heat of abandonment, nurtured an enlightened
independence.
It was solitude that saved him.
Perhaps Animus is the kind of quiet stoic that never lets another in, the kind of jaded that cannot and will not understand love, the certain kind of determined that damns him to a wretched fate—he knows he has been damned since birth. The jaws of Hell hiss and bite but they will no longer frighten him. He knows he
wears those flaming teeth when he so desires. The Devil’s taunts merely bolster him.
It’s the secrets of his solitude that save him as the world changes.
Around the bend of trees gleams the silky scales of a queen. The king shimmers with crimson. Animus throws his head up, nostrils flaring as a snort of quiet surprise escapes his throat. Black like his father,
crimson like his eyes.
“Go, Animus.”
The man’s skin crawls as his body changes.
“Go.”
Animus takes a single, stumbling step back as his father’s voice rings true in his head.
Upon the bank, a shadow grows spiraling, sharp horns.
It was solitude that led him astray.
Never was he Draco’s golden boy nor Despoina’s avenger. A child, caught amidst the tides of cruelty and confusion, he drifted. His demon of a father always nudged him along, pressed quiet encouragement into his ears on the nights his body cracked and morphed into some otherworldly creature.
Animus was never a child with a strong constitution, never eager to learn the whims of his magic. Exhaustion became his lonely state—alone and adrift on a sea of changing lands and bright-eyed strangers. Solitude taught him the treasure of silence, soothed the heat of abandonment, nurtured an enlightened
independence.
It was solitude that saved him.
Perhaps Animus is the kind of quiet stoic that never lets another in, the kind of jaded that cannot and will not understand love, the certain kind of determined that damns him to a wretched fate—he knows he has been damned since birth. The jaws of Hell hiss and bite but they will no longer frighten him. He knows he
wears those flaming teeth when he so desires. The Devil’s taunts merely bolster him.
It’s the secrets of his solitude that save him as the world changes.
Around the bend of trees gleams the silky scales of a queen. The king shimmers with crimson. Animus throws his head up, nostrils flaring as a snort of quiet surprise escapes his throat. Black like his father,
crimson like his eyes.
“Go, Animus.”
The man’s skin crawls as his body changes.
“Go.”
Animus takes a single, stumbling step back as his father’s voice rings true in his head.
Upon the bank, a shadow grows spiraling, sharp horns.