04-09-2023, 09:57 PM
KENSLEY
He knows what it means to be fleeting.
He has never been a permanent thing, Kensley. (This is the thing he resented most about his father, his impermanence, and it is the only thing he seems to have inherited from him.) He has roamed and cursed his wanderer’s heart the same way he cursed his father’s.
But this means that he knows exactly what she means. He knows what it means to be gone, to surface, to find whole landscapes changed, to find entire places altogether erased. As if they’d never been there at all.
As if the Chamber had never stood. As if he had never fallen in love there. As if he had never tried to stay.
(And he knows that it has risen, but he is frightened of what he might find there. Or, perhaps, of what he might not.)
He does not recognize the name and he wonders if he should. Not as someone he had known once, but rather as someone who had been Known. He had never had a mind for things. He had not loved Ana because she’d been a queen, perhaps he’d loved her in spite of it. (He who shied away from such things, he who had only ever been ordinary.)
“It seems every time I come back I have changed,” he says and exhales something that might have been a laugh in some past life. “Those changes seem to be the hardest to come to grips with. I would give anything to be a plain thing again,” he murmurs, shaking his head. What he means to say is he’d given anything to be young again.
He has never been a permanent thing, Kensley. (This is the thing he resented most about his father, his impermanence, and it is the only thing he seems to have inherited from him.) He has roamed and cursed his wanderer’s heart the same way he cursed his father’s.
But this means that he knows exactly what she means. He knows what it means to be gone, to surface, to find whole landscapes changed, to find entire places altogether erased. As if they’d never been there at all.
As if the Chamber had never stood. As if he had never fallen in love there. As if he had never tried to stay.
(And he knows that it has risen, but he is frightened of what he might find there. Or, perhaps, of what he might not.)
He does not recognize the name and he wonders if he should. Not as someone he had known once, but rather as someone who had been Known. He had never had a mind for things. He had not loved Ana because she’d been a queen, perhaps he’d loved her in spite of it. (He who shied away from such things, he who had only ever been ordinary.)
“It seems every time I come back I have changed,” he says and exhales something that might have been a laugh in some past life. “Those changes seem to be the hardest to come to grips with. I would give anything to be a plain thing again,” he murmurs, shaking his head. What he means to say is he’d given anything to be young again.
I WORSHIPPED AT THE ALTAR OF LOSING EVERYTHING )
@Cordis