05-24-2024, 11:00 AM
EVERCLEAR
Everclear has struggled with madness before, long ago when much of his life had been oppressed by darkness. He had been lost already, wayward and woeful in the wake of heartache and loss. In the midst of this misery he had discovered his relation to the peacekeeper of the Valley, the endearing little mare whose life had been made an endless struggle by her twisted limbs. Fleshlip had always been charming and kind, a rarity in such grim places as the ‘evil’ kingdom, but no amount of sweetness could survive there for long. Everclear had watched as his great-granddaughter’s body had been torn and rent by her own spawn; Virgo’s entry to the world had tipped the scales against him.
No, not simply tipped – fully upended.
Years he had spent with a mind swirling in devastation and confusion, clouded beyond perception so that nothing made sense.
But then Spyglass had found him and brought him to Heaven. She had called him ‘angel’ and treated him as such. Perhaps it was the aftermath of the madness that had cemented the notion into his mind – that they, the residents of Heaven’s Gates, were indeed an ethereal band. Perhaps that is why the notion has stuck so firmly into his mind now, and the foal-fairy he had recently encountered only perpetuated this belief by bestowing the halo upon him.
Regardless, he recognizes the struggle within Deiti now, from her sudden string of plaintive words and the way she lashed out at him.
(Some part of him almost wonders whether his blood might taste any differently from others.)
The woman retaliates with fury and he is not surprised. Her voice is shrill against the darkness and he bears it with grace, waiting patiently for her fit to finish. This petulant sort of anger reminds him of an angry child, of a trodden snake or a wounded wolf, the way they retaliate without thought or consideration for their actions, and he only takes a steadying breath to try and calm his still-racing heart. Blood still traces against his dappled shoulder, but it does not concern him – he knows the existent magic in his blood will not allow him to die, especially not from so minor a wound (compared to those he has suffered in the past).
When she finally acquiesces with a discernible flicker in her eyes, Everclear nods his head slightly and eases some of the tension from his muscles again. Her name falls like a plea from her lips as she meets his gaze fully and he smiles softly with relief. Perhaps he would not have to fight her after all.
He steps cautiously closer again (though still not close enough for her to reach him; he is wary of enticing her with the sour scent of blood) and as his light touches upon her face again he notes the softness there now as compared to the sharpened angles it seemed to have borne before.
“No,” he says carefully, firmly, as distress stains her voice. “I have seen plenty of others who were certainly beyond help. I do not believe you are one of them.” In all his years, he’s seen so many different forms of what could actually be considered evil, of gruesome and blatantly sinister beings whose grins were even sharper than hers and their hearts even darker.
“I may not know you well, Deiti,” he goes on, reminiscent of his conversation with Myrna, “but I can see that you are fighting this conflict. I believe the key to overcoming any such internal dispute is faith. In yourself, in something else…” He tilts his head a little, glancing toward the openness of the kingdom again.
“You say this happens often?” he muses next, focused on her again. “Perhaps the first step is to discover what triggers it, or why. Does anything come to mind?”
No, not simply tipped – fully upended.
Years he had spent with a mind swirling in devastation and confusion, clouded beyond perception so that nothing made sense.
But then Spyglass had found him and brought him to Heaven. She had called him ‘angel’ and treated him as such. Perhaps it was the aftermath of the madness that had cemented the notion into his mind – that they, the residents of Heaven’s Gates, were indeed an ethereal band. Perhaps that is why the notion has stuck so firmly into his mind now, and the foal-fairy he had recently encountered only perpetuated this belief by bestowing the halo upon him.
Regardless, he recognizes the struggle within Deiti now, from her sudden string of plaintive words and the way she lashed out at him.
(Some part of him almost wonders whether his blood might taste any differently from others.)
The woman retaliates with fury and he is not surprised. Her voice is shrill against the darkness and he bears it with grace, waiting patiently for her fit to finish. This petulant sort of anger reminds him of an angry child, of a trodden snake or a wounded wolf, the way they retaliate without thought or consideration for their actions, and he only takes a steadying breath to try and calm his still-racing heart. Blood still traces against his dappled shoulder, but it does not concern him – he knows the existent magic in his blood will not allow him to die, especially not from so minor a wound (compared to those he has suffered in the past).
When she finally acquiesces with a discernible flicker in her eyes, Everclear nods his head slightly and eases some of the tension from his muscles again. Her name falls like a plea from her lips as she meets his gaze fully and he smiles softly with relief. Perhaps he would not have to fight her after all.
He steps cautiously closer again (though still not close enough for her to reach him; he is wary of enticing her with the sour scent of blood) and as his light touches upon her face again he notes the softness there now as compared to the sharpened angles it seemed to have borne before.
“No,” he says carefully, firmly, as distress stains her voice. “I have seen plenty of others who were certainly beyond help. I do not believe you are one of them.” In all his years, he’s seen so many different forms of what could actually be considered evil, of gruesome and blatantly sinister beings whose grins were even sharper than hers and their hearts even darker.
“I may not know you well, Deiti,” he goes on, reminiscent of his conversation with Myrna, “but I can see that you are fighting this conflict. I believe the key to overcoming any such internal dispute is faith. In yourself, in something else…” He tilts his head a little, glancing toward the openness of the kingdom again.
“You say this happens often?” he muses next, focused on her again. “Perhaps the first step is to discover what triggers it, or why. Does anything come to mind?”
@
Deiti