i burn from the hell i've seen, but the devil can't hold me down
Loneliness was unavoidable for immortals. It hung around the edges of the soul, a scentless gas that poisoned slowly but efficiently. It invaded the mind first, the easiest point of entry. The mind, for all its amazing powers, was weak. Shortly after the mind was filled with the smoke of longing, it moved on to the heart. How grand the design of living creatures was, to place the poor heart behind the bars of the ribs! An attempt at protection, but smoke and gas do not play by the same rules as other things that seek to break hearts. The ribs were nothing to a poison gas, and so too would the heart would fall quickly to the pangs of loneliness. Not broken, perhaps. Still beating stubbornly against its feeble cage, the sound echoing through that poison fog. But its beats were bitter things. They did not change in pattern. They did not change in speed. They simply went on, doing the same thing they had always done, unending.
Despite the passage of time and the years behind him, he had never failed to watch the sunset and react accordingly. The colors were always different, the patterns wild and untamed. They could not be replicated, even though his own coat mimicked the color of a sunset, with the dark inky blue chasing away the bright orange of daylight. He had a ritual for the evening time that started with his eyes on the horizon. He would watch carefully, his heart cheering on the sun but always a part of his soul willing the moon victorious. He would remain stoic throughout the display, though his skin would tremble in anticipation. Finally, when the sun would relent and disappear, he would emerge. Not in the plain form he had been born into, but as fire made flesh and feather. It was his way of trying to burn the loneliness away.
He arrived into the meadow on those firey wings, brighter than the surrounding stars and much more tangible. Sparks flew from his wings as he sang, an otherworldly song that resonated right down to the very marrow of a living creatures bone. It was a song that spoke of love, of loss, of betrayal and desperation and all other things in between. It had no beginning, no end, it simply was. As if the world had known the song all along, but had no voice worthy of singing it. He banked across the sky like a meteor, using the fire around him to propel himself faster and faster. He performed for no one but himself, though he would not pass up conversation if a conversation presented itself. For now, the meadow lay empty and sleeping, lulled by the music he could not keep in his lonely, sad heart.
Despite the passage of time and the years behind him, he had never failed to watch the sunset and react accordingly. The colors were always different, the patterns wild and untamed. They could not be replicated, even though his own coat mimicked the color of a sunset, with the dark inky blue chasing away the bright orange of daylight. He had a ritual for the evening time that started with his eyes on the horizon. He would watch carefully, his heart cheering on the sun but always a part of his soul willing the moon victorious. He would remain stoic throughout the display, though his skin would tremble in anticipation. Finally, when the sun would relent and disappear, he would emerge. Not in the plain form he had been born into, but as fire made flesh and feather. It was his way of trying to burn the loneliness away.
He arrived into the meadow on those firey wings, brighter than the surrounding stars and much more tangible. Sparks flew from his wings as he sang, an otherworldly song that resonated right down to the very marrow of a living creatures bone. It was a song that spoke of love, of loss, of betrayal and desperation and all other things in between. It had no beginning, no end, it simply was. As if the world had known the song all along, but had no voice worthy of singing it. He banked across the sky like a meteor, using the fire around him to propel himself faster and faster. He performed for no one but himself, though he would not pass up conversation if a conversation presented itself. For now, the meadow lay empty and sleeping, lulled by the music he could not keep in his lonely, sad heart.
fireheart
ooc- he's brand new and i'm not brand new but very old and returning after a long hiatus, lol!