05-20-2015, 11:54 PM
there's no religion that could save me
no matter how long my knees are on the floor
i'll pick up these broken pieces 'til i'm bleeding
if that'll make it right
They are so close (close enough to taste; poignant, seductive).
Time moves slowly, or rather, it moves backwards (through the wars, the disasters, the plagues).
Gail says that he’s struggling, fighting against some sort of magic (or rather anti-magic).
Nihlus shudders, the movement rolling from his shoulders all the way to his bark-lined legs. (I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die.)
They meet the end, or is it the beginning? Six acolytes and the goddess, crammed in a wormhole; two lovers, reunited. Nihlus watches as they embrace, the membrane snapping for their indefinable love. Stark blue eyes like the skies of summer memorize the outline of their bodies pressed together, of the way they become one. For a moment, Nihlus tears his gaze away, studying the liquid walls of the wormhole. Images of a two blacks children in a familiar embrace drift across its sides, echoes of their beginning, of their definition complex.
”Oh,” --
-- Beneath their hooves, the beach breaks. His ecstatic words are sucked into the vacuum of the wormhole, stealing the stale air from his lungs as they fall, fall, fall. Nihlus strains towards the beach, towards Carnage, towards his family. Mentally, he grasps at the present; in reality (or is this but a dream?) he cannot move. The wormhole traps him, drags him down, down, down, further until they are, at last, upon firm ground once more.
Firm, but figurative.
Reality, but alternate.
His lungs claw at the fourth-dimensional air, processes it with a horrified look. It slips through his entire being as he inhales, as though only a portion of the oxygen reaches his lungs, while the rest simply is. As his ears move lightly through the space as though no resistance was to be had, Nihlus distinctly comes to know that he is not supposed to be here. None of them are.
Gail verbalizes his thoughts, the frequency of her voice higher than he had heard it whilst the langoliers screamed for their blood, as though the space between them is thin, empty. The frightened boy (for that is all he is, a man barely out of childhood) latches himself to the goddess’s words so much so that he does not notice when the spirits come. They walk quickly, their legs moving more slowly than their bodies, as though perhaps they are lighter than the living, thin and empty like their surrounding space. When Gail’s voice indicates an audience, Nihlus snaps his head around, eyes wide, ink-bay coat twitching. As the spirits stare at them raptly, Gail mentions magic. Nihlus immediately moves towards his rain, towards his shapeshifting, but all he feels is the way the wind plays wispily against his skin, practically manifesting as it rolls along his broad shoulders. His magic, however, is not to be had.
Theirs is.
Nihlus knows none of them.
Too young he is, inexperienced of death (yet this is what he has always dreamed of, isn’t it? A true understanding of what mortality means, a clear view of what happens when no more blood remains to drip from a throat. This is what he has come here for, he muses).
As the others recover from the shock of falling through the realities, Nihlus simply stares. He does not recognize one face in the crowd. Each horse drifts towards the spirits, except him. While they embrace the ones they have lost, Nihlus thinks of Daemron, Cerva, and Noori. His heart breaks for them, shatters at the thought of never seeing them again.
“Oh come on you little fucker, don’t act like no one has told you the tales of your great grandmother Echion.” Her voice is deep, broad, commanding. Even as a spirit, the legendary Queen of the Amazons demands respect, exudes authority. Nihlus squints at her hesitantly. He had heard of Echion, of course. Scorch wouldn’t shut up about her to Noori, and Noori needed some place to blow off steam. The triplets were that opportunity. He just hadn’t really thought –
“Now, now, Gran, don’t frighten the poor child.” This voice rings more softly in his ears, like bells tinkling out a windowsill. Nihlus shifts his gaze to a beautiful red-roan girl who looks to be about his age. Like Echion, a vine-and-flower lay upon her skin, and just beneath it, fire in the shape of crossbones; when the Jungle magiked Rain’s physical bones on to Scorch’s skin, Scorch’s fire had been given to Rain. To the stillborn. To the “what if.”
“He’s of my blood. My blood doesn’t get scared.” Echion speaks to Rain even as she dips her black-and-white head to Nihlus, powerful wings rolling as though perhaps today she will have need of their services once more.
The youthful roan rolls her stark green eyes, smiling both warmly and sadly at her nephew. “Ignore her. It took me weeks to actually get used to living with the proclaimed Khaleesi Echion. I’m Rain, by the way. Your aunt. Noori must have mentioned me a time or two.”
Throughout the familial banter, Nihlus stands in utter shock and fascination, the snap of his eyes from grandmother to aunt the only sign of movement and life. When the two turn their eyes to him, expectant of a reply, a sound not dissimilar to the langolier’s static escapes his mouth. How, exactly, was one supposed to go about this?
No time to think. Act now, Nihlus. The others are leaving.
"Well, err, I’m Nihlus. I guess you two know that already,” He speaks haltingly, a numb laugh ending the sentence. "Could you maybe – please – help me get the hell out of here? I’m sure that it’s nice and all, but I’ll enjoy it better when I’m actually… Dead.” The final word drops like a weight through the vacant air; Echion and Rain wince in symphony, cringing away from the reality of their existence. Nihlus shifts his gaze, immediately sorry for how he had spoken.
“Of course you will.” Echion speaks curtly, voice commanding action from her great-grandson even as a single note of sadness accompanies it. “Now get off your ass and follow us. We have an idea for what might get you out of here.” Nihlus nods wordlessly, visibly revitalized, even in this thin reality. The boy steps up between great grandmother and aunt, receiving a smile from both, though one is distinctly colder, and the other warmer. The Noorison returns the look faintly, continuously dazed by what has come to be. What has always been, he muses.
"It’s a pleasure to meet you,” He blurts genuinely. Two chuckles slip through the void-like air, their sound identical, deep, broad, and powerful. Humility fills the boy’s broad chest for the first time in his life; he is standing among the kings, queens, and legends. Awe soon accompanies the humility.
“Don’t mention it, Nih. Echion built an army of children for a reason.” Rain moves to bump her nose to his neck, but the touch leaves the boy feeling chilled; it was like the wind felt in Beqanna, invisible and there all at once. He finds himself inching away from his beautiful aunt; she lends him an apologetic look, sadness carved in her vibrant green eyes, eyes that have only ever known this reality. Nihlus shudders, sickness clenching his stomach.
"I wish I could know more about you,” He whispers, tears coming to his eyes. The chill has reached his extremities, and he suddenly knows that it was not Rain who caused it. Too long in this narrow fourth-dimension, and he too shall fade into one of the spirits. "I wish I could tell you about everything that’s happened.”
”There’ll be time, Nih. Don’t worry about us. You get used to feeling like you’re only skin after a while.” The boy nods in understanding, tears dripping quickly from his glowing eyes. He reaches for Rain, then stops himself. He doesn’t have much strength left.
A moment later, they’ve come to where the sea meets the sand. Nihlus stares at one part fixedly, where the foamy waves do not meet the gray shore the way it ought to. His lips part to ask about the missing seam when Echion’s strong voice materializes. “We’ve know about this for a while. Some people tried jumping through; Librette made it, so did Carnage and myself for a day. But it doesn’t always bring us back. Sometimes we just float in the nothingness for a while, before eventually making our way back to this place.” Echion watches the boy closely. “That’s the risk you’ll be taking by jumping into the seam. Blackness, or life once more.” The Khaleesi says nothing of a goodbye, though the way her eyes sag at the thought of losing another speaks speeches of unsaid feelings to him.
”Tell Mom we said hi, and that we love them, okay? Echion too. She didn’t say it very well in real life. Don’t let Mom forget that actions speak louder than words… Now go on. You’ll find your way back soon enough. Nihlus nods, the rock in his throat preventing a proper farewell. He stands there for a moment, glancing between them, and then nods.
With a sharp inhale, he leaps into the seam.
Time moves slowly, or rather, it moves backwards (through the wars, the disasters, the plagues).
Gail says that he’s struggling, fighting against some sort of magic (or rather anti-magic).
Nihlus shudders, the movement rolling from his shoulders all the way to his bark-lined legs. (I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die.)
They meet the end, or is it the beginning? Six acolytes and the goddess, crammed in a wormhole; two lovers, reunited. Nihlus watches as they embrace, the membrane snapping for their indefinable love. Stark blue eyes like the skies of summer memorize the outline of their bodies pressed together, of the way they become one. For a moment, Nihlus tears his gaze away, studying the liquid walls of the wormhole. Images of a two blacks children in a familiar embrace drift across its sides, echoes of their beginning, of their definition complex.
”Oh,” --
-- Beneath their hooves, the beach breaks. His ecstatic words are sucked into the vacuum of the wormhole, stealing the stale air from his lungs as they fall, fall, fall. Nihlus strains towards the beach, towards Carnage, towards his family. Mentally, he grasps at the present; in reality (or is this but a dream?) he cannot move. The wormhole traps him, drags him down, down, down, further until they are, at last, upon firm ground once more.
Firm, but figurative.
Reality, but alternate.
His lungs claw at the fourth-dimensional air, processes it with a horrified look. It slips through his entire being as he inhales, as though only a portion of the oxygen reaches his lungs, while the rest simply is. As his ears move lightly through the space as though no resistance was to be had, Nihlus distinctly comes to know that he is not supposed to be here. None of them are.
Gail verbalizes his thoughts, the frequency of her voice higher than he had heard it whilst the langoliers screamed for their blood, as though the space between them is thin, empty. The frightened boy (for that is all he is, a man barely out of childhood) latches himself to the goddess’s words so much so that he does not notice when the spirits come. They walk quickly, their legs moving more slowly than their bodies, as though perhaps they are lighter than the living, thin and empty like their surrounding space. When Gail’s voice indicates an audience, Nihlus snaps his head around, eyes wide, ink-bay coat twitching. As the spirits stare at them raptly, Gail mentions magic. Nihlus immediately moves towards his rain, towards his shapeshifting, but all he feels is the way the wind plays wispily against his skin, practically manifesting as it rolls along his broad shoulders. His magic, however, is not to be had.
Theirs is.
Nihlus knows none of them.
Too young he is, inexperienced of death (yet this is what he has always dreamed of, isn’t it? A true understanding of what mortality means, a clear view of what happens when no more blood remains to drip from a throat. This is what he has come here for, he muses).
As the others recover from the shock of falling through the realities, Nihlus simply stares. He does not recognize one face in the crowd. Each horse drifts towards the spirits, except him. While they embrace the ones they have lost, Nihlus thinks of Daemron, Cerva, and Noori. His heart breaks for them, shatters at the thought of never seeing them again.
“Oh come on you little fucker, don’t act like no one has told you the tales of your great grandmother Echion.” Her voice is deep, broad, commanding. Even as a spirit, the legendary Queen of the Amazons demands respect, exudes authority. Nihlus squints at her hesitantly. He had heard of Echion, of course. Scorch wouldn’t shut up about her to Noori, and Noori needed some place to blow off steam. The triplets were that opportunity. He just hadn’t really thought –
“Now, now, Gran, don’t frighten the poor child.” This voice rings more softly in his ears, like bells tinkling out a windowsill. Nihlus shifts his gaze to a beautiful red-roan girl who looks to be about his age. Like Echion, a vine-and-flower lay upon her skin, and just beneath it, fire in the shape of crossbones; when the Jungle magiked Rain’s physical bones on to Scorch’s skin, Scorch’s fire had been given to Rain. To the stillborn. To the “what if.”
“He’s of my blood. My blood doesn’t get scared.” Echion speaks to Rain even as she dips her black-and-white head to Nihlus, powerful wings rolling as though perhaps today she will have need of their services once more.
The youthful roan rolls her stark green eyes, smiling both warmly and sadly at her nephew. “Ignore her. It took me weeks to actually get used to living with the proclaimed Khaleesi Echion. I’m Rain, by the way. Your aunt. Noori must have mentioned me a time or two.”
Throughout the familial banter, Nihlus stands in utter shock and fascination, the snap of his eyes from grandmother to aunt the only sign of movement and life. When the two turn their eyes to him, expectant of a reply, a sound not dissimilar to the langolier’s static escapes his mouth. How, exactly, was one supposed to go about this?
No time to think. Act now, Nihlus. The others are leaving.
"Well, err, I’m Nihlus. I guess you two know that already,” He speaks haltingly, a numb laugh ending the sentence. "Could you maybe – please – help me get the hell out of here? I’m sure that it’s nice and all, but I’ll enjoy it better when I’m actually… Dead.” The final word drops like a weight through the vacant air; Echion and Rain wince in symphony, cringing away from the reality of their existence. Nihlus shifts his gaze, immediately sorry for how he had spoken.
“Of course you will.” Echion speaks curtly, voice commanding action from her great-grandson even as a single note of sadness accompanies it. “Now get off your ass and follow us. We have an idea for what might get you out of here.” Nihlus nods wordlessly, visibly revitalized, even in this thin reality. The boy steps up between great grandmother and aunt, receiving a smile from both, though one is distinctly colder, and the other warmer. The Noorison returns the look faintly, continuously dazed by what has come to be. What has always been, he muses.
"It’s a pleasure to meet you,” He blurts genuinely. Two chuckles slip through the void-like air, their sound identical, deep, broad, and powerful. Humility fills the boy’s broad chest for the first time in his life; he is standing among the kings, queens, and legends. Awe soon accompanies the humility.
“Don’t mention it, Nih. Echion built an army of children for a reason.” Rain moves to bump her nose to his neck, but the touch leaves the boy feeling chilled; it was like the wind felt in Beqanna, invisible and there all at once. He finds himself inching away from his beautiful aunt; she lends him an apologetic look, sadness carved in her vibrant green eyes, eyes that have only ever known this reality. Nihlus shudders, sickness clenching his stomach.
"I wish I could know more about you,” He whispers, tears coming to his eyes. The chill has reached his extremities, and he suddenly knows that it was not Rain who caused it. Too long in this narrow fourth-dimension, and he too shall fade into one of the spirits. "I wish I could tell you about everything that’s happened.”
”There’ll be time, Nih. Don’t worry about us. You get used to feeling like you’re only skin after a while.” The boy nods in understanding, tears dripping quickly from his glowing eyes. He reaches for Rain, then stops himself. He doesn’t have much strength left.
A moment later, they’ve come to where the sea meets the sand. Nihlus stares at one part fixedly, where the foamy waves do not meet the gray shore the way it ought to. His lips part to ask about the missing seam when Echion’s strong voice materializes. “We’ve know about this for a while. Some people tried jumping through; Librette made it, so did Carnage and myself for a day. But it doesn’t always bring us back. Sometimes we just float in the nothingness for a while, before eventually making our way back to this place.” Echion watches the boy closely. “That’s the risk you’ll be taking by jumping into the seam. Blackness, or life once more.” The Khaleesi says nothing of a goodbye, though the way her eyes sag at the thought of losing another speaks speeches of unsaid feelings to him.
”Tell Mom we said hi, and that we love them, okay? Echion too. She didn’t say it very well in real life. Don’t let Mom forget that actions speak louder than words… Now go on. You’ll find your way back soon enough. Nihlus nods, the rock in his throat preventing a proper farewell. He stands there for a moment, glancing between them, and then nods.
With a sharp inhale, he leaps into the seam.
Nihlus
rain manipulating, rabbit shifting son of Sinder & Noori
Rain is his strillborn aunt, Echion is his great grandmother.