09-07-2016, 08:03 AM
no matter what they say, I am still the king
He had lured him once – oh so long ago. Sprouting a flower amid the ghastly night of winter – a small bloom of innocence that struck a match in your curiosity. And indeed you were – like a mewling kitten that had been given its first batch of yarn. Like the first spark of flint upon stone – a fire of inquisitiveness flared inside you. How odd, you must have thought, for something so delicate to flow so freely in the dead of winter. And when Eight left, you followed rapidly – yelling throughout the forest for his lurking form. But he never came, and you never found him. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. Like he had teased you with the possibilities of the world – of the idea of growing something out of nothing, of making life from death - and then he had left you to your own devices.
And now? Well now, everything was different. Safe to say, you had eventually left the forest once Eight had gone. Why wait for something that was surely not to come? But did you still think of it? That brief moment of time where things were suspended, where the rules of the world did not matter – where flowers could brim up from thick, wet, snow. It’s a strange thing – but Eight still remembers. The cry of your voice – almost a panicked adamancy. Eight! Wait! . And still, he walked on. And still, the echo of his name in your mouth parries around his head.
But why? Why did it strike such a cord inside of him? Why was there a twinge of regret, of almost a kind of sorrow, as he walked away from you? Perhaps it was because that was all he had ever done – walk away from the children he had fathered, not keen on raising them, loving them, guiding them. Perhaps it was because he walked away from anything he could possibly truly care for. Maybe he was simply walking away to save you – to relinquish you from the dark oil that steeped up inside his bones, of the aching feeling to torment and destruct. Perhaps he looked into your keen, curious, innocent eyes – and maybe he had felt a glow of humanity inside him. Maybe he realized it was best to save you from himself – to let you stay a child forever.
And now? Now he could not harm you. Right?
“Rome.” He finds you, soundlessly coming to a stop beside you. “You have made it out of the woods, I see.”
And now? Well now, everything was different. Safe to say, you had eventually left the forest once Eight had gone. Why wait for something that was surely not to come? But did you still think of it? That brief moment of time where things were suspended, where the rules of the world did not matter – where flowers could brim up from thick, wet, snow. It’s a strange thing – but Eight still remembers. The cry of your voice – almost a panicked adamancy. Eight! Wait! . And still, he walked on. And still, the echo of his name in your mouth parries around his head.
But why? Why did it strike such a cord inside of him? Why was there a twinge of regret, of almost a kind of sorrow, as he walked away from you? Perhaps it was because that was all he had ever done – walk away from the children he had fathered, not keen on raising them, loving them, guiding them. Perhaps it was because he walked away from anything he could possibly truly care for. Maybe he was simply walking away to save you – to relinquish you from the dark oil that steeped up inside his bones, of the aching feeling to torment and destruct. Perhaps he looked into your keen, curious, innocent eyes – and maybe he had felt a glow of humanity inside him. Maybe he realized it was best to save you from himself – to let you stay a child forever.
And now? Now he could not harm you. Right?
“Rome.” He finds you, soundlessly coming to a stop beside you. “You have made it out of the woods, I see.”
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
@[Shelbi]