06-18-2017, 10:22 PM
She has brought him so much pain (though, was it really she who caused it?) – yet, so much life. He cannot begin to unravel the mysteries that she had revealed to him, by her mere presence and loyalty. It is a gesture he did not deserve; a gesture that he should have made clear that she should not have to give him. The pain he feels is self-inflicted, despite the remnants being tied to the golden mare that stands beside him. She is the general of Tephra, keeping her duties and attempting to greaten the kingdom itself; her thoughts and devotion should not be set on some outcast, a stranger that had immersed himself into her world that he was so unfamiliar (and undeserving) of. He is nothing, a mere name on the wind with no significance, lost on the night’s breeze.
Despite the night air being so familiar to him, it did not bring him any comfort as he stands beneath the starlight, unsure and wary as the day he had arrived in Tephra. All of the feelings of doubt seem to crowd him once again, pressing against him and attempting to rip him into shreds, to become folds of flesh on the moonlit ground.
She had left him, yes, but it was not out of spite or selfishness; it is in his own selfishness that he had devised some sort of twisted story - where she had disappeared into the night without a trace, only to return to him as half the woman he remembers.
It was so, so unfair.
The guilt sends him reeling, nearly faint-hearted at the story he had told himself. He had always been so good at storytelling; it was not surprising that he could convince himself of a wild tale that he had spun himself. He searches for her, attempting to find something sturdy to clasp onto, but he realizes it is in vain; she is no longer there.
“Ellyse,” he whispers – but it is lost on the wind, falling on deaf ears that he had created himself. A hurricane of his own making, a storm that was unstoppable and unrelenting in its force, all before him in a body of gold and pale ivory.
Anger? No…
The words do not come; they do not find his lips as confidently as they had in the moments before. They are lost as well, swirling in the raging winds that seem to toss him insistently. Her questions, there were so many, he could not answer them all. He did not have the answers that she sought, the ones that he wishes to tell her… He closes his eyes in defeat, squeezing auburn lids tightly shut around the burning blue of his irises.
This is going all wrong. He had meant to repair, not destroy. He was to set her free from the burden of a broken soul, free to soar to the heights that she so well deserved.
He had promised to keep her grounded.
“Ellyse,” he pleads again, his voice quivering uncertainly on the night air. “Your feelings are your own, they need no justification.” His eyes are still closed tightly, an exhalation leaving his cobalt lips that he did not realize he was holding. Anger? How could he ever hold anger in his heart? If he did, it would not be for her, though he knows nothing of the emotion when it came to those he cared – it is unfamiliar and unrecognizable by him. Even now, he does not hate his family for leaving him; the idea was foreign.
“I deserve nothing,” he says firmly, yet it was merely a whisper only meant for her, his neck stretching towards her in response, longing for the warmth of her against him to protect him from the overwhelming amount of fear and doubt that has begun to lace him. “I won’t.” It would be the death of him if he were the reason that distraught finds her – it was not his intent and he wishes to scrub the idea from her mind. Instead, he murmurs the promise again quietly, “I won’t.”
He steps towards her, aching for the silkiness of her feathers against his skin, for their downy texture to sweep over him like a cloak. He reaches for her cheek, but he knows that the gesture might be dismissed with a quick flick of her head in the other direction, away from him. “You deserve everything, Ellyse. I cannot give that to you. I am not him.” He pauses, his breath caught in his throat painfully. “I am not Magnus.”
Not a king. Not anything. Nothing.
Despite the night air being so familiar to him, it did not bring him any comfort as he stands beneath the starlight, unsure and wary as the day he had arrived in Tephra. All of the feelings of doubt seem to crowd him once again, pressing against him and attempting to rip him into shreds, to become folds of flesh on the moonlit ground.
She had left him, yes, but it was not out of spite or selfishness; it is in his own selfishness that he had devised some sort of twisted story - where she had disappeared into the night without a trace, only to return to him as half the woman he remembers.
It was so, so unfair.
The guilt sends him reeling, nearly faint-hearted at the story he had told himself. He had always been so good at storytelling; it was not surprising that he could convince himself of a wild tale that he had spun himself. He searches for her, attempting to find something sturdy to clasp onto, but he realizes it is in vain; she is no longer there.
“Ellyse,” he whispers – but it is lost on the wind, falling on deaf ears that he had created himself. A hurricane of his own making, a storm that was unstoppable and unrelenting in its force, all before him in a body of gold and pale ivory.
Anger? No…
The words do not come; they do not find his lips as confidently as they had in the moments before. They are lost as well, swirling in the raging winds that seem to toss him insistently. Her questions, there were so many, he could not answer them all. He did not have the answers that she sought, the ones that he wishes to tell her… He closes his eyes in defeat, squeezing auburn lids tightly shut around the burning blue of his irises.
This is going all wrong. He had meant to repair, not destroy. He was to set her free from the burden of a broken soul, free to soar to the heights that she so well deserved.
He had promised to keep her grounded.
“Ellyse,” he pleads again, his voice quivering uncertainly on the night air. “Your feelings are your own, they need no justification.” His eyes are still closed tightly, an exhalation leaving his cobalt lips that he did not realize he was holding. Anger? How could he ever hold anger in his heart? If he did, it would not be for her, though he knows nothing of the emotion when it came to those he cared – it is unfamiliar and unrecognizable by him. Even now, he does not hate his family for leaving him; the idea was foreign.
“I deserve nothing,” he says firmly, yet it was merely a whisper only meant for her, his neck stretching towards her in response, longing for the warmth of her against him to protect him from the overwhelming amount of fear and doubt that has begun to lace him. “I won’t.” It would be the death of him if he were the reason that distraught finds her – it was not his intent and he wishes to scrub the idea from her mind. Instead, he murmurs the promise again quietly, “I won’t.”
He steps towards her, aching for the silkiness of her feathers against his skin, for their downy texture to sweep over him like a cloak. He reaches for her cheek, but he knows that the gesture might be dismissed with a quick flick of her head in the other direction, away from him. “You deserve everything, Ellyse. I cannot give that to you. I am not him.” He pauses, his breath caught in his throat painfully. “I am not Magnus.”
Not a king. Not anything. Nothing.
like the sun,
swallowed up by the earth
warrick
@[Ellyse]