09-16-2017, 07:40 AM
.Corvus.
(yes, I am alone)
but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
He is incredulous.
Though he is unwavering and still beside his brother (they are so alike, and yet so fundamentally different), there is a roiling, tempestuous storm of emotion stirring restlessly beneath the stoic façade worn. He is too young to be as coiled and as bitter as he is, but as the darkening flecks of his hazel eyes settle upon the sight before him, a festering rage has already begun to churn ferociously within the tightness of his chest.
His father – a figment of his imagination, or so he had seemed – is standing still within a bleak and bleary woodland clearing, wholly flesh and bone. A fleeting memory of gilded wonder, standing before him yet again and lavished with heavy, awakened affection by those his feeble and reluctant heart clutches onto for the smallest semblance of warmth.
His gaze does not linger – it moves seamlessly between his mother (his heart; he only had kindness for her) and Jah-Lilah, the ever-present force that had been in his life almost as long as he had the capacity to formulate memories. His heart stirs uncomfortably, betrayed by the display of affection that lay before him and how easily his father’s abandonment had been forgotten.
But not by him.
Disappoint is hot and bitter, rising like a bile across the surface of his tongue. He can feel the simmering fire threatening to burst forth from the bristling flesh of Crevan beside him (he can almost taste metallic copper of blood in his mouth that his shifter brother had so often indulged upon; he is so tightly tied to him that he is privy to knowledge that he should never have and yet he could not feel further away from him). He presses past him, his anger coming to a boiling point, as the fury envelopes him and swallows him whole, transforming him before his very own eyes.
He is weak, giving into the acidic anger that had festered so vehemently inside of him, while his own is slowly seeping from his pores – enveloping him in the hot heat of ire, while his brother is engulfed by the burning, hot flames of hatred and acrimony. He can hardly suppress a sigh; the sight of their writhing bodies churning against one another like the restless sea is enough to turn his stomach, and his brother and his sudden recklessness is embarrassing and stirs an uneasiness that he can no longer stand. The wind, once still and stagnant within the dimly lit thicket, is turned up – twisting, turning, as a powerful and forceful gust sweeps forth from the moist and fertile ground, weaving its way through the forest – pushing mightily against the three that stand as one.
He does not see the wonder roused in the gaze of his father, startled by the sweeping and vigorously manipulated wind (he could feel it was no natural wind; he too was of the sky and of the air current and he can feel the magic) – nor does he stay to entertain his heedless brother and his impulsive cry that neither of them truly want an answer to. His backed is turned, and as quickly as he had come, he is gone, one with the dark and insidious shadow once more.
Though he is unwavering and still beside his brother (they are so alike, and yet so fundamentally different), there is a roiling, tempestuous storm of emotion stirring restlessly beneath the stoic façade worn. He is too young to be as coiled and as bitter as he is, but as the darkening flecks of his hazel eyes settle upon the sight before him, a festering rage has already begun to churn ferociously within the tightness of his chest.
His father – a figment of his imagination, or so he had seemed – is standing still within a bleak and bleary woodland clearing, wholly flesh and bone. A fleeting memory of gilded wonder, standing before him yet again and lavished with heavy, awakened affection by those his feeble and reluctant heart clutches onto for the smallest semblance of warmth.
His gaze does not linger – it moves seamlessly between his mother (his heart; he only had kindness for her) and Jah-Lilah, the ever-present force that had been in his life almost as long as he had the capacity to formulate memories. His heart stirs uncomfortably, betrayed by the display of affection that lay before him and how easily his father’s abandonment had been forgotten.
But not by him.
Disappoint is hot and bitter, rising like a bile across the surface of his tongue. He can feel the simmering fire threatening to burst forth from the bristling flesh of Crevan beside him (he can almost taste metallic copper of blood in his mouth that his shifter brother had so often indulged upon; he is so tightly tied to him that he is privy to knowledge that he should never have and yet he could not feel further away from him). He presses past him, his anger coming to a boiling point, as the fury envelopes him and swallows him whole, transforming him before his very own eyes.
He is weak, giving into the acidic anger that had festered so vehemently inside of him, while his own is slowly seeping from his pores – enveloping him in the hot heat of ire, while his brother is engulfed by the burning, hot flames of hatred and acrimony. He can hardly suppress a sigh; the sight of their writhing bodies churning against one another like the restless sea is enough to turn his stomach, and his brother and his sudden recklessness is embarrassing and stirs an uneasiness that he can no longer stand. The wind, once still and stagnant within the dimly lit thicket, is turned up – twisting, turning, as a powerful and forceful gust sweeps forth from the moist and fertile ground, weaving its way through the forest – pushing mightily against the three that stand as one.
He does not see the wonder roused in the gaze of his father, startled by the sweeping and vigorously manipulated wind (he could feel it was no natural wind; he too was of the sky and of the air current and he can feel the magic) – nor does he stay to entertain his heedless brother and his impulsive cry that neither of them truly want an answer to. His backed is turned, and as quickly as he had come, he is gone, one with the dark and insidious shadow once more.
I think maybe it's because you were never really real to begin with.
(I just made you up to hurt myself)
(I just made you up to hurt myself)