Takei
Orion. His black and white frame illuminated by moonlight. The sound of the ocean sings quietly in front of him. The stars are spread dramatically in the sky, twinkling silently down on his ink and paper coat. There is no movement aside from the swell and recede of the waves.
Cassiopeia. Her severed head mounted atop the blood-covered rock like a queen on a throne. Her eyes gouged out, replaced by empty pits with nerve endings and blood vessels lain bare. Her delicate lips stretching into a smile that causes eyes to look away. The water surrounding the rock is painted a deep red.
Takei rises from the swirling world of dreams. They come in flashes, vivid memories kissed by the haze of fantasy. The force of gravity pushes its ugly feet down atop his muscles - so different from the lightweight sensation of floating between the crevices of reality - and he lets out a groggy moan.
Sensations of springtime crowd his mind suddenly. The weak bleat of a newborn filly. The pungent scent of growing wildflowers. The hesitant warmth of the sun on his side. The memory of the island melting away comes to his mind and, with it, the sharp taste of panic in his mouth.
Takei lurches to his feet, noticing then that - although his eyelids have slid open - the world is still dark. He blinks hard first once, then twice. There is nothing but infinite darkness, stretching out like the cold hand of death. Yet he knows he is back in Beqanna. He can smell the familiarity of honeysuckle and pine, he can hear the water rushing off the cliff into the lake, he can feel the grass against his ankles.
Despair crashes against his emotions, thick and grimy alongside the bitterness of panic and the ache of confusion. Orion… His ink and paper lover must have been lost in the swirl of the island. Takei had heard stories of the tricks played on the innocent of Beqanna.
It had granted his mother her spring life. It had riddled his father with his deathly looks. And now it had cursed him with his largest loss.
A low moan sings past Takei’s lips. He would never spend another warm night dancing along the shoreline with Orion. He would never tease the stallion’s sensitive skin with his blood and ivory lips. He would never chase Andromeda along the forest trails with glee in his heart.
He flexes his right leg, feeling the tightness of growing skin across the gashes created by Draco. They would scar - the wounds deep enough to expose tendon and connective tissue - but they would be a reminder of the separate, fantasy life he’d lived on that island. At that thought, Takei blinks again. His vision is still impaired, lost among the swirling destruction of his beloved home.
This time there is a painful, high cry.
Cassiopeia. Her severed head mounted atop the blood-covered rock like a queen on a throne. Her eyes gouged out, replaced by empty pits with nerve endings and blood vessels lain bare. Her delicate lips stretching into a smile that causes eyes to look away. The water surrounding the rock is painted a deep red.
Takei rises from the swirling world of dreams. They come in flashes, vivid memories kissed by the haze of fantasy. The force of gravity pushes its ugly feet down atop his muscles - so different from the lightweight sensation of floating between the crevices of reality - and he lets out a groggy moan.
Sensations of springtime crowd his mind suddenly. The weak bleat of a newborn filly. The pungent scent of growing wildflowers. The hesitant warmth of the sun on his side. The memory of the island melting away comes to his mind and, with it, the sharp taste of panic in his mouth.
Takei lurches to his feet, noticing then that - although his eyelids have slid open - the world is still dark. He blinks hard first once, then twice. There is nothing but infinite darkness, stretching out like the cold hand of death. Yet he knows he is back in Beqanna. He can smell the familiarity of honeysuckle and pine, he can hear the water rushing off the cliff into the lake, he can feel the grass against his ankles.
Despair crashes against his emotions, thick and grimy alongside the bitterness of panic and the ache of confusion. Orion… His ink and paper lover must have been lost in the swirl of the island. Takei had heard stories of the tricks played on the innocent of Beqanna.
It had granted his mother her spring life. It had riddled his father with his deathly looks. And now it had cursed him with his largest loss.
A low moan sings past Takei’s lips. He would never spend another warm night dancing along the shoreline with Orion. He would never tease the stallion’s sensitive skin with his blood and ivory lips. He would never chase Andromeda along the forest trails with glee in his heart.
He flexes his right leg, feeling the tightness of growing skin across the gashes created by Draco. They would scar - the wounds deep enough to expose tendon and connective tissue - but they would be a reminder of the separate, fantasy life he’d lived on that island. At that thought, Takei blinks again. His vision is still impaired, lost among the swirling destruction of his beloved home.
This time there is a painful, high cry.
watch the mind run far away, way ahead of us