03-16-2018, 06:55 PM
The curious smile in Ilma’s voice, and her sun-bright eagerness to answer his questions has him at more ease than he should have been. Perhaps he had asked too personal of a question, he thinks, he had only just met the sun-silver mare. But Khaedrik has no concept of social boundaries, and he makes no efforts to hide his morbid curiosity – instead he turns to watch her, as she composes herself and replies with ready grace. The bright-spun wisps of her mane float in the sweet breeze. Khaedrik scribbles her story into his memory. Memorizing every detail, every name given, every smile she offers. What exactly, Khaedrik had learned he was unsure. But in her words, there lay history. There lay purpose.
He remembers this, and moves on.
His shadows grow restless; one by one they sneak out from under his careful gaze, desperate callous things seeking things he is not ready to give them. They continue to dance around her; a sick void against the pristine-white of her skin. bite, bite, bite they chant; and he ignores. Family he thinks instead as he stares at them Allon, Altan and Aamu
Khaedriks lips quirk at her question. He remembers his time in his sisters’ dream and in remembering he is reminded of her cruel fate. The one that only he knows. To follow the path of her, to follow the path to death – he narrows his glitter-dark eyes, and shadows lurk in his face. He has seen enough of death. He has caused enough misery. Perhaps he is a formidable thing, and perhaps one day he will accomplish great things, but he puts these things aside. He ignores his shadows’ thirst for blood, but she had given in – and she had lost. There had been hidden motives behind his sisters´ path, as well. Motives rooted in her past. Motives that Khaedrik – no matter how much he wanted too, could not grasp. Khaedrik is sworn and possessed by his own shadows, and now that his sister is gone (if not to the arms of death then certainly to the pain he has caused her) he feels the sharp-sour ache of her absence in his veins. He mourns the loss of her bright-hot presence beneath his skin. Kagerus. She rules the dreams – and perhaps, if Khaedrik masters his powers –
He halts his thoughts, as he feels shreds of hope burst and bloom in his breast. It would do him well to forget these things.
”Her dreams are her own makings” - he closes his dark, tumultuous eyes. He opens them, and they are shine bright with madness. But he cannot. His voice is strange when he speaks again, less rich melody, more harsh talon-on-stone. ”My shadows…have a mind of their own.” He tries to collect himself, but the double-imaged shadows remain. There is a hunted look to his face, and perhaps he loses some of his childlike innocence. His regrets and desires press close. He yearns.
He flinches as she presses closer to him; as if the white-warmth of her skin should burn, but his shadows recoil – against such acts of kindness they hold no power, and they are a mere hiss in her ear as she drapes around him and he presses his small head against her. "Thank you" the boy whispers. It is a strangely comforting thing - the–warmth of flesh to his own frigid coldness. It, she, reminds him of his sister. How things used to be simple. Before.
Khaedrik closes his eyes against these memories, as her voice reaches his ears. You are alive. and at this he laughs softly – but it is a hollow, mirthless sound. He is alive, yes, every trembling muscle, every labored breath and every shallow beat of his heart tells him this. But what life does he have, when all there ever was – was the struggle not to perish to his own grating madness.
”See, that is precisely my problem” he answers, as he untangles himself from her warmth as if he can no longer stand it. His shadows crawl back onto his skin, swirling, sniffing. Their eagerness spills into his eyes as he meets her gaze; and that moment of innocence is lost. Allon, Altan and Aamu he repeats under shallow breaths, Allon, Altan and Aamu as if the names of her family could somehow save them both.
”Sometimes I think it would be easier if I wasn't”
Ofcourse it would they whisper. What use have you of mortal boundaries and morals?
@[Ilma]