06-10-2018, 07:43 AM
we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight His children, all of them, are his beacon of hope; a light in the darkness that threatens to consume him. He can hear Sibyl’s laughter amidst shouts of impatience, begging them to walk faster to the ocean’s tide. Her voice echoes around him and Warrick can feel himself desperately trying to pull himself out of the shadow and into her warmth, her youthfulness, her innocence. Then there is Tangerine - not only a light but its creator, an anchor and a steady totem of peace and tranquility. But he does not come to her with a broken heart or a longing that could never be filled, but with a breath of turmoil in his breast, a lingering of darkness that pulses through his veins - he’s no longer her lover, the man she deserves, but a creation that quite literally came from the darkest of her own nightmares and reality. Warrick’s eyes finally find the courage to meet Tangerine’s - waiting expectantly to see the unraveling of realization, for her to know that the father of her children came from such a ravenous and merciless god, that each and every one of their beautiful children are tainted by the darkened blood. He swallows hard, the muscles in his jaw clenching as his teeth grind. Tangerine does not recoil, however, and instead anger flares up inside the usual softness of her eyes. A rightful reaction and one that causes him to close his eyes tightly, sucking in a deep breath through the clench of his teeth. Orani. Instinctively upon hearing her name, Warrick’s chin turns upwards to the skies. Even with his mother being a saint, isn’t his own bloodline diluted by the dark god’s? Despite her admissions, her truths (a good father, a protector, a noble man), no amount of goodness could quell the blackness of Carnage’s blood - he wonders idly when he will see the fruition of the dark god’s intentions. Will it be in himself? Or will one of his children be cursed to love terror and hate peace? “The knowledge,” he breathes, opening his eyes slowly and delicately, as if the light of the sun was blinding, “is far more than I can bear, Tangerine.” He looks to her, sadness wrought on each curve of his face. “What he’s done to you -” Warrick pauses, his breath caught in his throat and his lungs burning with lack of oxygen. Finally he exhales, a shuddering breath that racks his entire being. “He is succeeding, my love.” She is right. She always is. But there is that ever small and clear voice, quaking on the inside of his mind: Everything you have, I had first. It’s tainted - all of it. Poisoned by simple words of a dark, evil god. “No amount of goodness will cleanse my blood.” Nor the blood of our children. The truth; the terrible, terrible truth. warrick |
credit to vel of adoxography.
@[Tangerine]