BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
OF MOVING ON
OF MOVING ON
Knives drag down his throat to his lungs, the winter air clawing into him and leaving him raw. Another painful gasp of air confirms that he is here, among them again, but he is confused as to why. The abysmal world he fell victim to has receded, but his new surroundings aren’t any more fruitful. When his molten eyes sweep curiously across the meadow, he sees only destruction and mayhem. Winter sighs across them, chilling Tiphon to the bone, but this isn’t only a seasonal fluctuation. There are many scrambling away, shouting away the peril that looms dangerously near. Plague, he overhears someone scream, disease. Oblivious to the intricacies, Tiphon roots himself and watches the world pass him by.
No one is familiar. No one calls his name above the crowd of heads or rushes him. So why does he remember this place, but nothing else?
As the numbers thin out, he takes note of a few stragglers, but it is a solitary girl that dislodges him from his stagnation.
”I am,” he whispers, his voice almost lost with the wind, but he walks toward her, drawn to her. Perhaps she can answer questions, he considers as he steps gingerly forward, desperately trying to remember how to walk, run and fly. His neglected muscles scream in protest, and yet despite his inactivity, Tiphon still resembles a perfectly fit stallion in his prime. Blanketed in moonlight, he challenges the silver glow of the moon with his own pure aura. It catches the soft edges of her face, highlighting her sweet but confused eyed. ”I am here,” he repeats while curving his lips into a gentle smile despite how distraught he is about the penetrating cold. ”But I’m so lost. What is going on?” Wisps of information have reached him, but the understanding of it lies just beyond his reach, taunting him.
”Tiphon,” he almost repeats what he had been told in the darkness: son of Infection and Starlace, but he catches the redundancy of it. ”My name is Tiphon.” The taste of his name seems right, perfectly settling into every pore and fiber of his being.
No one is familiar. No one calls his name above the crowd of heads or rushes him. So why does he remember this place, but nothing else?
As the numbers thin out, he takes note of a few stragglers, but it is a solitary girl that dislodges him from his stagnation.
”I am,” he whispers, his voice almost lost with the wind, but he walks toward her, drawn to her. Perhaps she can answer questions, he considers as he steps gingerly forward, desperately trying to remember how to walk, run and fly. His neglected muscles scream in protest, and yet despite his inactivity, Tiphon still resembles a perfectly fit stallion in his prime. Blanketed in moonlight, he challenges the silver glow of the moon with his own pure aura. It catches the soft edges of her face, highlighting her sweet but confused eyed. ”I am here,” he repeats while curving his lips into a gentle smile despite how distraught he is about the penetrating cold. ”But I’m so lost. What is going on?” Wisps of information have reached him, but the understanding of it lies just beyond his reach, taunting him.
”Tiphon,” he almost repeats what he had been told in the darkness: son of Infection and Starlace, but he catches the redundancy of it. ”My name is Tiphon.” The taste of his name seems right, perfectly settling into every pore and fiber of his being.
TIPHON
STARLACE AND INFECTION
@[Madelyn]