09-10-2016, 05:41 PM
± swallow my doubt turn it inside out ±
The shallows eye him right back, turning on him his own questions and giving no answers. Who are you? Who is he? Who am I? Killdare finds this looking glass to be a frustrating one, snorting at the face that stares him down and crashing a heavy, feathered hoof into the shallows. If it had no answers for him then he would allow it to haunt him with faces (even his own) no more. Ripples take the once glass smooth surface and he turns away from the pool, turning his heavy head around, his body following. He was so empty now, with only a thimbleful of knowledge left to his mind and he could not even miss the aspects that were stolen of his memories, he hadn’t enough puzzle pieces to do so.
His heavy thoughts are interrupted, the frown that was pulling so tightly on his blackened lips ceased and replaced itself with a flat line. Father? the question does not really register at first, partially because he had only the one good ear and also because, was he a Father? Two glassy eyes go from glaring at the ground to settling on a face, a young face, golden and feminine in its features. He knows these lines, these eyes that look up at him, but what he knows most is the shock of indigo that drapes itself ever so carefully down her neck. The color tugs as his skull, almost painfully so and there is a tightening in his chest to accompany it- a longing.
A girl, this girl, he knows her somehow. The name escapes him but the face is forever etched in the deepest recesses of his mind, perhaps something even the magic of Beqanna could not touch (or chose not to). She limps, ambling towards him awkwardly and finding uneven footing against the stones that lined the waterways. He could almost feel each step as it slid across the rocky surface, pounding a path towards him at an uneven gait. Should he reach for her, should he catch her? Something feels like he would, should, something presses so hard against the barrier that has built itself within him. A wall he is unable to break down, it’s mortar sealed with a permanence. I would have hoped you’d have Mother?
Mother? Who, why? His eyes searched unknowingly, flitting back and forth across the girl's face, to each eye, her brow, her nose. This child was his, not his, it struggled to make sense of itself. Real and not real were the questions and as she met his shoulder he turned his earthy head to tuck her close. To catch her. “I- I know your face.” he managed, breathing a heavy, hot breath into the child he felt compelled to comfort. “But I don’t know where your Mother is, should I worry?” What an odd thing for a man to seek guidance from a babe, it's hard to say who was comforting who now.
His heavy thoughts are interrupted, the frown that was pulling so tightly on his blackened lips ceased and replaced itself with a flat line. Father? the question does not really register at first, partially because he had only the one good ear and also because, was he a Father? Two glassy eyes go from glaring at the ground to settling on a face, a young face, golden and feminine in its features. He knows these lines, these eyes that look up at him, but what he knows most is the shock of indigo that drapes itself ever so carefully down her neck. The color tugs as his skull, almost painfully so and there is a tightening in his chest to accompany it- a longing.
A girl, this girl, he knows her somehow. The name escapes him but the face is forever etched in the deepest recesses of his mind, perhaps something even the magic of Beqanna could not touch (or chose not to). She limps, ambling towards him awkwardly and finding uneven footing against the stones that lined the waterways. He could almost feel each step as it slid across the rocky surface, pounding a path towards him at an uneven gait. Should he reach for her, should he catch her? Something feels like he would, should, something presses so hard against the barrier that has built itself within him. A wall he is unable to break down, it’s mortar sealed with a permanence. I would have hoped you’d have Mother?
Mother? Who, why? His eyes searched unknowingly, flitting back and forth across the girl's face, to each eye, her brow, her nose. This child was his, not his, it struggled to make sense of itself. Real and not real were the questions and as she met his shoulder he turned his earthy head to tuck her close. To catch her. “I- I know your face.” he managed, breathing a heavy, hot breath into the child he felt compelled to comfort. “But I don’t know where your Mother is, should I worry?” What an odd thing for a man to seek guidance from a babe, it's hard to say who was comforting who now.
KILLDARE
spin around to a beautiful oblivion