01-19-2017, 08:44 AM
Kilte
R
the feelin' like you're smilin' even brighter when the weather's shit
W
ould Kilter ever live up to his name? Ruan was a strong name, solid and steady, a barricade of a name- why was this the name he had offered up? Why had the wolf-lord’s name been the first to sprout to his lips. Kilter had not seen him in what felt like decades; was not even sure the lone sentinel was still roaming Beqanna. (Little did Kilter know that Ruan was ruling close by). But rather than his own name, the little lupine had offered up his – and his Angel took is without complaint. Did she know that his name truly wasn’t Ruan? Could Angels see the truth in everything?
The very definition of Kilter’s name was to be off-balance, teetering on the edge, preparing to fall precariously down. It was not a strong name; it did not cast off rolling waves of confidence or protection. It was an unsteady, trembling name – perhaps perfect for Kilter. His siblings were the ones to glean the more apt names for their family line – Knoxlynn, Keel, and Underwood. They were more cohesive than Kilter, it seemed. They each had some sort of mind tricks, Kilter had noticed. They spoke to one another, and their mother, without truly speaking; among other godly gifts granted no doubt by the blood of their father. It was only Kilter who faltered, who fell short, who fell out of line.
His Angel stays close, always. And it is a strange thing for the little silver boy. He had never been cared for, truly. His mother was a queen, and had three other children to hark over. His father was a king, and did not care much for children, or anyone, in general. It was only the wolves and Ruan who steadily watched the boy. And now, his Angel. His Angel who waited to eat, to drink; who staved off her needs for his. It was unusual for Kilter to see such self-sacrifice.
She speaks, giving Death a name. Deimos. So Death had a name after all, he was not simply ‘Death’. “Do you have a name, too, Angel?” Perhaps Death was not the only one with a true name, maybe his Angel had one too. There were many angels, weren’t there? They had to be called something.
His Angel’s voice is riddled with acid when she speaks his name, and Kilter can only assume that the Angel had met Death too many times with too many bad endings. And her words only continue to ring true – it seemed Death wanted him for some reason. Death was, using him? Kilter’s brow furrows – in hurt and confusion. Death had made him feel wanted, like his life had mattered, and now Kilter was just a pawn. But why? What could Kilter change in the world? What did he have that Death could ever want? But he had his Angel, and with her, he was safe.
“I’m not sure.. I don’t..” He starts, but is unsure quite how to say it. “I don’t think that I have anything Death could want. I have nothing special of me. I’m no longer a prince. I have nothing. No one.”
eight and topsail’s timid telekinetic