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    version 22: awakening


    GHAUL -- Year 209


    "(souls are not meant to live more than once — death was not meant to be temporary, and she is so sure that every time her heart starts to beat again that irreversible damage is further inflicted)" -- Anonya, written by Colby

    [open]  that day even the sun was afraid of you; any

    that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried

    It’s easy to pretend this is the real him. He’s always surprised by how quickly he can slip the mask on and how quickly it becomes the real him. The terror fades into the background—the hurt and the confusion and the uncertainty. He pushes it into the very back of his mind and lets this become the only him that exists. The young, golden stallion with the feral smile and the wild steak a mile wild in his heart.

    Her answer is guarded and there’s part of him that’s not surprised. It is the kind of guarded, evasive answer that he would have, has, given. “Nothing wrong with just being around,” he says flippantly, being careful to not make eye contact as they walk together lest she think him too worried about her well-being or too invested in what her answer would have been. He wanted to continue staying distant.

    There is a piece of him that does want to know—that is curious about the answer.

    Wants to know why a girl like her wouldn’t have a true home of her own.

    (I don’t care, he reminds himself. I don’t care.)

    They come to a stop and he admires the place she has found—the lush greenery and the dappled sunlight. It will do, he thinks, and he moves a few steps away to find his own place to graze. His sharp teeth rip at the grass and he realizes just how hungry he had been—how relieving it is to eat again and to feel alive.

    There is silence as he fills his belly, as the sun washes over his back. He doesn’t stop again until she looks to him and poses another question. “I just think there’s something more,” he rolls a shoulder, satisfied that the answer skirted the truth enough without diving into the truth of it. “Don’t you think?”

    so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried


    It feels like they’re just trading questions and answers without saying anything at all. Silence would be more telling, Maze thinks, even though she hates the quiet. She’s too busy being annoyed to really enjoy the brief moment of peace as they eat, and a soft snort escapes her when he replies to her. The question may be rhetorical, but she replies to it anyway.

    “I don’t know.” Maze considers leaving it there, continuing the theme of non-answers. Again she feels the itch to leave. Frustrated at his ambivalence and unwilling to sacrifice her own. She’s not sure why she responded with anything less than an affirmation that she knows what he means, that it had already led her down so many new paths in her young life. There’s always been a hunger in her, she thinks, for more than what she has - even if it’s tied up with guilt that she should have been satisfied all along.

    She doesn’t look at him when she asks her next question, orange eyes instead intent on the grass by her cloven hooves. It’s too close to her own turmoil and tastes like weakness to offer up this tiny piece of uncloaked uncertainty. It feels like she’s losing the game.

    But the question sneaks out anyway.

    “How do you know that there’s more?”


    that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried

    They dance around the root of the matter, and he can’t decide whether he is relieved that she does not press him too hard for answers or frustrated that she doesn’t provide her own. He knows that it’s hypocritical to want to know more of her while he is so invested in hiding himself though, and he is so afraid of her finding out the truth that he decides he is okay with giving up his right to know more.

    It leaves them in a weird space in between.

    A dance they both seem to acknowledge and yet not look at too closely.

    He keeps his eyes trained on something other than the girl next to him, this girl trapped in the body of a doe, tail flicking languidly behind him as though he feels anything but pent up irritation. At her question, his shoulder twitches—a small sign of the turmoil that he feels, the angst that builds beneath the mask.

    “I don’t know,” he finally says, rolling his shoulders in pretend ambivalence. “Because it’s too damn sad to think that there’s not.” Closer to the truth but still not quite striking the core at it. How was he supposed to tell her that he had to hope there was a world for him out there where he wasn’t who he is? That the issue wasn’t that he was trying to get away from his parents but instead getting away from himself?

    He finally looks over, studying her face, something like honesty showing on his features.

    “Haven’t you ever wanted to run until you found something more—something better?”

    so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried


    Mazikeen continues looking at the grass when he response to the question (how many I don't knows can they trade) - a twitch of her cheek into a humourless grin when he states that it would just be too sad to think there is not more. Of course she agrees - she's always chased more, more, more hasn't she? She's young still, but there's been a lot of living in those years - though maybe not enough. Maybe she needs more of that too. 

    The white doe looks up at him when he speaks again with another question and is startled to find him looking back at her. For a flash of a moment, her large doe ears flick backwards and she can feel that stubborn annoyance rush up to scoff. But she does not look away, does not slam closed the walls around herself as she tries to puzzle out just how she’s hearing a feeling she’s had all her life put into words by this odd boy.

    Now that they are making eye contact, she finds it harder to look away - her bright orange eyes intent on his golden face. She frowns, but it’s not at him - it’s at the thoughts trying to sort themselves out in her mind. When they become difficult to sort out on her own, she tries speaking them instead.

    “I guess so…” She starts with evasiveness but the dishonesty of it has a different taste now, a nastier one. The game, whatever it was, has changed for her. “I don’t think I’ve ever not wanted to do that. It’s such a constant drive, I don’t...” She swallows, still feeling that annoyance so close to the surface. Ready to fight if Firion laughs at her or if he shrugs off this honesty as ridiculousness. But she continues all the same, voicing something she has never put to words before. “I don’t think I’d be able to stay in one place for very long if I tried.”


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