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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    watch earth b u r n >> kotaro's death
    #1

    WARNING: I just want to give whomever is about to read this post that there is gore and blood, so be warned... If you're not mature enough to handle gore and violence, I'd suggest scrolling past this post. However, read at your own digression.

    He must (in some way or another) put the practices of his lessons to use. At first it starts in subtle, minimalistic behaviors (a sudden urge for blood only to be swept away, an overwhelming desire to crush bones and rip apart flesh, a midnight trip to unearth a burrow of rabbits and tear into their easily-expendable bodies). It grows quickly, however, until he prowls the night killing any unfortunate woodland creature that crosses his path in a multitude of different ways (the fox is left with a bloody smile to stretch its orange lips until it decomposes, the baby rabbit is left with its innards spread across the floor like a science fair display, the surprised bird knocked from the sky has its body parts meticulously picked apart and surgically removed).

    It is a consuming, raging, dark addiction.

    He yearns for bigger things – things so big he must use his tricks to put them in a slumber. He starts by spreading open the stomach of a wolf (all while its heart beats and its lungs sift and its blood pulses and splashes against the ground and it sleeps on, unaware of its body’s pitiful, unheard cries), then moves on to a buck (breaking off his might horns only to stab the creature straight through its neck and snicker while the wound leaked blood between skin and bone), until finally his addition is craving something even bigger.

    The darkness wants a horse – a creature of his own blood and bone and genetics – and the trickster is all too willing to answer to that frighteningly loud call.

    He doesn’t go looking. But his eyes still wander, during his days in the meadow (picking out the weak ones, the strong ones, the sick ones, the healthy ones, the ones who looked sad or happy, the ones who might have fight left in them or no fight at all), and he precariously begins the process of deciding his first kill. His possibility is a dark bay mare. She is petite and scarred around her shoulders, with hard muscle that has faded over decades of misuse and time. The light in her eyes and the energy in her bones suggest the youthfulness of her looks is not from age but magic, rather, and he takes delight in the challenge.

    The lessons of the monster whisper in his ears, a constant melody to the swaying song of his addiction. It stirs in his mind (a background chorus for his thoughts, a whisper in the dark, a beckoning caw of a raven to a fellow before sunset) and he takes heed to such words until he eats, drinks, and sleeps them. The arrangement only further swells as he approaches her that fateful time. He’s already decided his tactic for murdering her – it will be gory and shameless and splattering.

    And it is. He is slow and practical and bloody. He relishes in the sounds of her pain (and then the gurgling, squelching sobs she makes when his teeth carve a trail to her vocal chords and they fall to the ground with a thud) and laughs shamelessly when his tricks force her legs to crumble. “Oh babe, do be quiet… It will be all over soon.” It is only until she is drowning in blood that he recognizes her from the Valley war. The lightning bolt had struck this mare’s dear heart straight on the head and the gore of life went splattering across the trickster.

    He laughs, suddenly. And then he continues carving trails through her skin (trails that rise to color themselves bright red with blood and shredded skin), intricate designs and sloppy circles and sharp angles, until she is a piece of gory art. He dives deeper, once she is covered in designs and her legs have been broken so she can’t run and her throat has been ripped out so she can’t yell. He begins to write art on her insides (to carve designs against the lines of her stomach and the masses of her muscles and the spurting fountains of her blood vessels), slowly making his way toward her heart.

    When he reaches the center of a body’s true life (that thumping, beating, thriving muscle), the monster appears. The trickster knew he’d been watching the whole time, but his appearance causes him to pull his mouth away from the ribcage of the body. She is still alive, perhaps kept conscious by his tricks interceding, and he can see her eyes flash with indescribable agony. The monster’s voice is a sharp piece of ice to the fire of addiction in his mind, but he hears it nonetheless. “Because you have done well enough, you may take one bite of the heart.”

    And so he does. He feels the addiction sigh as if having eaten a heavy Thanksgiving dinner at the squelch and gush. He feels his mind already crave more, more, more. He feels the sudden flare of renewed strength in his bones. He feels the last of the mare’s life leave her torn-apart body.

    He cannot help it. He takes one more bite and then steps away, knowing he will have to pay for the damage later. But for now, he is satisfied. The addiction curls up within the darkest crevasses of his mind to sleep away the sedation. The trickster licks his lips in content and braces himself for the monster’s retaliation. But he is content. So, so content.
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    #2
    Kotaro’s been thinking about putting her life back together. The death of Peccatrice Dea was a hard hit on her – it still is, each and every day – but she’s spent far too many years mourning over the orange mare. Trissy has long since grown and flew from the nest, so to say, although the dark bay always knew her daughter is just as independent as her mothers. She is alone, as she often finds herself, but she hopes to not be for long.

    The past years – she’s lost count of how many, exactly – have flown by in a blur of memories and abandoned corners of Beqanna and hazy nightmares tangled with daydreams. Memories (Peccatrice Dea celebrating her return in less-than formal ways, Peccatrice Dea aiding her in the mutiny by Cassiah and Yours, Peccatrice Dea’s insides scarring the Valley’s ground) and abandoned corners (spider-webbed forests, oasis’ in the crevasses where no one would look, wide plains with no souls in sight) and nightmares tangled with daydreams (Germany’s face as a youngster, Trissy’s baby face at her birth, Peccatrice Dea’s slender touch, Konrad’s hopeful gaze, Guiltine’s strong embrace).

    Kotaro finally decides to get her life together. Picking up the broken, shattered, hastily-sewn pieces and duct taping them together into something that might be equivalent to hope. It is all in vain – that hope. While she lingers around the meadow, mentally preparing herself to come in contact with another soul after years of living alone, so does another. She notices the bruised eyes watching her (after years of looking behind her back, after a queen’s rule under the threat of a mutiny, after agonizing nights spent roiling in pain – she has become finely attuned to watching those who watch her) within a couple of days. But she never expected those eyes to be as close as they are suddenly now.

    She doesn’t have time to ask questions. There is only sudden, burning, intensifying pain. Every move she makes is one step closer to agony and eventually she becomes sane enough to stop moving. She becomes sane enough to let his teeth carve into her like a butcher knife to meat. Her sobs are silenced, her legs are immobilized, but her mind is kept alive and conscious and so incredibly aware of pain. It is indescribable and heart-stopping and thought-numbing. When she had her cursed wings, she thought every night was torture.

    But torture is nothing compared to this.

    Kotaro can only pray and hope that Peccatrice Dea might be at the end of this agony. She can only wonder if, when her eyes finally close, she will be able to be with the lover she thought she would never meet for an eternity. But the torture turns worse when he splits open her chest and her organs still work and function and keep her dreadfully, unfairly alive. The other presence isn’t noticed in the haze that is her mind. Not until his voice rings out – and the words are an aching relief to the fire of her agony.

    With his mouth buried in her ribcage, she finally races toward the sweet embrace of death.

    ---

    HERE LIES...
    Kotaro
    Texas and Mammal
    Once Queen of the Valley
    Forever the lover of Peccatrice Dea
    Mother to Deutschland and Trissy

    Peccatrice Dea: Oh my sweets. How long have we both waited for this moment? I have waited an eternity to be with you and now we have an eternity and a day to be together… I’ve missed you. Hello, dear heart.

    Deutschland: I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother to you. You deserve better. I only hope you will do better in this world than I did.

    Trissy: I am so, so sorry you never met your mother. Please, if you can, pay us a visit. Thank you for growing up strong. I see myself in you every day. I love you.

    Nera: I hope I was what you expected me to be for the Valley.

    Marna: Wherever you are, I hope you are happy.

    Konrad: I’m sorry I let you down. That was never my intention. You were a good friend in the end, although you could have been much more than that.

    Cassiah: I hope you’re rotting somewhere pitiful, love.

    Yours: You could have been so great. I had such high hopes for you…

    Demian: Treat the Valley well. She has been through much. And with all of it, she has been my steadfast friend. Do not doubt in her; she will pull through. Believe me, I know.

    To anyone else: Always be strong in your belief and self. Do not let anyone sway you. If you do, you will surely lose yourself.
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    #3
    Welcome home, my love. I have waited an eternity to hold you once more... And damn, you are well worth the wait. I've missed you.

    ~Peccatrice Dea

    Rest in peace Mum... I'm sorry I didn't live up to the legacy of you and Mother. At least now you two can be together. I will find some way to visit, or in the end, I'll come to you for eternity.

    ~Trissy
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