"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
11-20-2015, 09:39 PM (This post was last modified: 11-20-2015, 10:45 PM by Minette.)
la jeune fille marquée
She loves him. She knows that now, and it is a restless ache in her heart.
She wishes she could love Magnus fully, unfettered. She wishes that she had a love untainted by darkness to offer him, but she never will. Not anymore. Every fiber of her being has been broken into pieces, shredded and rebuilt. There is no trace of the innocent and unmarked mare that stumbled into the mountains so many years ago. She hadn't known, when the white wolf's red eyes met hers, that her trembling body would never again be hers.
Some days she can hardly stand her own skin. She feels dirty, used, less than worthy of love.
She had thought escaping would quell her fears but the nightmares have only intensified. Though her days are filled with her sweet little daughter and her beautiful surroundings and him, her angel, her nights are terror incarnate. She is forced to relieve the worst of herself, and those around her.
She closes her eyes to sleep, to clutch at rest, and the demons appear.
She feels the heat of Gryffen as he rapes her, the act of sex somehow more violent and crushing than the beating he has just given her. She smells his earthy musk, the heady scent of him overpowering her, drowning out the faint aroma of lilies that clings to her coat.
She tastes blood in her mouth. It gathers in pools that dribble from her muzzle as he kicks her, reminding her that she is nothing more than the dirt beneath his hooves.
Anger, disgust, rage. They fill the pit of her stomach. She whimpers in her sleep, her teeth clenched against an all too familiar assailant.
And then there is the dark god. He hovers, waiting for his chance to remind her of the terrible despair he has wrought upon her soul. A vicious beast stalks her, violates the sweet memories of her childhood home, tears her to pieces. Flames crackle, licking at her body, feasting hungrily upon the flesh until there is nothing left. Blood drips steadily from her hip as Carnage's mark is etched into her skin.
And she watches herself die over and over again. Not-Minette, her body worn by a life of suffering, torn to pieces by hell hounds.
Each moment of agony feels as if it is happening for the first time. Except she always knows how the story will end.
Only as the faint light of the sun appears on the east do the horrors release her.
Dark bruises have appeared around her eyes and weight has slowly dropped from her body. She forgets to eat, unless reminded, and though she smiles and laughs and speaks, a haunted look never quite leaves her brown eyes. Minette does her best to hide it from those she loves best, and she daily hopes that Amorette will never know the pain her mother experiences.
And then one day, she is panicked to find she has reached a place of blackness so deep that the light can no longer be found.
She wakes to a world devoid of reason. Her voice is flat, despite her best efforts, when she directs Amorette to run and play with her sister. Minette watches with eyes dry of tears as the little girl obeys. When she is certain the dark filly is occupied, the gray mare turns and walks away. The forest bordering Heaven greets her, the trees enveloping her battered and scarred body into the shade. A wave of fear is swallowed by numbness, and there is bitter relief in that.
She thinks of the golden stallion with the serious eyes and the slow, beautiful smile.
She wants him to come. She hopes he will stay away. She longs for the sound of his wings on the wind, of his low, honey-whiskey voice and the safety he offers.
But she deserves none of it.
What would he think of her, if he knew what lurked within the recesses of her heart? An anguished longing swells within her chest and she drops her head, giving in to despair.
you and I both know that the house is haunted and you and I both know that the ghost is me
If she though that he had not noticed the demons that haunt her sleep, she was wrong. Magnus knew all about demons. It was his very demons that had led to him watching her whimper and clench her teeth when she thought no one was watching; it was these demons that caused him to wander around the kingdom every night instead of sleeping like he should. Sleep eluded him. It always had, and although he had hoped he would escape his insomnia in this life, he was not so lucky. Even now, he did not rest well.
He had been giving her space, time to acquaint herself to the kingdom, to this new life, but he had not just abandoned her. He watched her from afar, when he wandered the borders. He watched her from afar when he circled the land in the sky. He watched her as he walked amongst the sleeping residents at night. He watched her and worried for her, and did what he could: keep her safe. Ensure Gryffen did not find her.
The small, subtle ways that he could protect her and her family.
But today, he did not stay afar. Instead, he tucked his wings close to his sides and wandered toward her, his mouth tight and gold-flecked eyes burning with concern. “Minette,” he says in his low voice, the husk familiar, but the sound strained with emotion. He does not touch her although he burns to make sure that she is safe; instead, he stops several feet away, dropping his head a little in greeting, ears swiveling.
Magnus does not bother to ask her how she has been—he knows. He does not burden her with the weight of idle chatter. Instead, he just breathes deeply. “You know, I don’t think I ever told you my story.” His eyes are sad, his crooked smile brief. “Perhaps it is time that I did.” He feels the wind between them, and his heart grows cold in his chest, feeling every inch from himself to her, but he doesn’t close the distance.
Not yet.
“My parents are Atrox and Twinge, they were King and Queen of the Chamber and Amazons at the time of my birth. They were…ferocious. Their love was cruel. It was bright, but cruel. I grew up with my mother in the jungle—and I thought that I would stay there forever. I loved it. I still do.” He pauses for a second, thinking back to his childhood in the vines—the dangerous vines and screaming birds and his mother’s jaguar that had padded by his side for so many years. “But I went to the Chamber and served with my father for a time. I became their Lord. But, I met her—and everything changed.”
His eyes burn brighter at this part, but he had made a promise to open himself up to her, and he did not stop now. “Her name was Joelle, and she was the daughter of the Gates King. She was effervescent. She was kind, soft-spoken, gentle—everything I never deserved. But I loved her. More than I thought possible, and so I came to live here with her.” He motioned around the kingdom. “I never belonged here, but I thought I could for her. So I worked hard for her and her father. I fought and recruited and did everything I could for them. When her father stepped down, he handed the crown to Joelle and made me the General of the kingdom. Not too long after, Joelle asked for me to serve beside her as King.”
Magnus has never felt so vulnerable in his life, and he swallows before continuing. “It was like…wearing a skin that didn’t fit right. The land flourished, but I could never shake the feeling that I did not belong here. I wasn’t like the rest of the kingdom. I…hungered for the wrong things. I picked fights with the wrong people. I wanted war in a way that I shouldn’t. One day, I went to the beach and my brother, Makai, was there. He was stained with blood. There were two mares at his feet, and he was gleeful.” His stomach clenches at this thought, “I killed him. Right there. I didn’t meant to, but I lost my head.”
When his eyes open, they are bright with pain, “When I came back to the kingdom, I abdicated the throne. I left Joelle. I left our children. I left everything we had built together—and I ran to the Dale. I served them for a while, found a blood sister in Librette. Her and Katana helped me to right my head. They helped my find my feet, and eventually I went back to Joelle. We lived as citizens in the Gates before leaving because of political turmoil,” he glosses over this piece, not wanting to dive into the story of Spyglass and Everclear—the stallion from the Valley who came for a visit and stayed as king.
“But there was a stallion, Trashlip, who did not care for us. Who had a vendetta against us. One day, he found us,” his breathing is a little strained, heart twisting painfully, “and he killed us both. I could not protect her—could not protect myself. He murdered her before my eyes, and then I died on that beach.”
Silence falls over him for a second as he does his best to gather himself, drawing a few deep breaths. “Something brought me back. I don’t know what. It didn’t bring Joelle back. But I made a promise to myself that I would protect this land for her; I made a promise that I would protect the ones that I loved this time around—that I would not fail as I did before.” He shifts, wanting to slow the space between them, but not trusting she would want to be near him after all he had confessed.
“And then I found you and everything changed for me again.”
12-07-2015, 09:21 PM (This post was last modified: 12-07-2015, 09:22 PM by Minette.)
la jeune fille marquée
Her name on his lips is a sound she knows will never tire of. The way he caresses the syllables, the low honey of his voice making her feel warm and beloved though she doesn't deserve it. Even if he some day discovers the truth of her and leaves, the memory of this will linger. Her skin is electrified with anticipation, imagining his gentle touch, even while the hurt, animal part of her shrinks away from his presence. The world had crumbled too much. What would he think of her?
And then, through the haze of despair, his voice shines like a light. The words are garbled at first, almost indistinguishable from the sound of her heartbeat and the pounding in her head, but as her hearing sharpens she realizes he is opening his heart to her. The tale of his life paints new strokes across what she knows of him, the depths of his grief and the far reaches of his generous heart laid bare. His trust touches her. She mourns with him, and listens, with patient sympathy.
Vulnerability shows stark in his eyes. Minette feels she has never loved him more than in this moment. She sees the cracks, the torn and mended pieces, and in him she recognizes herself. Both are hurting, and hopeful, with a darkness that runs deep within their blood. When her tears finally fall, they are for him.
“I would give all I am to see that you are never hurt again, that such despair and regret never haunts you.” She closes the distance between them, the lack of him suddenly feeling unbearable. She runs her muzzle softly across the expanse of his shoulder and neck to nuzzle his cheek.
Eyes bright and full of tears, she looks up at the golden stallion, resolved. Her voice trembles and she is afraid her words will fail.
“I hope, I want, that change to be a good one, but I am afraid it would not be if you knew me better. Oh Magnus, I love you. I love you with an eloquence to express it that I do not possess, but I cannot hide the darkness from you.”
There is a long moment of silence, for though she is resolved, the telling of her grief is no easy task.
“I do not remember my family. I wish, so badly, that I could. There is a sense of happiness and peace as my foundation but my first true memories are of-of Gryffen.” Her voice falters, and she casts an anxious glance over her shoulder. She prays the day will come when his name will not cause her to startle. “You know some of what he did, of what I endured. The second season I was there, I had my first child, a daughter. Anguisette. She was good and sweet and loving, and I knew she deserved better than what I or her father had to offer. I was a prisoner, subject to Gryffen's whims and sadistic pleasures. Everything in my heart rebelled against sending my child away, but I didn't have a choice. I found Gryffen's sister in the meadow and begged her to take Anguisette away to the Amazons.”
The memory of that day is burned into Minette's mind. The chattering, trusting voice of her daughter as she followed her aunt obediently. And the moment, hours later, when the gray mare finally turned away from the spot where her daughter had disappeared into the fog.
“It has been three years since I've laid eyes on my little love. I do not know if she is alive, or where she sleeps at night or who she loves. I do not even know if she knows of my existence, or would want to see me if she did.”
She takes a deep, shuddering breath.
“He found out. Gryffen. I knew he would. He was angry. I thought I had seen the depths of his rage but I was wrong.”
Minette blinks, pauses, and continues in a voice flat of emotion. “What he did to me I wish I could forget. Once I could walk he drove me to the mouth of a cave in the earth and left me as an offering for the evil that resided there. I was afraid. I should have been terrified. Sometimes I think... it would have been better if I had died down there.
His name is Carnage, the evil below the earth, although I didn't find that out until later. He styled himself a dark god and so I knew him. I don't have the words for the tortures he wrote across my body. The fire that turned my skin to ash, the monsters that still haunt my dreams with their slavering hunger... and the future version of myself that appeared, begging me to kill her. She had been the dark god's plaything for years upon years. She was as real as you or I, and my choice was to kill her or become her.”
Tears fill her voice then, choking the words from her throat. Though she has relived the moments of her pain in a thousand nightmares, she has never before spoken of it aloud.
“I couldn't do it, Magnus. I couldn't kill her, and she knew it, and so she sacrificed herself to the hounds of hell while I watched. They tore her to pieces and I was too much of a coward to stop her. Because the truth is, I was afraid. I didn't want to become her. I wanted her to die so I could leave and put the darkness behind me. I didn't kill her, but I might as well have.”
She looked up at him, sorrow written in the lines of her face. Her voice is low, tremulous and uncertain. Unconsciously she has stepped backward, weary, bracing herself for rejection yet to come.. “And so, that is who I am. A coward and a worthless mother and a shell of a being. I do not even know if the girl I was exists anymore. I have so little to offer, Magnus, except a damaged heart that is nearly broken.”
ooc: well, this post was a struggle. you deserved so much better writing. *hugs* I loved responding to this.
you and I both know that the house is haunted and you and I both know that the ghost is me
What weaves between them is not the same as what had spun between him and Joelle (he is not sure that he will never be able to give those shattered pieces of his heart again; not sure he will never be whole enough to sacrifice again), but it is rooted in the truth of them. She comes near him, and he embraces her with a sigh, wrapping his scarred body around her own, pressing his cheek to her flesh and enjoying the warmth of her—the acceptance of his scars, the no strings attached to her gentle words and kindness.
He says nothing when she speaks and instead just watches her, studying the lines of her face and the soft breath that expels her words. He says nothing when she herself opens up, completing this ritual of honesty—what he views as expelling their demons, but she views as exposing. His mouth turns more and more into a frown, the slash of it just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to all that he feels as he listens to her story.
Finally, when her voice trails off and the story exists between them, spinning and alive with all of its sad truth, he speaks, pressing his mouth first to her poll and then to her cheek and finally to her forehead, lingering there for several seconds. “Minette,” as she would never tired of him saying her name, he would never tire of saying it, “you are so much more than you know. You are strong and brave and a fighter. You were clever enough to protect your child and selfless enough to go through with it. You mourned for what could have killed you. You led your friends from that prison even when you know what was at risk for yourself. You are braving a new world you know nothing about. You are a miracle.”
Magnus drew back and looked a her, holding her gaze, his voice rich with emotion. “I know you will never see this, but know that when I look at you, I see the most incredible soul I have ever met.” He shudders, “And I love you. I never thought it was possible and I do not know what it means—if I am even able to love in that way again—but I love you. I wish I was whole enough to give you what you need.”
His touch is what undoes her. Her heart cracks and from it, her untapped desire flows. She wants this. She wants him, in whatever way she can. It matters so little that they are broken beings, that neither will ever be fully whole. Maybe together they can be a semblance of healed. And though her head tells her that she isn't worthy of such things, her heart chooses to believe in the warmth of Magnus' embrace. Cleansing tears run down her face as he kisses her cheeks and her face, lingering on her forehead in a way that makes her body ache with longing. After so long feeling nothing but grief, the quiet wonder of joy is almost painful.
The richness of his voice echoes in her ear, his words like a balm to her soul. For the first time she sees that there is more to what she's been through than darkness. All along, there was a light for her path. She tries to imagine, for a moment, the bravery that Magnus says he sees. The miracle he says she is. Minette blushes at the thought. The gray mare doesn't feel brave. She feels worn and stretched. But there is something there, the beginning of peace kindled within her being.
He meets her eyes then, drawing back so they are facing one another. Everything he says surprises her, for though she loves him beyond understanding, she would never have believed before now that he could feel the same for someone like her. But then, he knows. He knows who she was and has been, and in the same way Magnus has opened his past to let her look at the darkness he carries. They are not perfect or ideal, but for the first time that matters little to Minette. It is enough that they are.
I don't need you to be whole, my angel. I need you to be you. I don't love the man you were or the man you could have been, I love who you are in this moment and for all the days after.” She meets his eyes with a warm look, before nuzzling his neck. “You may look at me and see an incredible soul, and a miracle, Magnus, for I look at you and see the same. If you hadn't comforted me that day, I don't know that I would have had the courage to leave what I had known for so long. There is strength and passion and depth in you, and I am honored to call even a part of you mine.”
you and I both know that the house is haunted and you and I both know that the ghost is me
As she nuzzles into his side, he feels the ties attaching them as surely as he feels the wind moving through his mane and the grass beneath his hooves and the air expanding his lungs. It is beautiful and bright and for the first time in a long time, Magnus’ aching heart feels some semblance of peace. He closes his gold-flecked eyes and breathes in deeply, taking in the scent of her and the quiet of the Gates, letting this be enough. Letting this moment etch permanently into his memory so that he can forever remember it.
“I love you, Minette,” he murmurs again, pressing his forehead into the sweet curve of her neck, and he smiles against her. “I do not think that I will ever tire of saying that.” He had not thought it possible for him to ever say those words again—to mean them. There is a moment, brief and sharp, where he wonders if this is betrayal to Joelle. (How can he love when she still rests in the saltwater and brine?) But the moment passes. She would want this for him—just as he would have wanted this for her. Joelle would have wanted him to find whatever joy he could, and he is comforted by this, feeling her blessing.
Pulling away, he looks at Minette, studies her features. “I need to tell you something.” Something that was brewing on the horizon; something that was storming beneath the surface. “There are rumors that war will come once again to Beqanna, and I fear that the Gates will be at the epicenter of it.” Feared for her and her children even as his heart thrilled at the possibility, his warrior-soul singing with pleasure. “Should the battle be brought here, I need you to promise me you will find the children and leave. I need to know that you will be safe.” He glances toward the border. “We are close to the meadow. If you take the children, you should be able to sneak through the fray and find your way there.”
He presses a kiss to her forehead again, this time with more edge, the undercurrent fierce.
“I will find you there. I promise it.”
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