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sparkleandfadeThe sun had been beating down for weeks now, Summer refusing to lessen his grasp. Maybe it was the last ever summer, and this was the final burst of heat before the sun fizzled out, burned up, turn itself to ash. It wasn’t just the sun though: even the air had a tactile headiness, humid and sickly, like the sweet scent of a corpse. Is this who I am now? Or am I just feverish? It was true that the house seemed peaceful. The master was gone, and whenever he left it felt like the walls themselves sighed with relief. Even though he wroth most especially to Ayase, he spread his hatred with impunity. Wouldn’t it be better if he just died, or went away for good, Ayase thought as he stirred in bed, dragging himself up to sit. No it wouldn’t. Maybe I should be the one who dies, then he wouldn’t be angry.
Caerus had told him to stay abed. The sickness was on him and would be for some time, she said, and moving would only worsen it. He could feel the blackness filling his lungs, and when he coughed he spluttered blood, every movement was a wrenching ache and yet… he couldn’t. Purple eyes ringed surveyed the treetops from his bedroom window, the sunlight dappling green shadows across the stone floor, the wind murmuring, promising release from the heat.
The walk down to the garden was without event. He met no one and so spoke to no one, which was what he had wanted. Ayase did not care to provide an explanation for the blackness under his eyes, his cracked lips, the forced way in which he took each step. It took a while to find a shady spot, but once he had, he collapsed into the grass, breathing hard, lungs and heart straining with effort. Though his eyes closed while he recovered, he knew where he was. The shady spot where I first met him. Recovering enough to smirk, but not enough to laugh, as he began to cough violently. It had been years since he’d just... disappeared, after that day in the rain. It was deserved really. He had clearly never wanted to be touched, or even speak with him. He’d stayed because of Mother. Second best, and the thought stung. Even Cail left him now, increasingly frequently and for increasingly longer. He would take me with him if he could, but he couldn’t.
So all he could do was spend a too-hot day in the garden which he longer loved, full of poisoned memories which had bloomed and grown thorns. .
Caerus had told him to stay abed. The sickness was on him and would be for some time, she said, and moving would only worsen it. He could feel the blackness filling his lungs, and when he coughed he spluttered blood, every movement was a wrenching ache and yet… he couldn’t. Purple eyes ringed surveyed the treetops from his bedroom window, the sunlight dappling green shadows across the stone floor, the wind murmuring, promising release from the heat.
The walk down to the garden was without event. He met no one and so spoke to no one, which was what he had wanted. Ayase did not care to provide an explanation for the blackness under his eyes, his cracked lips, the forced way in which he took each step. It took a while to find a shady spot, but once he had, he collapsed into the grass, breathing hard, lungs and heart straining with effort. Though his eyes closed while he recovered, he knew where he was. The shady spot where I first met him. Recovering enough to smirk, but not enough to laugh, as he began to cough violently. It had been years since he’d just... disappeared, after that day in the rain. It was deserved really. He had clearly never wanted to be touched, or even speak with him. He’d stayed because of Mother. Second best, and the thought stung. Even Cail left him now, increasingly frequently and for increasingly longer. He would take me with him if he could, but he couldn’t.
So all he could do was spend a too-hot day in the garden which he longer loved, full of poisoned memories which had bloomed and grown thorns. .
just listening to sad music and writing this nbd FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS
Date: 2016-04-12 04:31 am (UTC)The world outside seemed so dim and hopeless. The light sputtering out, one by one like candle flames, all who hoped to fight the inevitable struggling, for- what? And yet he fought against himself, all of his own hopes living in the most fragile, mortal things, somehow stronger than himself. They had accomplished so much more than him in their fleeting lives than he had in his existence. Both evil and good- he saw everything he wished for in himself that he would never have.
But that was not what called him. Not the hopeful or hopeless. Not something kindred, or something that needed to be destroyed, something that needed fixing. It was selfish. It was something hateful, pitying, wantful. Like a storm, thoughts gathered in him. Even though he had left, Nhaeii had not gone far. All the world was there in his grasp yet he lingered, ghost-like, a figment drawn to something deep in his soul and something that craved freedom. Or was it both? Were they the same? No. One was pure and fallen. The other was... was...
He was doomed to repeat himself. That was all that Nhaeii could think. It was worthless to go back. Memories still raged within and yet serenity was all that could be seen in white, white eyes. Eyes of the blind, yet no one could see better than he. Or was that truly so? He could know longer tell. The darkness called to him. The light called to him. The broken called to him. It would be so easy, so simple, to fade into the dense forests and be forgotten. To be consumed. To give in.
His thoughts fragmented. Changing, changing as his body did, his form ethereal and held together with only a thought. What called him? He could no longer tell. But like an arrow in his breast, a compass pointing ever north, he returned to them. The bastion of the weary. No one was aware of his return except, perhaps, Caerus. She would always know, just as he would.
The heat made physical form miserable, though it was not something Nhaeii would ever consent to show. But still, without a whisper, an assurance that he could leave and no one would know (besides her, and would she ever speak of it, and who would listen?), he entered the garden.
That was where he found him and could not speak, no, he felt too empty for that.
NO I WONT IGNORE IT
Date: 2016-04-14 12:55 am (UTC)A prison, but a safe prison. A fragrant prison. A prison where he could lie in the grass and feel the burn of the sun melt into the burn of his fever, if he wanted, or twist and turn in the darkness and solitude of his chambers, if he wanted. He had that much freedom at least. All that existed in The World Outside were better thought of as dangers that he did not have to trouble to avoid. Those things could not find him here.
Still, it felt familiar. With laborious effort he struggled upright, not strong enough to stand, but his arms withstood his weight for long enough to sit up. Misty eyes surveyed the greenery around him, searching. Visitors to the house would bother him infrequently when the sickness was on him, knowing that he preferred to be alone, or perhaps felt uncomfortable.
Most people did not like to watch someone suffer, Ayase knew. Especially in this House, where so many came to heal.
The presence was not Cail, or Caerus, or Aeia, or even Father, though he would never seek him out. Cail did not come home when he was sick, or if he did, and came to visit him, Ayase had not been lucid enough to remember. It must hurt him, to see him this way. How nice it would have been to lie in his brother’s arms and listen to his gentle voice tell him of oceans and mountains and fields and castles.
Perhaps one day, when the world was ending anyway, Ayase would make him promise to take him there. Anywhere. Somewhere else. He would die, at last, maybe, but it would be Somewhere Else.