07-14-2017, 12:32 AM
you give me something to think about that's not the shit in my head.
The river was nothing to him, simply a river. Maybe once upon a time it had been more. Once upon a time, it held stories. Fragments of his life that played out by the banks. When he looks at the coursing waters, it stokes nothing. Just a soothing sound, a pretty part of the landscape. Something to be admired, to sate one’s thirst. Nothing more than that. Whatever it once played in his life is gone, missing with the rest of his memories that were lost in the abyss of the afterlife.
Maybe one day he will understand the ghosts that haunt Cordis’s eyes. He had only died once, not nearly as many times as she. Sometimes once was enough. In purgatory feelings are mute, discarded. They lose meaning and shape. They are nothing, you are nothing. You watch from above and you may think you feel amusement but it’s a hollow shell of what you once felt. If he hadn't lost his memories, how they would overpower him now. Guilt and regret. Mourning for those lost and mistakes made. Joy at simply being alive again. But he doesn’t. Amnesia… Such a tricky thing.
Nerine is dull for a place filled with women. Although he won’t admit it out loud, he misses Nocturnal. She’s been keeping to herself it seems, grieving over things he can’t comprehend. He lets her go as he knows he must but he misses his only friend just the same. Lately he’s taken to spending more time in the common lands. There’s always something new, something to occupy his time or discover. It helps keep his mind off her.
Today doesn’t disappoint and brings him an interesting sight. Two mares in the river. One sparkling silver, the other with feathers tangled in the long locks of her mane. Crimson iris’s flash as his interest is sparked and he moves closer to them. His body is still ravaged from scars earned in battles he can’t remember. His body is muscular and fit, a spring of youthfulness in his step. One would never have guessed he had lived to see many things. Wars, kingdoms fall and rise. So many things. Lost in time. Muscles ripple beneath the dark mahogany of his coat, closing in on them in a matter of seconds.
The silver one seems skittish, muscles wound so tightly as if she might spring at any moment. The feathered one is watching her carefully but is much more relaxed in her body language. He pauses in his approach, keeping the distance long between them. Knowing that perhaps if he comes closer, she would bolt. He’s just as memorized by her as the calm one, he can see why she stares so curiously at the sparkling woman in the river. The feathered one is coaxing soothing words to her. He stands silent, simply observing. He would have greeted them properly, given his name, but it’s not the right time. Not when the silvery mare seems so close to flight, as if she might become one with the rapids themselves.
Maybe one day he will understand the ghosts that haunt Cordis’s eyes. He had only died once, not nearly as many times as she. Sometimes once was enough. In purgatory feelings are mute, discarded. They lose meaning and shape. They are nothing, you are nothing. You watch from above and you may think you feel amusement but it’s a hollow shell of what you once felt. If he hadn't lost his memories, how they would overpower him now. Guilt and regret. Mourning for those lost and mistakes made. Joy at simply being alive again. But he doesn’t. Amnesia… Such a tricky thing.
Nerine is dull for a place filled with women. Although he won’t admit it out loud, he misses Nocturnal. She’s been keeping to herself it seems, grieving over things he can’t comprehend. He lets her go as he knows he must but he misses his only friend just the same. Lately he’s taken to spending more time in the common lands. There’s always something new, something to occupy his time or discover. It helps keep his mind off her.
Today doesn’t disappoint and brings him an interesting sight. Two mares in the river. One sparkling silver, the other with feathers tangled in the long locks of her mane. Crimson iris’s flash as his interest is sparked and he moves closer to them. His body is still ravaged from scars earned in battles he can’t remember. His body is muscular and fit, a spring of youthfulness in his step. One would never have guessed he had lived to see many things. Wars, kingdoms fall and rise. So many things. Lost in time. Muscles ripple beneath the dark mahogany of his coat, closing in on them in a matter of seconds.
The silver one seems skittish, muscles wound so tightly as if she might spring at any moment. The feathered one is watching her carefully but is much more relaxed in her body language. He pauses in his approach, keeping the distance long between them. Knowing that perhaps if he comes closer, she would bolt. He’s just as memorized by her as the calm one, he can see why she stares so curiously at the sparkling woman in the river. The feathered one is coaxing soothing words to her. He stands silent, simply observing. He would have greeted them properly, given his name, but it’s not the right time. Not when the silvery mare seems so close to flight, as if she might become one with the rapids themselves.
no crosses count
i want to do it again