03-08-2018, 10:47 AM
The hazy mass of coiling darkness around him writhed and seethed under the touch of the stranger. The stranger who seemed as at home in the darkness as if it was a second skin. Khaedrik´s eyes; pomegranate-red with fervor, do not stray from his form. There is envy in those eyes; grating and sharp. What wouldn´t he do for an ounce of truce with his own mind? Khaedrik is shadow and turmoil; hate and fear and longing. Impossibly flawed, mad with apathy and fever-hope. This man; tainted only with the indecision of wanderers on his brow does not seem to hold any of those flaws. So at ease is he in his own skin that Khaedrik begins to wonder if Michaelis is yet another shadow-creature to bind to his side in servitude.
”Michaelis” he echoes; as if the name was some prophecy he has yet to decipher.
Trekori is what saves the boy from his own madness; made stark against shadows and darkness – he comes bearing his own beacon of light and hope and Khaedrik lets out a wheezing breath – picking up what scraps and pieces remained of his own sanity. Part of him wants to lean against the golden lightbringer, revel in the familiarity that he brings; part of him despises such shallow needs of comfort and longing. His shadows snarl and hiss – they will have none of this weak-heartedness, and his wolf, bright-eyed and vicious snaps its bright-black teeth at the boy. Khaedrik scolds the thing in that shuddersome tongue that is his and his alone.
”I´m sorry…” he mutters, ashamed, but he wears the wolf´s crestfallen disappointment in his eye. How long will he stand this onslaught of hunger until he finally snaps? Woe to he who stands in Khaedrik´s way when his grip on sanity slips.
But this night seems to hold more than one (unpleasant) surprise in its bosom, and a third creature emerges from the ink-black darkness. Her light clash with his darkness; a battle of wills that Khaedrik is all too content to lose. He turns almost gleeful as the wolf-thing that is his own unholy creation whimpers in disapproval. Khaedrik ignores the sting in his own eyes.
Yet, he leans into winged Trekori, melding gold with gold and darkness, suddenly craving that familiarity of warm skin and recognition.
”We haven´t seen you here before”