04-03-2018, 11:49 PM
I've been dreaming of children.
Sons, in particular.
Of their birth-wet fur and all-seeing eyes. Of how they mewl and cry for mother, reaching out with tendrils of darkness for that creature: mother.
Insignificance had birthed Khaedrik, the manipulator of arcane darkness, a half-brother to me whom I haven't seen since... Since his shadows peered inside of me and witnessed my unforeseen doom, condemning me as a slut, one worthy of the death that quickly approached me. And then with Hestia - I heralded her child into this world, the eyeless, earless, mouthless freak that raped our minds with his inky voice, pressing the slime of his rank afterbirth to our innocent hides. And then me.
My son.
Curled up somewhere with his father, near the river where I always leave them, washing their scents off of me on my way back to Hyaline, or in today's case, the field. I can't bear the smell of them on me. Marking me as one of their own - as a part of their family... My body may have gilded Abysm's every fiber, but it was his father (mother) Rapt who gave birth to him in the end. For if I had, I would have died. But in the process of saving my life, I excommunicated myself from my natural role in the family dynamic... I am a milk-bag for Abysm. Nothing more. And when he is weaned, I will dissolve into the background; less than nothing. Better than dead.
And her... Well, she isn't a son like the rest of the children in my life, but she has ties to the darkness. Like Khaedrik, the manipulator; like Oblivion, the embodiment; and like Abysm, the conceived. Her little spotted frame caught my attention immediately when I'd entered the field; but it's the snake-mouse that slithers and skitters across her that keeps my attention steadily upon her. She is one of us. One of the darklings.
(For if I am anything at all, I am the harbinger).
"Hello," comes my lyrical voice, low and calling to her. It's not long before I stand before the little filly, noting her dark gaze and buckskin colouring in contrast to the nutmeg of my eyes and the blood-and-bone of my fur. I stand much taller than the girl, but I try not to act like it; I remember how I was at her age, stoic, calm, eager to be seen as one of the Adults. And since we are dark-kin, it is more than likely that we share other things in common, too, such as our childhood dispositions.
But one cannot be sure.
I offer her a small smile, revealing the edges of black fangs that match the black horn sprouting from my skull. "My name is Kagerus. What's yours?"
@[glim]
Sons, in particular.
Of their birth-wet fur and all-seeing eyes. Of how they mewl and cry for mother, reaching out with tendrils of darkness for that creature: mother.
Insignificance had birthed Khaedrik, the manipulator of arcane darkness, a half-brother to me whom I haven't seen since... Since his shadows peered inside of me and witnessed my unforeseen doom, condemning me as a slut, one worthy of the death that quickly approached me. And then with Hestia - I heralded her child into this world, the eyeless, earless, mouthless freak that raped our minds with his inky voice, pressing the slime of his rank afterbirth to our innocent hides. And then me.
My son.
Curled up somewhere with his father, near the river where I always leave them, washing their scents off of me on my way back to Hyaline, or in today's case, the field. I can't bear the smell of them on me. Marking me as one of their own - as a part of their family... My body may have gilded Abysm's every fiber, but it was his father (mother) Rapt who gave birth to him in the end. For if I had, I would have died. But in the process of saving my life, I excommunicated myself from my natural role in the family dynamic... I am a milk-bag for Abysm. Nothing more. And when he is weaned, I will dissolve into the background; less than nothing. Better than dead.
And her... Well, she isn't a son like the rest of the children in my life, but she has ties to the darkness. Like Khaedrik, the manipulator; like Oblivion, the embodiment; and like Abysm, the conceived. Her little spotted frame caught my attention immediately when I'd entered the field; but it's the snake-mouse that slithers and skitters across her that keeps my attention steadily upon her. She is one of us. One of the darklings.
(For if I am anything at all, I am the harbinger).
"Hello," comes my lyrical voice, low and calling to her. It's not long before I stand before the little filly, noting her dark gaze and buckskin colouring in contrast to the nutmeg of my eyes and the blood-and-bone of my fur. I stand much taller than the girl, but I try not to act like it; I remember how I was at her age, stoic, calm, eager to be seen as one of the Adults. And since we are dark-kin, it is more than likely that we share other things in common, too, such as our childhood dispositions.
But one cannot be sure.
I offer her a small smile, revealing the edges of black fangs that match the black horn sprouting from my skull. "My name is Kagerus. What's yours?"
@[glim]
![[Image: kag]](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2e8039018ce4dff6112c167ec23e886a/tumblr_p72zjit7wC1s5a0qvo1_100.png)
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