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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    [open]  broken when I'm open [Any]
    #1

    Ledger

    The siren call of his ghost father has tried to drown him over and over and the bear saves him every time. He has ripped open his own chest with savage claws, laying his broken blackened soul and blood to lay at her feet. Looking for that which had been taken, finding no easy sweet release. No comfort. Nothing to take away the constant ebb and flow of anger, to drown away his memories (both real and not), nothing to find solace in. Catching them in their embrace, the way they so affectionately touched each other, it’s enough to make him vomit.

    He has no purpose. He wants to die.

    One day he simply doesn’t let his bear body wash back to shore, letting him float with the current away from the ashlands. Away from her and her deceit. From the daily horror he is subjected to. Eventually he finds his way back to land and drags his shifted hooves with no destination in mind. Or perhaps he does.

    Years and years ago, he had met a girl of glass here. She had been fragile in both body and mind, translucent skin and paper thin wings. She had seen past his worthlessness. He had never had the chance to tell her how he felt. Or he did, and they had lived happily together until she fell to her death. The memories are confused and jumbled within his ravaged head. What was real and what was not? He can’t tell anymore.

    His gaping wounded chest stings with the chill of cold fingers as it grazes against the exposed skin. The single eye is hollow just as his the rest of his wrecked body is, wasting away quickly. Back to the skeleton he had been when he had met her. This was his life. ”What you always deserved.” Chernobyl's hissing whisper in his ear. The strange swirling ache that lingers beneath the torn skin he had tried so desperately to unearth.

    Love was fleeting, it didn’t exist. Not for the likes of him, God did not see fit that he could be deserving of such a thing. He was made to suffer, he was made to be broken.

    Who could love a beast after all?

    No sleep tonight
    I'll keep driving down these dark highway lines

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    #2
    all that we have amassed sits before us, shattered into ash
    Every time she returns, something gets torn out from under her. She is lost, confused—she isn't sure of what to do. Her cream-and-gold legs can only traverse the same spits of land for so long before she loses herself entirely, and for a long time, she has been on the very cusp. Her love is gone, her true home demolished, her children vanished to different corners of the world; she is entirely alone, and perhaps that is how she is meant to drift.

    Only the recent return of her gifts has prompted her to return, if only to see what new wonders this turn of Beqanna holds for her. The flames in her chest have settled back into their home and she's been able to repair the small nicks on her legs and shoulders as if nothing had ever changed in the first place. The powers are her own, the only things that can't be stripped from her—aside from when Beqanna herself did the taking. They have returned, and they have made her as whole as she thinks she can ever be. She has lost too much.

    Her only constant home is the populated gathering place, the wide-open meadow spotted with other horses. She doesn't often socialize (they're just trying to drag her to kingdoms and territories she doesn't want to visit) and seldom does she even watch the others. It's hard for her to care about them, to pretend to care about them, when she doesn't care in the least. The world can burn for all she cares. She is tired of always losing, always needing to be saved.

    She wants to be herself for once, not someone else.

    It is mid-autumn when she finally bestirs herself, lifting her deep brown eyes to gaze across the field. They fall on a familiar red stallion, pockmarked with scars and looking nearly as miserable and lonely as Cress herself feels. Is it...? She finds herself moving towards him almost against her will, the stallion who had also narrowly escaped Carnage drawing her in. "Ledger?" she whispers when she is within earshot, hoping that he recognizes her. They have had several conversations before, after all, and they had screamed to each other from their cells in Carnage's Hell. She could never forget his scarred face.

    Noticing the gaping wound on his chest, she shuffles closer, her golden nose stretching out to brush his neck. "I can heal that for you, if you'd like," she tells him, raising her dark eyes to meet his.
    cress
    oxytocin x kindling

    infected.
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    #3

    Ledger

    He had ripped his chest open. For her. Claws tearing at flesh, pain exploding in his breast. Trying to expose that which was missing, that which was taken. It is gone. There’s an inkling somewhere in the back of his shattered mind that the Dark God is the true culprit. Its lost however, mixed and suffocated by the pain of Ellyse and the torture of Carnage. What is real and what is not? He does not know anymore. He does not care anymore. The weird swirling weight in his torn open chest is like an irritating itch and he wishes only for death. Death that isn’t allowed by the beast within. The bodyguard, the gate keeper.

    She is another figment of his imagination. Another ghost (like Magnus and the screaming falling lover of glass) here to torture him and remind him of the failure of life he has become. His one eyed gaze is dull and broken, barely registering when she comes closer. Barely feeling the ghostly caress of her touch on his neck. Slowly he exhales, raising his head to meet her imploring gaze.

    He was already mad, who cared if anyone saw him speaking to ghosts?

    ”If you must. It’s already gone.” He finally manages, knowing that even if she repairs the damage he has done to his own body… The x would still be there. Carnage would always be there, written all over his body like a diseased storybook. ”You weren’t there this time.” He finally whispers, reaching out to touch her cheek and feeling the strange emptiness in his chest. Feeling the constant nothing when he makes contact. How he aches to feel something again, something besides the memories of heartbreak and the constant surging waves of anger that boils in his stomach.

    ”All is lost.”

    No sleep tonight
    I'll keep driving down these dark highway lines



    @[Cress]
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