• Logout
  • 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


    when the night calls; kagerus - any
    #2
    He dreams of me, and I of him - occasionally as separate entities, with full control. But especially when he was still too young to remember me, when I made frequent trips to feed him in the river where Rapt carefully raised him while I was off with my political responsibilities (excuses), it was especially then that our dreams were neither of our own. The sensation of having another manipulator amidst the dreamscape, which I've come to know as exclusively my own, terrified me, and guaranteed that I would never spend the night with my little family.

    Eventually, I did not spend time with them at all - and this is why my son must dream. Because the reality of me is too much of a nightmare.

    I never expected today to be the day he comes to find me. It's been on my mind, yes - in my dreams for sure - but it'd never occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, my son might feel the undeniable pull of familiarity between us through our dreams. Usually I must be touching another to bring them with me - but he was inside of me while I dreamt for nine months, he knows my dreams just as I know his. I could spend time with him in the womb while I was dreaming; we are so intimately bonded that it makes sense that he would come to find me.

    It makes sense, but it doesn't make this easier.

    Ilma's rape had left me wondering why exactly I found my own situation so repulsive, but that questioning hadn't lead me to any great action in regards to it. Fucked up, I know, that that wouldn't immediately change my mind. But in the meadow with Hephaestus, watching in a dream as he relived the moment when, minutes after his birth, his parents had tried to murder him - that changed my mind. The black stallion is scarred from that experience, and if I have already bestowed even an ounce of that self-hatred onto my son because of my own vanity and confusion, then I just... I don't know if I'll be able to handle it.

    (You won't be able to.)
    The voice is hard to ignore, when I get thinking like this - about Rapt, and our son.
    (Say his name you fucking coward.)
    It's just - the fact of his existence - the way I had to rip his little body from the depths of myself, crucifying the vulnerability that we shared as a mother and son -
    (Mother? Mother?! Hah! You are foolish to even liken that word to your worthless self.)

    "Stop overthinking," comes her soothing voice, breaking the grasp of the darkness' hand around my throat. My nutmeg eyes blink rapidly from where they'd been fixated on the little gold-white figure sliding down the rockface, finding the breathtaking depths of my lovers cerulean eyes. "I'll be here; it's time, my love." With a last kiss goodbye, the heavily pregnant queen fades into the shadows of the woods, glowing only slightly as she emits the softest of lights to reassure me of her presence.

    With a deep inhale, I go.

    He's bound to notice me right away, standing out starkly against the remainder of white snow atop regrowing yellow grass that covers this expanse of Hyaline. This fact leaves me choked and unsure of myself, ears flickering back as if to catch a final word of advice from Solace - but my son, he exists outside of that reality. I brought him into this world before I knew of the love that I would find in the heart of this land's queen - but hopefully, it won't be long until he crosses that line.

    A part of me squeezes, wishing I could bring Rapt here, too - but we must take it one step at a time. One broken hearted boy at a time.

    We are close now - close enough that I could say something, that it would be appropriate; but I don't. There's vapour rising from my lips and mingling with my horn, as if perhaps I want to say something; but instead, there's silence until I am standing directly in front of him. Tears threaten to well in my eyes, and I can't quite be sure I resist them entirely.

    (He almost killed you.)
    For a moment, I feel as though I might be sick.
    (Repulsive, traitor, killer, why do you love him?)
    A part of me hates him, hates what he stands for - hates what I stand for in reference to him.
    (Kill yours--)

    "Hi," I whisper, cutting off the maniacal voice in my head before it can finish its command. My eyes slowly refocus, expelling the darkness, concentrating on the beautiful boy before me. Beautiful, like his father; beautiful, like his mo - like me - but mostly, beautiful all of his own accord.

    "My name is Kagerus," I offer with a tremulous smile. "And you are my son, Abysm."

    --
    @[Abysm] She's Queen Consort still Smile Just no purple name until Scorch steps down. Also, sorry for this trainwreck :| Again, you inspire me to write novels.
    [Image: kag]
    dreamweaver


    Messages In This Thread
    when the night calls; kagerus - any - by abysm - 05-19-2018, 07:25 PM
    RE: when the night calls; kagerus - any - by Kagerus - 05-20-2018, 05:14 PM



    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)