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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


    long ago in a kingdom by the sea; gail
    #1

    oceanus

    many and many a year ago,

    in a kingdom by the sea


    He doesn’t remember dying any better than he remembers living. His life had been a half life, wasted on broken souls and broken men and women. He was broken himself, after all. More than once he’d covered the hips of a sweat-slicked woman, only to leave her breathless and wanting. But he wasn’t built for love. The creator had made him to hurt, to be broken and mended and shattered again.

    He remembers waking up though.

    There had been darkness, the kind of inky blackness that seems to feel heavy. It had settled around his mind while the water had flowed onto his remains. Time is a foreign concept to the dead, so he has no real idea of how long it had lasted. Months, years, maybe as short as a day. Then, as quickly as the darkness had settled in, the light had come flooding back. He remembers his eyes flying open, and the very real feeling of water on skin. But it was all strange, dream-like even. Whatever it was he rose to the surface instinctively, though it appeared that his lungs didn’t actually need the air. He breathed anyways, grateful to feel his flat lungs expand once more in some semblance of living. Sea creatures of all sorts clung to his tattered hide, starfish and coral filling in the spaces that the monster had consumed. Finally, he makes it onto the beach, a patchwork mess of sea and earth. A dry cough leaves his mouth, expelling great bouts of seawater and phlegm. But he was alive, or something of the sort. The ocean had given him back in some way.



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    #2

    tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us

    She remembered dying, and she’d loved it.
    It was been romantic, almost sickeningly so – wrapped up in the embrace of a stallion whom she’d loved dearly. Myrrdin had been sweetness, warmth, an entirely different love than she kind she kept for Carnage.
    Myrddin was the sort of love you chose, the kind who sat with you on star-swept nights and counted constellations, who whispered your name like poetry. Carnage was more like some vital organ, a heart beating inside of her, the kind of love you cannot help but have because it is an integral part of you, a story writ on your bones.

    She remembers dying, and she remembers coming back, too.
    Coming back, forced back into the meadow, furious.
    But you can only be furious at your heart for so long.
    So they had gone, then, moved on – she’d gone with Carnage to the end of the world, where the world was falling to the langoliers, and they’d stood there waiting for the world to end, his warmth to hers.
    They’d stood and waited and then he had no longer been there, gone, ripped back.

    That had been neither death nor life, the stasis that followed. Time ceased to exist, the same hours repeated themselves tireless, resetting. The langoliers grew no further or closer. She existed and did not exist. She was alive and she was dead. She was Schrodinger’s dream, existing in the strange half state, the perpetual woman of a world where time was gone.
    Until they had come, Carnage’s acolytes. They had come and brought her back to a world that no longer wanted her.

    Thus, this.
    Thus, this halfway place where the spirits roam. Some look solid, some do not. She found a girl – Graveling – and loves her dearly, raises her like a child.
    (She misses children, though her own are mostly here, having met untimely ends.)

    She would recognize his brood anywhere. Certainly the land (of the dead and the living) are rife with them. This one somehow seems even more familiar than a certain structure of the face, and she wonders if they met in times Before.
    “Hello,” she says, then, “I feel like we’ve met.”

    gail
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    #3

    oceanus

    many and many a year ago,

    in a kingdom by the sea


    Though there are many faces in his mind, he remembers but a few. Tethys is always first and foremost, his sister and his love. It was many years ago now, but he could still see her face through the fog of an old mind. They’d had a daughter but her face has long since faded into nothingness. But the blue roan remained, and sometimes if he thought hard enough, he could still remember the plains of her body. The way her mane lay just so, or the angle of her cheek…

    Then Connavar…he’d been all sharp angles and muscles pulled tight. Their life had been teeth to skin and hot breath in twitching ears. It had been destructive but they had thrived in their own sick way. It had been a strange love, understood only by themselves. Maybe it hadn’t been love; it surely was the beginning of the end for Oceanus.

    After Connavar was a heavy fog. It lay on his mind like a wet blanket, and try though he might he couldn’t see through it. It did not shift or sway, it simply was. It was as much a part of his mind as the brain itself was though it acted like a disease. It ate farther and farther into his mind, leaving nothing behind but that strange, empty feeling.

    Garbage. He had been the last, and oh how Oceanus had loved him. Or thought he had loved him. They’d shared something perverse but it had been their mistake to make. In the end, of course, it had been a mistake, and surely they’d known it from the get go. But they had thrown caution to the wind in the most reckless of ways. But they had been happy, or shared some semblance of happiness. Whatever they had shared, it had been endearing enough, and solid enough, but not enough of either to be forever. And now they were both gone on to other places, though Oceanus had yet to see the orange eyes he’d stared into so often. There was a mare though. He was almost startled when the spoke, for he wasn’t quite sure he was real. Clearly though, she was as real as whatever he was. There is maybe something familiar about her, but the fog is too heavy for him to be sure. “Hello.” he responds, startled to hear his voice. “I’m not sure, though I get that feeling too.” he says, his eyes scanning her face. The thought of rudeness never occurs to him. “What is this..place? Is this a place? I died, you know.” he adds, almost an after thought.



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