07-24-2016, 12:13 AM
LET ME IN THE WALL YOU'VE BUILT AROUND.
WE CAN LIGHT A MATCH, AND BURN IT DOWN.
It had been a grievously insidious fight - riddled with anguish, fury and an insatiable lust of power, all of which had been in vain. With a thunderous end, magic crackled in the heavy summer air, thick with the scent of coppery blood and echoing the shrieks and bellows of those who partook in its carnage. He, himself, had come close to death - though impervious by nature, his mind had fought off the poison that threatened to overtake his most basic functions, and even in the days and weeks following, he is not quite as he once was. It had been a fruitless fight, one that tore apart the lives of many for the advantage of the few. With a dreadful pang of regret, his mind wanders once more to the silver-painted male, his venomous lies, his unquenchable greed, and he longs to see him again to put an end to his living days.
If he had to do over again, he would have painted his own body in his blood, and if he were to ever see him again, he would not be capable of containing the simmering rage that still festers inside.
Evening was beginning to descend, layering the rounded, rolling clouds above with lavish rays of tinted sunlight. A splash of orange meets periwinkle and together, they lure the moon above the horizon just as the sun falls, and soon he finds his marred obsidian flesh bathed in the shadows of night. He delves deeper into the thick canopy of the pines, his hefty body grazing against the sharp, scratching of brittle bark as he presses further into the shadows. He languishes in the gentle crooning of various birds of flight overhead, and the soft whistling of crickets that litter the forest floor. It is not often that he breaks away from the confines of ice and permafrost, and with his mind burdened with anguish and rage both, he finds solace to be a necessity in his daily routine/
His searing red eyes search the impending darkness, observing the flecks of moonlight reach in through the canopy to reflect soft rays of light along the rippling, moving waters of the broad stream that travels though. He nears it, pausing to drink from it and allow its cool water to slither down his throat and into the pit of his empty belly, before he casts his gaze down along the path. Movement intrigued him, and silently, his sinewy muscle ripples as he strides forth, shielded by the shadow but given away by the way his immense weight crushes dried, brittle branches beneath him with each heavy step.
The shadow tendrils appear to him first as his eyesight adjusts, and he can hardly believe the sight before him - a blue roan wading, allowing the trickle of water to lap away at his legs and flank. A familiar sight. It had been years - many, though he had stopped counting the years over a century ago. Quietly, he watches, uncertain of the nature of his shadowy limbs or their purpose - but there is something alluring about them; something he cannot quite touch.
Though his voice is heavy from disuse, it breaks through the creaking silence of the evening, echoing in the thick, humid air that leaves his flesh in a light sheen of sweat. Long gone are the days of encasing himself with frost - the Gods had seen to it; had taken it away due to their insolence and greed - though he longed for it on the warmest nights such as this.
"Michaelis. It has been a while."
An understatement. He is just as enchanted as he had been then, in spite of the space and time that lingered in between.
OFFSPRING
THE FIRE AND ICE KING OF THE TUNDRA