[private] everything that dies makes its way back, ryatah - Printable Version +- Beqanna (https://beqanna.com/forum) +-- Forum: Explore (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1) +--- Forum: The Common Lands (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=72) +---- Forum: The Ruins (https://beqanna.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=114) +---- Thread: [private] everything that dies makes its way back, ryatah (/showthread.php?tid=31463) |
everything that dies makes its way back, ryatah - jarris - 02-10-2024 RE: everything that dies makes its way back, ryatah - Ryatah - 02-13-2024 Ryatah WHEN I WAS SHIPWRECKED I THOUGHT OF YOU IN THE CRACKS OF LIGHT I DREAMED OF YOU She likes the Ruins, even if they don’t really feel as if they belong here. The wars fought here were not theirs, and she does not know who the blood long-since dried into the dirt belongs to, but there is a haunted quality to it that feels familiar. It feels the way she imagines it might look like if someone split her open — the wreckage of something once beautiful, the kind of thing you look at and wonder what it had looked like before it was torn apart but somehow knowing that to rebuild it would mean you lose some of the original allure. She is used to being made up of broken parts, pieced together with both magic and a strange, suffering kind of willpower — an unyielding need to stay alive but to regret nearly every moment of it. She cannot explain why being here feels like a knot finally loosening in her chest, as if the mist that hangs in the air is easier to choke on than breathing in the too-sweet air of the meadow. The gold that is streaked across the ground catches her eye, and she pauses momentarily to survey it. She leaves behind her own trail of shimmering stardust, but this is different, almost blood-like. It leads her to a stallion, dapple gray (and of course her wretched little heart lurches for just a moment, as it always does) with a crown of thorns digging cruelly into his skin, streaked in crimson and gold. “Jarris,” she breathes his name, and it feels familiar even though she can’t be sure she has ever spoken it. Maybe it is just her magic retrieving his name, but it feels deeper than that. His blood pulses and hers keeps time, and all at once she is brought back to a feeling of crushing despair and hopelessness, of sharp rocks and an unforgiving ocean — and the sensation of her immortality being ripped away, called by someone else. “I know you. But…I don’t know if you ever knew me,” she says, a soft frown forming under the golden light of the halo that hovers above her head. “My name is Ryatah.” AND IT WAS REAL ENOUGH TO GET ME THROUGH — BUT I SWEAR YOU WERE THERE @jarris RE: everything that dies makes its way back, ryatah - jarris - 02-13-2024 RE: everything that dies makes its way back, ryatah - Ryatah - 02-18-2024 Ryatah WHEN I WAS SHIPWRECKED I THOUGHT OF YOU IN THE CRACKS OF LIGHT I DREAMED OF YOU It is always strange to meet someone that drags her back in time. Most of her life feels as if it is always hurtling forward — another change, another heartbreak, another love, another disaster. She has never been the type to look back, always perhaps a little too eager to leave the past behind her. It’s why she can love someone new without any reservations; it’s why she can launch headfirst into danger without thinking about what happened the last time she did that. She moves on before the wound is even healed, but she never loses the scars. She doesn’t fully remember why she had gone to the beach that day; maybe her heart had been broken, or maybe life had felt impossibly heavy and empty and too long. She’s always had a bad habit of seeking relief from stagnation in violent ways, and she is sure that day hadn’t been any different. “The immortality that you have,” she begins, just as she reaches into him to ever so gently pull at it, a curious look shadowing her face. She forgets sometimes what she can do with magic; that she can feel that golden thread of life, and for a moment she marvels at the fact that she could take it back if she wanted. She can feel the way it hums and shifts in response to her, and she is so unaccustomed to having control over anything at all that she can feel an alien greediness flare to life inside of her. But the feeling passes and she releases her hold on it, letting it settle back into his veins and her nearly-black eyes are once again soft as they meet his storm-gray own. “It used to be mine. Something strange happened that day, and when I died it found you.” She thinks back to that dark, peculiar feeling from just moments before, and as if in reminder to herself she reassures him, “It’s yours, now. It was a gift to me—” she thinks of Moselle, the queen of the Dale that Carnage had unseated in the name of the Valley, and how she had granted immortality to her as a promise of protection for the kingdom “—and now I suppose a gift from me to you.” Her gaze unknowingly drifts to the crown of thorns that dig into his skin, down to the golden tears that carve paths across his cheeks. She does not even realize when she is reaching out to brush her porcelain-white muzzle across his cheek, smearing the bloodied gold across both their skin as she asks, “were these a gift, too?” because she knows all too well that not all gifts are kind. AND IT WAS REAL ENOUGH TO GET ME THROUGH — BUT I SWEAR YOU WERE THERE RE: everything that dies makes its way back, ryatah - jarris - 03-25-2024 |