08-15-2016, 11:44 PM
look up here now; i'm in heaven. i've got scars that can't be seen.
Time has shifted; changed. He has not settled into it, not yet. The days move swiftly and without precedence, and he finds his life slipping away before his very unusual, compound eyes. He cannot piece it all together before it is suddenly gone, washed away with the gentle breeze and bathed in the memories of blood, loss and destruction. He has lost himself in his own mind in the days, months, and years preceding the war, and he finds he cannot reclaim what was once his old soul. It has been discarded, left behind with the now decomposed, rotting corpse of a female he had never known the name of. He had murdered her in cold blood, with nothing but brutality behind his motive - fueled by a desire to protect his kingdom, which was now left to rot in pieces and no longer felt as if it were his.
Still, he would do so with ease again - the muscles beneath his mottled, flaking skin tremor at the thought of it. Anything for her, his mind hisses gently, as the very blood of the forsaken valley pumps with ease thorough his cold blooded veins. His limbs, six in total, shift with an agile ease, though his movements resemble the prowl of a predator. His eyes piece together the fragmented parts of what lay before him, and slowly the line of pine trees come together, with the deeply vibrant sky illuminating their weary, aging limbs, summoning him from the shadows. Her voice had echoed in his mind, but he had hesitated to stir from the shadows - he had nothing to give, nothing to offer - his mind was a muddled mess, ripe with unshed tears and festering anger.
His devotion is unwavering, and he would kill again - he would maim and destroy whatever necessary to keep the sanctity of his precious kingdom, of her delicate yet devious complexity. His thoughts are of no secret to the fierce Queen who watches over in silence, but he remains quiet all the same, drowning the dark thoughts that simmer in his mind beneath a blanket of shadows and solitude. Alas, he is drawn out - his compound eyes grimacing and flinching away from the bright light of dusk, the sky too vibrantly filled with color for his own taste.
His gaze falls to Padma, drenched but glorious nonetheless - her presence is one of the few he can still tolerate; that he still enjoys. She sees beyond his disfigurement; she knows him deeply. He emerges to stand beside her, his delicate wings tucked onto his spine, and his gaze lingers momentarily on the beauty that is his spawn - his precious Despoine. His hollow heart clenches with pride; she too stands with Her majesty and he could ask for little else.
At last, he speaks, his voice low but crackling from disuse. "Elysium; though I am of little use to you now." He murmurs, blinking his wide eyes to focus on the Queen that stands with such fierce presence. "I will not partake in a caste, but my loyalty runs deep. Should you need me, you know where to find me."
elysium
this way or no way, i'll be free.
Also late.