09-11-2016, 03:05 PM
he laid low the warriors of old
Time went on.
When Rome could not find Eight at the end of the woods, time went on. The days continued on as the sun rose up in the east and the sun set in the west. The season came and went as well. The autumn leaves fell, winter brought the cold snowflakes, spring restored life, and summer brought the heat. He became taller, filled out into more of a muscular form. He became faster and more agile than ever. But he, always and likely forever, remembered that day in the snow with Eight.
The innocence in him remained—naïve and so curious of the world around him. Rome only sought of answers, never fearing what he wanted to know. Even if the answers to his curiosity held any wickedness or bad intentions he became more curious of it. It was everything in and out, and around the world that he wanted to know. He wanted to know why, what, and how it all worked.
This magic around him, filled him constantly with wonder.
And even now, in this very mess of a situation, he still wonders at the concept of it all.
But, for now, his curiosity of the recent event in Beqanna has come to a halt. The very thing that has eaten him for days, months, and almost years, is finally standing before him. Eight stands in bones and flesh, not in blurry images of memories or dreams that only happen when he sleeps.
Rome wonders at this very moment, even standing her listening and speaking to Eight, if this is even happening. It felt more like a dream, if he was to be completely open and honest to himself. He wonders what makes this time different than any other time when he went back to the woods to look for him. What was so special about this date and time? Did the world, some magic beyond all of this, need certain events to occur before he could see Eight again?
It was all possible – this curiosity of his pushed him to believe so.
Rome thinks over the answer to where he went. He didn’t like the answer very much, but it at least filled the empty void that ate at him for all this time. “Oh,” he simply says. It was satisfying at least to know that, but Rome was not too caught up in that. He had every part of him all on Eight – the creator of the flower that bloomed in the winter. The very idea of a flower capable of doing such bothers him, eats at him to know how it happens and is capable to live without the warmth and the sun.
He laughs at his question. “I’m not sure how to with these things,” he says ruffling the wings a little. “It feels awkward.” Rome even wonders how his mother ever got used to her wings. He knows she had earned them while living in the Deserts, and even she had made it seemed easy to fly. “I don’t know if I even like them.” He says with a little frown, childlike almost. “I miss my paws… I could run so fast.” He says with a big grin, growing quickly on his lips. “You should’ve seen how faster I got every day, Eight.” His nutmeg eyes shin with brightness as he watches the magician.
When Rome could not find Eight at the end of the woods, time went on. The days continued on as the sun rose up in the east and the sun set in the west. The season came and went as well. The autumn leaves fell, winter brought the cold snowflakes, spring restored life, and summer brought the heat. He became taller, filled out into more of a muscular form. He became faster and more agile than ever. But he, always and likely forever, remembered that day in the snow with Eight.
The innocence in him remained—naïve and so curious of the world around him. Rome only sought of answers, never fearing what he wanted to know. Even if the answers to his curiosity held any wickedness or bad intentions he became more curious of it. It was everything in and out, and around the world that he wanted to know. He wanted to know why, what, and how it all worked.
This magic around him, filled him constantly with wonder.
And even now, in this very mess of a situation, he still wonders at the concept of it all.
But, for now, his curiosity of the recent event in Beqanna has come to a halt. The very thing that has eaten him for days, months, and almost years, is finally standing before him. Eight stands in bones and flesh, not in blurry images of memories or dreams that only happen when he sleeps.
Rome wonders at this very moment, even standing her listening and speaking to Eight, if this is even happening. It felt more like a dream, if he was to be completely open and honest to himself. He wonders what makes this time different than any other time when he went back to the woods to look for him. What was so special about this date and time? Did the world, some magic beyond all of this, need certain events to occur before he could see Eight again?
It was all possible – this curiosity of his pushed him to believe so.
Rome thinks over the answer to where he went. He didn’t like the answer very much, but it at least filled the empty void that ate at him for all this time. “Oh,” he simply says. It was satisfying at least to know that, but Rome was not too caught up in that. He had every part of him all on Eight – the creator of the flower that bloomed in the winter. The very idea of a flower capable of doing such bothers him, eats at him to know how it happens and is capable to live without the warmth and the sun.
He laughs at his question. “I’m not sure how to with these things,” he says ruffling the wings a little. “It feels awkward.” Rome even wonders how his mother ever got used to her wings. He knows she had earned them while living in the Deserts, and even she had made it seemed easy to fly. “I don’t know if I even like them.” He says with a little frown, childlike almost. “I miss my paws… I could run so fast.” He says with a big grin, growing quickly on his lips. “You should’ve seen how faster I got every day, Eight.” His nutmeg eyes shin with brightness as he watches the magician.
ROME
tarnished x lucrezia