The sun crashed down to the ground,
the moon rose up into the sky bright red,
the dead climbed up from their graves
and fell to their knees saying
"Come one, come all, come see and believe."
It has all become the same to him, those endless rainbow hues floating above their heads, kicked about upon the ground by wind and hoof. Another part of his existence, simply there and not to be marveled. He finds it hard now to marvel, to wonder. To find joy in such a shallow, callous world. All that is left to him are his shadows, his sole friend and ally, the only constant companion he has ever needed. Ever claimed.
Since his world had been turned upside down, since he found the truth of the monsters, the existence of fear, nothing has been the same. Nothing has been as it should. Even his parents cannot impart the comfort they once could. They had tried, but he is not the same. He had come back different, changed. As though a small piece of the dark netherworld had broken off and taken up residence inside his soul. And now, all that is left to him are the shadows and the cracks etching endless paths in his skin.
The last time he had ventured forth, he had returned broken. Returned as only pieces of himself, with jagged memories that would last him lifetimes and mark him far longer. And so, he does not venture. Instead he remains, becoming more and more a piece of these woods, of the trembling darkness that lurks within, with each passing day. He had tried once to be different, to be normal. And he had failed in perhaps the most spectacular of ways.
He does not wish to admit to fear, but it is what he feels. It is what fills him, what keeps him locked inside these woods, inside his own mind. So when a soft voice echoes through the trees, redolent with joy and brightness, his first instinct is to hide. To draw into himself, to pull his shadows close about him and wait for the foreigner to pass. But as she draws nearer, there is a quality about her he finds difficult to resist. Something that pulls him (like the siren had pulled him, so very similar, and almost it sends him retreating the darkest depths of those woods). But somehow, somewhere, he finds one small corner of his heart brave enough to venture forth. Not too far, but close enough to see, close enough for wary brown eyes to find the source of such loveliness.
The trees shelter him, cloak him in their comforting darkness, but he peeks out. Peers from behind those trees, body cloaked in shadow, his head only visible to better see. It takes him a few tries, a few guttural attempts, but finally he manages a faint whisper, low and a bit gravelly from restraint. “Hello?” He did not mean it to be a question, but that is how it comes out anyway. As though he is not quite certain if he wishes to be offering any such greeting.
Ether
Please excuse me while I word vomit all over you :|