10-24-2019, 10:17 PM
no matter what they say, I am still the king
There is a pull and tear of time and space; a neverending spray of what will ever be, never come, forever stay. Nothing ever changes when you are might and magic and all the intricacies in between. It is all the same; a steady wear of one day to the next, a slow ebb on the bruise of your heart. The ones you love die, the places you know change, the things you care for were never really there at all. There will never be a steady bridge, just a passing of time.
Of course he had to follow her. He is not a sentimental man, he does not carry the ink of love in his heart or the ache to carry ties. He simply is. He is here one day, and gone the next - an ever fluctuating, never reliable, hurtful and reckless mess. But he had to follow her. For all his faults in being a father, ruler, lover, friend and foe - he holds ties to those that were once beside him.
And so Greta left the small world he created her (to be safe, you see, and also maybe a bit selfish). He was bored - a listless and chaotic thing. He could never stay complacent for long. And every thing he pulls towards him turns into a play thing. (Lover, child, foe, and land). He created the mess she is - his spiteful laughter as he watched her grow in the womb. Obey he said; and so she must. Come hither, he said once he was bored and tired of the do nothing days. Go - go to Beqanna, with your wrecked curse of following each command. He wanted to see, wanted to play, wanted to know what a world would be like if you could do nothing but what others said (so different, he thought, than what he knew)
And so she did - she pulled at those invisible threads that kept her so safe and sound, her body begging to follow those commands. Quite frankly, he was tired of tying knots. And so he followed; curious to see the chaos ensue. She obeyed (as she must) - and fell into the maw of Pangea.
But he? He has no rules; no law to follow, no command to obey, no story to tell. And so, he simply appears - a blackened shadow in the murky glaze of the forest, a silent standby, watching and waiting (for another trap to snare).
Of course he had to follow her. He is not a sentimental man, he does not carry the ink of love in his heart or the ache to carry ties. He simply is. He is here one day, and gone the next - an ever fluctuating, never reliable, hurtful and reckless mess. But he had to follow her. For all his faults in being a father, ruler, lover, friend and foe - he holds ties to those that were once beside him.
And so Greta left the small world he created her (to be safe, you see, and also maybe a bit selfish). He was bored - a listless and chaotic thing. He could never stay complacent for long. And every thing he pulls towards him turns into a play thing. (Lover, child, foe, and land). He created the mess she is - his spiteful laughter as he watched her grow in the womb. Obey he said; and so she must. Come hither, he said once he was bored and tired of the do nothing days. Go - go to Beqanna, with your wrecked curse of following each command. He wanted to see, wanted to play, wanted to know what a world would be like if you could do nothing but what others said (so different, he thought, than what he knew)
And so she did - she pulled at those invisible threads that kept her so safe and sound, her body begging to follow those commands. Quite frankly, he was tired of tying knots. And so he followed; curious to see the chaos ensue. She obeyed (as she must) - and fell into the maw of Pangea.
But he? He has no rules; no law to follow, no command to obey, no story to tell. And so, he simply appears - a blackened shadow in the murky glaze of the forest, a silent standby, watching and waiting (for another trap to snare).
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in