04-02-2017, 11:47 AM
Canaan
so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
He had never known anything different. In the early days of his youth, golden skin gleaming beneath the pale light of a waning moon, he had been carefree, wanton for the presence of someone, for anyone. He had come to know many (the thought of one in particular makes his heart ache; stirring it to throb uncomfortably within the tightness of his chest) within the boundaries of the ash-stricken seascape, and he had given his heart away with careless abandon. His affection, his attention – he had never felt it was something to keep to himself, nor something he should shy away from doing.While his own mother, biting and fierce in her own way, kept her own foundation fortified and unmovable (with a heavy, seemingly impenetrable wall of her own – hardly a flaw; barely faltering for even those closest to her), he could always still see her. Tucked away within the ceaseless wonder of her wary hazel eyes, there is a softness, a softness he can see and nearly touch.
She had always been reserved, even with him, but hidden within her breast was a deeply rooted love and affection that, when away from prying eyes, she would expose with the affectionate preening of his feathers or by brushing his forelock out of his eyes. With anyone outside of his own father or sisters, she was sharp, frigid, even – there were small pieces of her that would fall away with a scarce few, but he had never seen her as anything less than a pillar of strength, an unwavering force to be reckoned with.
He could not see Magnificent the way that he could see his mother; he could not see beyond the icy, placid barrier that lay so blatantly before him. His hazel eyes search her own again, and when her dark mouth falls away to a brief smile, he cannot see any genuine pleasure within its shadow, and weary and worn, the thickness of his neck shakes to and fro in disbelief as her words seemingly grow more hostile, more piercing with each passing moment.
His unabashed stare moves then, roving over the length and sharp edge of her horn as her words briefly give mention of it, before boring into her eyes yet again, unwilling to break eye contact again. Oh, so you want me to stay, and there is a moment of hesitance in his mind in which he contemplates how the weight of such a decision would affect him. Should she stay, her cutting words would as well, harsh and always searching for some plane of weakness, for somewhere to burrow into to best find the tender marrow of his bones to tuck away within.
You see, that must be the riffraff you let in, and there is a visible flash of anger in his dark eyes. A flickering ember is lit within him, a burning flame that is foreign and strange to him. He is all too aware of who she is referring to, and there is suddenly an acrid, bitter taste within his mouth, lingering on his tongue and leaving him faint with frustration. And it is quiet, so quiet, but at the end of it, you always do.
Her voice fades then, somehow fall away to the roaring fury of the rushing water behind her, and the ire eases away from him, leaving something more familiar in its wake. The frown along the hardened line of his whiskered mouth deepens still, as his eyes observe the tension in her face, the fierceness of her eyes, the sneer looming in the shadow of a smile that had once been.
And finally, almost shakily, he finds his own voice, rumbling and hoarse.
”What have I done to you, Magnificent?” he nearly murmurs, only just loud enough to be heard. The disappointment, the ache, it is all there to see in his strong features, and his eyes are morose and uncertain. ”I don’t understand. Why do you hate me so much? What have I done?”
and we never even know we have the key.