07-14-2020, 10:30 AM
YADIGAR
there’s a hole in my chest but it’s mine, baby, it’s all i got.
Yadigar wonders if their parents have ever thought of sending him away in a similar manner. But then again, Ghaul is hellbent on raising a son who is strong enough to withstand any form of abuse. No one else could carve strength as deeply into his scales as the Pangean king, if strength is even the right word for what he is creating. A soft snort leaves his nostrils when Cirilla insists that Tarte will be able to stay with them. Perhaps she would be allowed to stay if his sister was the one to ask.
But before he can share his theory with the others, the conversation begins to spiral into a sort of darkness he has become accustomed to. Cirilla tries to apologize but her words only fan the flames of his fury. When the threads of Tarte’s magic seep into his skin, he bares his fangs and snaps his jaws in irritation with a feral clack of teeth. Their mother’s love blinded her from the worst of her husband’s behavior.
“Who do you think asked for that head we keep in the nest?!” he shouts, begging her to think and see the hideous truth they have all turned the other cheek to. His jaw is clenched and his breathing grows shallow, frantic when he turns to Tarte. Run away? The thought sends a shiver down his spine as he imagines what the consequences for that sort of treason could be. Would he meet the same inevitable fate some day if he stayed, though? He could dip into the visions provided by his eye but he has always recoiled from the thought in fear. The sound of his pulse thundering in his ears is deafening as he makes up his mind.
“We’ll go north. He has allies in the west and an agreement with the south,” he explains, lowering his voice as his spiked tail twitches nervously.
But before he can share his theory with the others, the conversation begins to spiral into a sort of darkness he has become accustomed to. Cirilla tries to apologize but her words only fan the flames of his fury. When the threads of Tarte’s magic seep into his skin, he bares his fangs and snaps his jaws in irritation with a feral clack of teeth. Their mother’s love blinded her from the worst of her husband’s behavior.
“Who do you think asked for that head we keep in the nest?!” he shouts, begging her to think and see the hideous truth they have all turned the other cheek to. His jaw is clenched and his breathing grows shallow, frantic when he turns to Tarte. Run away? The thought sends a shiver down his spine as he imagines what the consequences for that sort of treason could be. Would he meet the same inevitable fate some day if he stayed, though? He could dip into the visions provided by his eye but he has always recoiled from the thought in fear. The sound of his pulse thundering in his ears is deafening as he makes up his mind.
“We’ll go north. He has allies in the west and an agreement with the south,” he explains, lowering his voice as his spiked tail twitches nervously.