07-16-2020, 12:53 PM
YADIGAR
there’s a hole in my chest but it’s mine, baby, it’s all i got.
Yadigar startles easily and this fact does not change when her illusions simply vanish. He snorts and skitters back two or three steps. She certainly doesn’t seem hostile and yet his heart rattles around his ribs in a frantic fuss. Magic, in all its wild forms, is still a mystery that he has little interest in studying or practicing – unless it can turn him into a small songbird, perhaps. Something to make him small and invisible to the troublesome world in which he exists.
The boy calms a bit when she speaks, refocusing him as he maintains the distance between them. Is he real? He looks down at himself and considers the question for a few more hurried heartbeats. It’s quite possible he is merely a nightmare, he supposes. It would explain a great deal of his heartbreak thus far in life. But that would give him the dreadful hope of waking up some day and so he crushes the idea. There is enough disappointment here for him already.
“I’m not sure, but I believe I am,” he finally says as he lifts his chin to look at her once more. Her horns are thin and pretty, he notices, and her wings are made of feathers rather than scales. Perhaps she was not bred for war and violence as he was. He envies her appearance but says nothing of it. “My name is Yadigar. What’s yours?”
He takes a single step forward, hesitantly optimistic to have a second friend to call his own.
The boy calms a bit when she speaks, refocusing him as he maintains the distance between them. Is he real? He looks down at himself and considers the question for a few more hurried heartbeats. It’s quite possible he is merely a nightmare, he supposes. It would explain a great deal of his heartbreak thus far in life. But that would give him the dreadful hope of waking up some day and so he crushes the idea. There is enough disappointment here for him already.
“I’m not sure, but I believe I am,” he finally says as he lifts his chin to look at her once more. Her horns are thin and pretty, he notices, and her wings are made of feathers rather than scales. Perhaps she was not bred for war and violence as he was. He envies her appearance but says nothing of it. “My name is Yadigar. What’s yours?”
He takes a single step forward, hesitantly optimistic to have a second friend to call his own.