that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
Firion knows all about living in pain—in breathing it in until it becomes a part of you. Stitching it unto your very bones until it’s the only thing you know. Until your mind is molded by it and you can’t help but become a mirror image of it. Once, he had been the carefree son of a retired panther and his angel. He had been raised wild and free—never knowing limitations, never knowing agony, never knowing want. There had only been the Hyaline mountains spread wide open before him. Hours of youth and freedom.
Until the curse had found him.
Until nights no longer meant chasing prey through the shadows but stumbling half-dead amongst them. Until those witching hours meant a decaying body and rotting mind trapped behind it. A consciousness ripped from him and replaced with a gnawing hunger that he only knew one way to fill.
The darkness had only exacerbated an existence that had long been anything but torture.
And when Beqanna had given him magic in return for his sacrifice, it had twisted too. Perhaps he couldn’t hold onto anything pure. Perhaps there was something broken within him that could only corrupt. Because the light had turned into shadow at his side. The magic coiled around demonic energy.
And he was left with a golden mask that belied the rot behind it.
It’s this thought that follows him today, setting his predator teeth on edge and his mood blackening with every step. The anger is new, he thinks, and in many ways he prefers it to the desperate agony that he had felt when he had woken from the curse every morning. This was at least a productive emotion. It was at least something he could harness—tapping into it and ravaging every dark corner for the power that swells in his breast now. It feels like a trapped storm, like a hurricane unleashed, and he revels in it.
When he sees the silver girl by the water, he pauses, perhaps like calling to like or an opposite pulling toward its opposite. The golden glow of him intrigued by the cool silver of her—the electricity that sparked off of her like a living thing even as the coolness of his shadows wound around his legs.
Curious, he walks toward her, not directly looking at her but instead looking out into the river where the water swirls and the most dangerous parts are hidden under the smooth surface.
He considers saying hello, but the words don’t come, and he merely exhales instead.
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
@[Cordis] OH HI