STILL A WIP.

There are lingering thoughts of the nightmare previously held as argus sits on the beach to wake up. It is the end of the month, and there is no real meaning to that, just another moon counting by their continued existence.

Argus has the same air about them that many here do, the one that says I have seen the very worst this world has to offer and it has not broken me. It’s a dare, a bet, a reckless declaration entirely backed by fact and experience, and again, they wonder how many have fallen to it. Fallen for it, and then found out far too late that argus is everything they claim to be and more.

But Argus did not become this way by sitting idle either, no. For the world has broken them. It takes years for the broken to fade into some sebalance of clarity, and even then it is a horror to wake up and realise you have become the one thing you have feared. The one thing you hated to become. It is hell, brutal and meaningless life until it isn’t anymore. When you learn how to get up, to breathe and live not in spite of who you were but because-

Argus looks out and marvels. For a startling moment the past and the current align in a near perfect symmetry. If they could go back in time, and fix everything it would be a hard choice, but it would be so much easier to breathe with- to decide not to. Because Argus needed to mourn- needed to hate to become who they are now. And maybe... maybe now they are not happy. Not fully- but they are content in a way that they never have been. At peace where there was always a restless driving need that at times had driven them mad.  It is enough for now. Enough to make their life so far worth it, knowing this peace.

They have a leader they can annoy, a crew to protect, friends and family. It is more than they were given coming into this world. It is more than they had ever earned- than they deserved for all the hurt that they have done. Here, argus sits with trauma coloring their fur, and eyes hiding their true nature. There are still secrets to tell. Still wounds to heal and still so much to make up for.

But today- feels like a good day. Good enough for them to smile, and the giant gapeing hole in their chest seems to shrink slightly- it is no one’s business but their own, is it?

It were a funny thing back in the day. When argus was little- still young compared to now. It was a craze- a chance. Where power was scarce, animals were more fervent in trying to obtain it. (a chance to forget everything and start fresh. In a land of monsters- animals craving a do-over a restart)

(they did not now how simple it was, to die. How easy it was to change a name. and realizing in that moment when they changed their name for the first time, it was a way to kill themself- kill who they used to be. It was never meant to be easy.) A name dropped, and later, all the history with it. Last names were dropped- family was surrendered for a new chance. It was never meant to be easy but for them it was like shedding a skin.

family was a clan value then. Something treasured, and even to someone without one- clan replaced that void easily. It was never meant to be abandoned, it was never meant to be a tie any animal should remove. It kept them from being feral Argus was born toeing that line. One of many. to argus family was a burden. it was being abandoned again, it was closing apart of them self from the rest of the world; It was a declaration. a challange to the world. (they were different: dark, in the way that a clan named after blood and celebrated war and slaughter- never dated to tread- never d a r e d.)

(no friends ; no family)

(and then- it is mended. It is reforged. a half year of nothing but hate in their heart and tragedy on their tongue, a monster strolls into town, sweeps them off their feet. Argus asks for a dance, and it’s the end- be begining of the cycle again.)

argus wonders how many times they can stand being broken by the same thing over and over again. Wonder how many times they have been.

The second time they change their name, it is less about becoming something new as much as it is about realizing what they've become. The death of who they used to be is bittersweet, because it is used by outsiders; their new name is uttered in uttermost secrecy by a select few. A two headed snake mouthing the word as realization not so much dawns but clicks into place, like some hidden instinct of their darker half utter's it's final words before merging peacefully- placid (it clicks later too, that it was not the darker half that died in the utterance of that name, that secret name. But the light. a two sided coin becoming blank with dents and rust.) This is what it means to be what someone fears. To be the monster.

(now it is a trigger, and argus has the fragility of a bomb with the slow transfiguration of memories into static.) In the begining, argus was still a hopeful even as they changed their name the first time. But as time went one, and they were divided by names, by different era's of who they used to be with crossed out eyes and static drool. With names as trigger words. It has become a way to change the mask they wear. Like a child- almost exactly like a child. Argus never learned not to lie. Now they cover those lies with more, until it becomes harder and harder to tell the lies from the truth. From the memory to the static. Or the recollection of the memory.

Mortals were never meant to touch something like the afterlife, and argus b r o k e it. Reincarnation was an idea of a new chance. but they key element to reincarnation is forgetting the life you used to have. But now argus has too many sins, too many loved ones gone. Now they carry the world on their shoulders, with a legion of ghosts trying to clean the trail of blood they leave when they carry on.