ᴄᴀɴ ɪ ᴇxɪsᴛ? - joining

[adomania]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"]Soft, weary paws carried the child forward, half dead from exhaustion and delirious from the sweltering heat. The short fur of his body did very little to hide the cascade of wounds and marks that marked his skin, the matted fur plastered together with both dirt and blood and mostly hiding whatever colors he truly had beneath it all.

It had all happened like a dream, startling him awake into reality. From a young age the child had been conditioned; conditioned to love unconditionally, to look his abusers in the eyes and view them as nothing short of gods when they were anything but. He had gotten used to it, numb to the pain that he had been put through, numb to the reality because he didn't have anything else. He didn't have a family, didn't have friends. He had been alone with the two things that called themselves his parents but were anything but.

The first time he had questioned it was when he had seen a real family. They had been happy, children meandering around and playing with each other, and none of their mistakes were yelled at or frown upon... none of them were beaten for the smallest misstep. Most of the time it wasn't even noticed, not by the adults nor his own "parents"... they were allowed to be children.

It was a spiral downwards after that. He tried to rebel, to fight against what he was slowly realizing wasn't normal, but he was nothing but a child. There had been nothing he could do... except run.

And run he did.

He had been running for days now, going through lands he couldn't name if he tried. It didn't matter where he went, only that he was going as far away from his abusers as possible. He didn't stop running, even after the trees turned into a beach and the beach turned into a weird strip of land under his feet that led farther and farther into the water. It didn't matter if he didn't know what would await him by the end, if he would end up in a dead end or not.

If he did, he'd simply drown himself. That was his reality.

He had stopped running the moment the island and gate became more prominently visible, when he realized it wasn't just his disillusioned state tricking him into seeing land. He had stopped walking when his paws gave out, falling right before the gate with nothing more than a tiny 'umph.'

Bells softly chimed around him, and he wondered if heaven had finally come to get him.

[SOLVEIG]

Solveig understood abuse, she understood manipulation. Behind her pretty white snow fur lay a pattern of scars and heavy blows that she had faced growing up. She knew the manipulation- to behave, to love, to pretend like your life was normal. To become so ingrained into your daily routine that it was all you knew. To obey. To be a tool. If you didn't, you were punished. You avoided punishment, you wanted the pride that came from knowing that people were happy with the puppet that you were. Solveig, however, had escaped it. She knew that it was never normal. She had been given glimpses of freedom from behind that burning lace curtain of lies.

She had taken lives to gain her own freedom.

But she never knew anyone else who had done the same. Who had done the ultimate to ensure your own life. To do what others would not to make sure that you lived, even at the cost of others. To manipulate. To finally have the freedom, to cry and scream with joy when the invisible shackles that had tethered you suddenly broke, and you realized the scars and bruises and the raw marks around your wrists could finally heal.

So perhaps when she saw the small child, the scars that littered his body so familiar to her own, something in her heart panged sharply.

Solveig was walking quietly around the territory, quietly gathering materials; herbs, bits of crafting material, objects and trinkets to help out the clan or increase her own stash of material possessions that she had lost in her swept-away adventure to the Typhoon. In her jaws she held a small bucket, filled with a flask of water for herself, a spool of yarn for some idle task, shells, and a length of cloth she was planning to turn into a new headscarf to replace the one that had been lost into the ocean. Her paws drifted quietly, each graceful and carefully placed as the violet-eyed snowshoe breathed quietly. Perhaps on the inside she was humming, her steps light and in some ways cheerful. But that cheerfulness quickly died at the sight of a little... something running madly towards the entrance. Her paws had only barely rounded the corner when her gaze flickered to the moving child. She watched in horror as he just as quickly collapsed, her paws turning as she began to quickly jog her way over, any faster pace hindered by the faint limp still in her step.

Solveig was quick to make it to the child's side, her violet eyes sweeping over the matted fur and blood, the wounds that littered his body. She had no herbs on her to try and remedy some of the cuts for infection, but that seemed hardly the matter. What was important was cleaning the kid up and making sure he was alright, wasn't it? The bucket was quickly set down besides the child as she made her way to its side, quick to stretch her telepathy out to the child in an attempt to speak. A faint panic had rose in her chest, not for the injuries, for in reality they were no worse than some of the own she had treated, but for the stark reminders of her own past that layed in that molted pelt of a child. "You'll be okay," her words came, soft and honey sweet, the words that she had so desperatly needed to hear herself all that time ago- even if the wounds were from something else, which were all too likely, the sight of the child covered in blood put a sour taste in her mouth.

"My name is Solveig. You are in the Typhoon. You are safe now," she continued gently, reaching into her bucket for the canteen of water, opening as she attempted to carefully drizzle some of it onto the child's matted fur to start washing the blood away. Could the child even hear her? Was he listening? Gods above, don't let him die.. "Can you speak? And tell me your name?"

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[Luciferr]

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You will always be a monster, there is no turning back from it.
But what type of monster you become is entirely up to you -

Lucifer knew abuse in his long life.

His mother and his siblings for the majority had loved him unto death - but the thing that was his father was a wretched creature who saw his sons as nothing more than tools in his goals - tools,

Or hosts,

It was from that wretched creature of Anathaema to creation he had received the scars that marred the left side of his face, painting him for what his lineage reflected - earning scorn and fear alike for the son of the void.

He was only thankful that here, in this world - his scar simply made him a curiosity for its strange appearance.

It was oddly liberating to walk around and not have others second guess his intentions all for the site he had.

So it was the large dragon idled up beside Solvieg with a worried frown upon the half of his face that was not frozen into a grimace of red horror - he sighed,

"poor child" he rumbled crouching down to the two of them with a glance to Solvieg "if need be I can transport the both of you to the camp, likely quicker to get to those that can help him" he might need looking over by a medic - given his condition.

[sub]TYPHOON - RANK - TAGS - EXTREME - DRAGON REF - FACE REF[W]isker[/sub]