05-25-2018, 01:58 AM
![[Image: jgC0ptA.png]](https://i.imgur.com/jgC0ptA.png)
To say that Bastille was faring poorly was an understatement.
Everything had been so fucking good lately, and now there was writhing pit of darkness in his chest that he hadn't experienced the likes of for months. Oh sure, he was all too familiar with the frothing angry and despair, the helplessness, the inevitable doom of his failure. His first few months of life had been hell, a dark period of nothing but anger and turmoil as his souls shifted restlessly. He didn't even know when the anger had stopped, not really -- it seemed to dissolve slowly, quietly, until there was nothing but apathy. He didn't know why he had gone. He didn't know how his souls had finally settled and aligned. He didn't know how to do that, and all he had now was the turmoil and the vicious knowledge that Starry was just gone and somehow he was meant to be able to function in the face of the loss, meant to hold himself together and take care of his people.
It was literally his worst fucking nightmare, and Bastille was so firmly rooted in despair and denial that it was a miracle that he'd actually left his room that afternoon. Everywhere he went, cracks splintered violently under his paws, jagged lines running through the dirt as he walked steadily towards the group. For a solid 24 hours after Starry's death, storms had raged and his powers had melted down so completely that he was certain for some time that they would burn themselves out completely. And then they had just... dimmed. Retreated back inside of him to recharge, emerging in flares and bursts at random. Now, the only physical representations of his internal chaos were the cracks and the dead look in his eyes as he regarded this stranger.
"Bast," he offered, and left it at that. It would be a cold, cold day in hell before he ever uttered his title -- god, his fucking title -- willingly to a newcomer, and this was not that day. After a beat, he added vaguely, "We have maps and shit, too, to help you learn the territory. Or explore. Or whatever."
Everything had been so fucking good lately, and now there was writhing pit of darkness in his chest that he hadn't experienced the likes of for months. Oh sure, he was all too familiar with the frothing angry and despair, the helplessness, the inevitable doom of his failure. His first few months of life had been hell, a dark period of nothing but anger and turmoil as his souls shifted restlessly. He didn't even know when the anger had stopped, not really -- it seemed to dissolve slowly, quietly, until there was nothing but apathy. He didn't know why he had gone. He didn't know how his souls had finally settled and aligned. He didn't know how to do that, and all he had now was the turmoil and the vicious knowledge that Starry was just gone and somehow he was meant to be able to function in the face of the loss, meant to hold himself together and take care of his people.
It was literally his worst fucking nightmare, and Bastille was so firmly rooted in despair and denial that it was a miracle that he'd actually left his room that afternoon. Everywhere he went, cracks splintered violently under his paws, jagged lines running through the dirt as he walked steadily towards the group. For a solid 24 hours after Starry's death, storms had raged and his powers had melted down so completely that he was certain for some time that they would burn themselves out completely. And then they had just... dimmed. Retreated back inside of him to recharge, emerging in flares and bursts at random. Now, the only physical representations of his internal chaos were the cracks and the dead look in his eyes as he regarded this stranger.
"Bast," he offered, and left it at that. It would be a cold, cold day in hell before he ever uttered his title -- god, his fucking title -- willingly to a newcomer, and this was not that day. After a beat, he added vaguely, "We have maps and shit, too, to help you learn the territory. Or explore. Or whatever."
[align=center]![[Image: 4ySBjji.png]](https://i.imgur.com/4ySBjji.png)
the ascendants — astral seraph — tags
[div style="width:400px; margin: auto; text-align: right; font-size: 8px"]© MADI
Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago, Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword, Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know, I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door. [b][sup]▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃[/sup][/b]