09-04-2018, 09:34 PM
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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS
BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES
Sometimes, he felt like Rin in that he seemed to be caught in the midst of a raging storm, but the illusion could never stand for too long; no, there would always come the abrupt reminder that he was the storm. He was the raging winds and strikes of lightning, the earth cracking open under his paws and the raging of flames — how many times in his life had he lost all control and erupted, torn the earth apart with his chaos, dissolved into nothing more than another hurricane on the horizon? In times of peace, he did not stand in the eye of the storm — he became it, always teetering just slightly on the edge, his powers and souls barely in check until the next time something pushed him over the edge and he was raging once more. His eye had lasted so long, this time, even if the face of losing Margy and Suite; it felt ominous, the air thick with the dreadful tension of a storm brewing. It did not help that he could feel that turmoil and exhaustion seeping through the air from everyone around him.
As he wandered absently towards the sound of singing in the distance, he found his thoughts straying idly to Hazel. Although he could name a good number of Ascendants who sang and sang often, it was his first instinct to think of her, paws gentle and voice soft as French lullabies fell from her tongue in tandem to his heartbeat. More and more frequently thoughts of her came with the sudden surge of something, some restlessness, some worry: his pulse would pick up, the thrumming in his veins whispering that he had to find her, had to stop her from leaving, but he could never quite place the unease itching under his skin. At best he could only ignore it, and he pushed the flutter of anxiety away then as he stopped beside the others and regarded the flames idly.
His attention fell on Fey, and he smiled, faintly. She did have stories, didn't she? The vast majority of them resided with him now, and they rose and fell in his consciousness as randomly as the tides of his storms. He wondered, quietly, what stories Fey had gathered in her short life, and drawled, [b]"Hit us with them then, kiddo."
As he wandered absently towards the sound of singing in the distance, he found his thoughts straying idly to Hazel. Although he could name a good number of Ascendants who sang and sang often, it was his first instinct to think of her, paws gentle and voice soft as French lullabies fell from her tongue in tandem to his heartbeat. More and more frequently thoughts of her came with the sudden surge of something, some restlessness, some worry: his pulse would pick up, the thrumming in his veins whispering that he had to find her, had to stop her from leaving, but he could never quite place the unease itching under his skin. At best he could only ignore it, and he pushed the flutter of anxiety away then as he stopped beside the others and regarded the flames idly.
His attention fell on Fey, and he smiled, faintly. She did have stories, didn't she? The vast majority of them resided with him now, and they rose and fell in his consciousness as randomly as the tides of his storms. He wondered, quietly, what stories Fey had gathered in her short life, and drawled, [b]"Hit us with them then, kiddo."
[B]ASTRAL SERAPH — THE ASCENDANTS — [color=#e2e2e2]TAGS — [color=#e2e2e2]MOODBOARD — [color=#e2e2e2]PLAYLIST
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]