09-04-2018, 09:51 PM
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BASTILLEPRISONER AURELIUS
BY THE GRACE OF THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES
In the end, Bastille had not found himself in tears until he felt their memories rush over him, one at a time and all at once: a sea of years and years, one lifetime after another, of joys and sorrows and love and hatred — too much for him to handle, maybe, in so quick a dosage, but the burning at the edges of his vision and the way his throat constricted and the gut-wrenching pain in his souls had been more than just the agony of forcing himself to accept too many memories at once. No, that had been them, that had been finally breaking down in the face of what they were asking of him and knowing that he had to help them, had to turn his back and walk away from them knowing he would never see them again. They may live on in him, through him, through the endless hosts of Wilhelm Grimm, stories immortalized — and they may even live on now, through two little girls — but that did not erase all of the heaviness in his bones. That did not stop him from looking to Fey and feeling guilty, on occasion, for seeking Margy in the child; or for catching hints of Suite in Bryn and being relieved.
There was nothing to be done about it now, however. Now he could only guide their young souls and wait for the day that they needed him, that fate showed him her intentions. Sometimes he found himself on the shore where they had found Suite or in Margy's rose garden, pondering absently as to what he was to do with them, and that was what he was doing here now when he found Har. Bastille was silent as he approached the young child, that deeply entrenched sorrow lapping over him slowly before he had the mind to shut his empathy off, to block out Har's emotions. He had enough of his own exhaustion to deal with, but he felt something in him sigh at the sight of the kid in so much pain.
[b]"Hey, Har," he murmured, offering nothing else as he sat close to their side, gaze on the roses. There was truly nothing he could say. They were gone, and that was that.
There was nothing to be done about it now, however. Now he could only guide their young souls and wait for the day that they needed him, that fate showed him her intentions. Sometimes he found himself on the shore where they had found Suite or in Margy's rose garden, pondering absently as to what he was to do with them, and that was what he was doing here now when he found Har. Bastille was silent as he approached the young child, that deeply entrenched sorrow lapping over him slowly before he had the mind to shut his empathy off, to block out Har's emotions. He had enough of his own exhaustion to deal with, but he felt something in him sigh at the sight of the kid in so much pain.
[b]"Hey, Har," he murmured, offering nothing else as he sat close to their side, gaze on the roses. There was truly nothing he could say. They were gone, and that was that.
[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]