04-24-2021, 08:04 PM
[align=center][div style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; max-width: 65%; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"]Ravaged bed for that withered, darkened and swallowed as strings gently sung a sorrow laden hum, still the beat, grown languid. Walls torn away erected once more, hope gone, fleeing as the other had beneath the veil of night, act of a coward. Throat closed even as he struggled to swallow, moisture gone, forgotten when last he had consumed even a meagre morsel or drank of the creeks and rivers he found a fondness for. Better than that, than the petty demeaning epithets he may spit in his face, intent to do as he had done.
Aesior had been quiet and careful, wished no harm imparted by a departure deemed a necessity, though the exact cause only he bore. Spiteful and cruel the machinations buried, a wish to harm given to that undeserving. Home found for each unkind title in his chest, there resting, a searing heat ignited with each breath.
Familiar the old paths he walked without need of chosen direction or end point, momentum enough guide, mind slipping away. There was nothing in the spin of thoughts, an empty murmur, listed needs of others as his own were left unattended. Better to allow it to creep forth, learn the lesson imparted even as something within rebelled against the notion, pushed back with futile intent. Never allowed, taken that chance as it only just began. Threads severed, broken beneath intrusion, gentle syllables without voice cracking, falling apart with the reverberation of freed emotion.
Direction changes, progress quickened, heart fluttering. Wrong this, hope a jagged blade that hovered above his head, still it encapsulated his mind, drove him to supposed origin. And there he was. Beneath the bright spill of golden light silver became the grey of low hanging fog, unkempt and weighed down, exhaustion evident in the manner he held himself. Real, too much so, if the manner Fraggle responded was anything to go off of. And it was, the child his in all ways but name, his joy a fragile slither of glass cutting through his brain, broken those ties, away falling in tatters.
Stone protested curled tips drag, head turned away, teeth exposed as jaw grew tight. How could he handle this. He could not, and thus he was silent, turning, wishing to leave even as he grew rooted, back all they have see. Minute the tremor, shoulders shivering though the temperature had been rising, evident emotion that caused this. He should despise the other for all he had done, hate himself for permitting his walls to crumble in a time so short simply for companionship had been given to him. There is so much he should do and thus he stood there, conflicted, treading the tightrope between anger and joy.
Aesior had been quiet and careful, wished no harm imparted by a departure deemed a necessity, though the exact cause only he bore. Spiteful and cruel the machinations buried, a wish to harm given to that undeserving. Home found for each unkind title in his chest, there resting, a searing heat ignited with each breath.
Familiar the old paths he walked without need of chosen direction or end point, momentum enough guide, mind slipping away. There was nothing in the spin of thoughts, an empty murmur, listed needs of others as his own were left unattended. Better to allow it to creep forth, learn the lesson imparted even as something within rebelled against the notion, pushed back with futile intent. Never allowed, taken that chance as it only just began. Threads severed, broken beneath intrusion, gentle syllables without voice cracking, falling apart with the reverberation of freed emotion.
Direction changes, progress quickened, heart fluttering. Wrong this, hope a jagged blade that hovered above his head, still it encapsulated his mind, drove him to supposed origin. And there he was. Beneath the bright spill of golden light silver became the grey of low hanging fog, unkempt and weighed down, exhaustion evident in the manner he held himself. Real, too much so, if the manner Fraggle responded was anything to go off of. And it was, the child his in all ways but name, his joy a fragile slither of glass cutting through his brain, broken those ties, away falling in tatters.
Stone protested curled tips drag, head turned away, teeth exposed as jaw grew tight. How could he handle this. He could not, and thus he was silent, turning, wishing to leave even as he grew rooted, back all they have see. Minute the tremor, shoulders shivering though the temperature had been rising, evident emotion that caused this. He should despise the other for all he had done, hate himself for permitting his walls to crumble in a time so short simply for companionship had been given to him. There is so much he should do and thus he stood there, conflicted, treading the tightrope between anger and joy.