‘ i just want it to end. i want it to all go away. i want to go away. ’ oh word
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐅𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐑 , upon his hands, the blood of his people, lurking the apertures of his soul the GHOSTS of the past and oh how the skies lament for him, dew-like droplets of translucent sorrow. IT HURTS, it aches like something persistent, like an arrow burrowed in pliable flesh, bestowing blight with its virulence. remorse seethes in vacuous expressions, just beneath the surface, so desperate to share these mournful words yet unable to find them, as if viced betwixt an IRON maw.
Rather now does he join him, vulnerable to the goddess's purge, washing away the DEATH AND DECAY that besmirched these holy lands. dark dresses plaster to byleth's countenance and though he is present, his gaze belongs not to this time, nor this place. for he too bore guilt, he too bore abhorrence and reprisal, underneath the garland of armour and reverence bestowed he had been, perhaps still was, imprisoned in thickets of brambles. every time he hurt, every time he bled, it was a reminder that he was alive and like that when their eyes do meet when he inhales Dimitri's anguish and suffering, he too, in that place, feels a sense of blame; of abandonment. never, in those preceding years, where blade met flesh in practised hymns had he ever felt something so suffocating.
' liberation...' finally he speaks, as if he fell from the dismal skies themselves do his eyes descend, greeting him within profound depths. ' for yourself as well as those whom you grieve.' steadfast words, yet ripples echo within minatory emotions that threaten to submerge him. '...i want to give that to you.' for he knows it is the only solace he can give, the dolour that entombs Dimitri is so potent, the cadavers of the lost burrow withered fingers into his shoulders, threatening to drag him to the tenebrous depths ... is it terrifying ? is it fear that shrouds that lurid crimson rage ? part of him yearns to take his hand, to show him that there is more for him to give, more for him to see and to relish but right now, the symphonies of war were settling precariously on the horizon and he fears, that without that wrath, without that motive, he may lose someone he has come to care for dearly to blade or lance.
turnnoffyourmind
baratheonpilled
