@sayafushi
THERE WAS AN IMMENSE SADNESS, A LOSS HE COULD NOT SPEAK OF. Something was drained from him and in its place an emptiness, an aimless hunger, gnashing teeth, a stomach forever unfulfilled -- what was he but a beast, this past century especially? What had he become but a writhing thing in the shadows, yearning, and for all his cunning deadliness he had rotted in that hate, in that yearning, till he became simple-minded and feral. Lips curled to a snarl, fingernails biting to palms, a throbbing headache, burning eyes, waiting, waiting, waiting!
A SOLID ROCK SAT IN HIS THROAT.
And these beings which sought to welcome him, clothe him, take him in... somehow, they sought to bring such comforts, but such reassurances of ‘you’re not dead’ missed the mark entirely. Shinso’s despair, thick in his chest, did not drown him due to any dark waters of death, no, he feared no death. HE CARRIED DEATH AROUND WITH HIM, in his mouth, always waiting, always ready, since Gin had been a mere boy who called out his name. ( THIS PERSON SPOKE HIS NAME NOW, AND HE DID SO WITH WARMTH THE SERPENTINE MADE MAN WAS UNACCUSTOMED TO RECEIVING, BUT ALL SHINSO COULD HEAR WAS GIN ) The distressing... distraught feeling which clawed at his stomach was in remorse; he had failed, he had failed so utterly and completely and after twisting himself so terribly, so coldly, their warmth could not reach him. Kind words, welcoming auras, so bittersweet it ached, no, Shinso was not so easily reached and consoled.
The offered hand the spirit felt compelled to take, to reach halfway to meet it -- albeit hesitantly -- was warm. Shinso found it felt odd, despite the man, the gesture, also seeming so familiar; when was the last time he had held another’s hand? Such a simple thing, a compassionate thing. Silly, now, to dwell upon its weight, as though so deprived -- as though so neglected.
No, Gin had not neglected him. He did not resent Gin. Shinso knew the boy crafted himself from nothing, twigs on the dirt grounds, dry and dead crops, moldy bread -- Gin could offer him very little in the beginning, a mere boy at the altar made of stone and snow before a grand serpent stretching for miles beyond, mountainous coils, sleek scales -- a boy, he had thought, with a meager desire, a childish thing. No, Gin had proven otherwise; a mighty purpose, this, to become a being capable of devouring gods.
But here, and now, perhaps he had been deprived. The clothes were soft. This air felt plentiful, not dry, not chilling. But familiar; like a sunny day in the Rukongai. But the only Rukongai Shinso knew of intimately was of the wintery world locked within his wielder, his home. But this wasn’t that. This wasn’t home.
Shinso wanted to cry. Maybe he already was, he didn’t know, he couldn’t have declared himself weeping in silence unless a mirror was placed in front of him and the trails of tears specifically acknowledged. Had he ever wept before? He couldn’t remember. And he didn’t know why he was, if he was. Ah, he probably was. All Shinso knew was that the entirety of him was hurting but in such a way that he felt, ashamedly, relief. How dare he feel relieved, feel soothed by this, so achingly. Home away from home? No, stop, this wasn’t home. No, this wasn’t a desolate land, barren, stripped bare in brilliant whites, smooth snow and an icy lake, cold, bitterly cold at times when the winds ran high through the mountain pass beyond, howling, and the blizzards of conflict twisted flakes into bites, into a stinging caress upon cheek, face, hands -- no, it was all wrong here.
Numbly, ashamed, embarrassed, he wiped at his face with the heel of his hand, his sleeve, swallowing down whatever despairing turmoil brought him to choke on such feelings.
THIS WAS ALL WRONG...
It was so warm here, after all. So warm... it felt like spring, the sky was so blue. He hadn’t ever seen it so blue before, the graying clouds oft ate away the sun till only pale light bled through the cloaking mist of silver. He wanted to leave. He wanted to stay.
“Can’t I go back?” A croaked voice, hoarse, strained; tell me ‘no’, it pleaded. But tell me ‘yes’, too.
CONTINUED FROM HERE.
