Perhaps a life of wandering suited the fae, or at least, that was what he continiously tried to convince himself as the days drove into months, and months into years. He could have been wandering for decades, for all he knew. In that time, the fae who once accepted only the finest and softest things was forced to find comfort upon the cold forest floor, within dull and lonely meals, within the darkness of the night and the solitude of the day.
He stood as a testament to the fact that anyone could eventually get used to anything -- but getting 'used to' something did not mean one was safe, nor comforted, nor stable. His mind teetered on the very edge, the voices coming and going, to and fro, almost just as erratic and scattered as his own thoughts. On the surface, he appeared nearly serene, but under the surface, he drowned.
And it was spilling through the cracks of his vessel. All it would take for the levee to break, and his madness to crawl through like a beast untamed, was a little push. Like a clap of thunder in the distance, rolling towards him like a promise of things to come. And with the thunder, the flashes of lighting, all rumbling together like the drums of war quicking encroaching, Valeriu ran.
He careened through the forest in a blind panic as the storm seemed to chase him. The cry of a carnyx sounded within his ears, and his blood ran cold, pounding through his ears, rushing through his legs, spurring him ever onward, even as branches and brambles cut and grabbed at him. As if the wood itself was trying to hold him back, the dryads intent to present him to the Wild Hunt themselves.
Rain fell upon him, slicking the ground underneath him until he almost slipped, face first, into the mud. His pants and the ends of his patched and tattered robes were covered in mud, now, but still, he ran on, the rain picking up, splashing against his skin like millions of sharp little cold rocks.
( 'Run -- RUN!" ) Cried a voice in his head, just as frantic as he.
( 'They're coming for you.' 'The Hunt is *coming* for you.' 'Let them come.' 'They want to bring you back.' ) They spoke in quick unison, overlapping with eachother, as the voices often did when they joined in the dance of the upheavel of Vali's intense emotions.
( 'Please, please, don't let them bring us back..' 'DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY WILL DO?' 'Please...please...please...not back there...' ) Some were crying, some were yelling, all of them in an thunderous uproar that reflected the storm brewing overhead.
Eventually, the fleeing fae found himself within a clearing. In that clearing, stood a quaint little cottage. Could have been a run down old ruin- for all he cared -- for all the fae could focus on was escaping from the brunt of the story. To settle his ever racing heart, which threatened to burst out of his chest. In a blind panic, thoroughly drenched and panicked -- Vali ran over to the front door, woven with wild flowers, and knocked wildly. The moment his fingers touched the wood of the door, however, he realized his mistake. No, no, no...
('They're going to see you...like this?' 'Look at you...you're pathetic.' 'Not to mention frightening.' "And vile. They'll surely see the rot growing inside you.')
There came the harshest of the voices, coaxing him to turn and run the other way, to continue his blind flight until he found some sort of cave to shield him. But then, there was a smaller voice, one that mimicked his own, speaking in unison with his own moving lips.
"Please....let me in....!"
Despite the pure desperation rushing through his veins, cold the icy rain pouring down upon him, Vali stepped back. Unsure, looking all around -- for the hidden figures in the shadows, ready to jump out and grab him. They began to manifest among the tall, gnarled trees, shimmering shadows, coiling in and out of his periphery.
He couldn't have another see him, not like this. He couldn't bring down his horrible fate upon another. Not again. He brought the taint with him, wherever he went.
But he couldn't be out here...Not anymore. The shadows crept closer, and they were speaking to him now -- in garbled, profane tongues he did not understand. Beckoning and brandishing imaginary weapons all the same.
The storm worsened with each passing second, and he was forced to make a choice when no one answered the door.
On the other side of the door, before Mal would even have a chance to open, a small little bug worked its way from underneath the tiny space between the floor and the frame of the door. At first, just a few legs and antennae, but then, as the bug squeezed itself through, it would become very clear what sort of critter it was; a little red centipede. Diminutive, but hard to miss -- and moving with the same sort of skittering panic he held before outside. Searching, anxious, lost. Obviously not meant to be here.
It was not his first choice, but often, his polymorphic and glamor abilities reflected his inner reflection. And right now, when Vali looked in the reflection? He saw nothing but something to be reviled, to be distrusted, something seen as unworthy.
The centipede also happened to be one of his Patron's preferred forms, so it only came naturally, even with all the dozens of legs. Vali crept across the floor in an erratic motion, all the little legs moving in unison as he looked around wildly for a place to hide away within the cottage. Some dark, dank corner, where he belonged.
