Странно… очень странно писать об этом, но это правда. Люди которые любят друг друга, никогда не оставят или не уйдут без своей половинки, если они пришли вместе.
Вы теряете связь, сразу и кардинально в один момент…
Кто-то не остался, кто-то не ушёл.
Дело в том, что в отношениях вы отвечаете друг за друга. Вы переживаете друг за друга.
Akeelah’s eyes dart upwards as something comes crashing though the ceiling. It twists and thrashes through the tendrils, causing the Mirrors below to shriek and bare their teeth. Everyone’s wings are raised, everyone is ready to tear to shreds the fool who dares ambush Hellreek.
Instead, Brayen sprawls to the floor, and tangle of dainty, twisted limbs. He gets up and throws himself at Akeelah’s feet, his forehead pressed to the floor between his cracked claws in a stoop, even though Akeelah has never demanded to be bowed to in her life. His wings are tense and shaking, and his breathing is ragged.
Most of the Mirrors have moved on, no fight to be fought, but Akeelah stares at this Skydancer for a long while.
Across the Great Hall, Clymene has stopped sharpening her sword, and Iapetus has looked up from the book floating in front of him. Even Akeelah feels a blanket of dread lay over her body.
“Brayen,” she says, and he does not look up, “what have you done.”
He breathes a few more breaths before he chokes on a sob. There’s blood under his claws that smells of the same darkness Akeelah’s daughter reeks of, and she lowers her head to be face to face with Brayen, so close she can almost taste his tears.
“What. Did. You. Do,” she snaps at him. The newfound Order of Runes has gathered around their leaders, and all colours of eyes stare at the commotion. Brayen’s eyes are squeezed shut. He can’t look at any of them.
“I wanted to control it,” he finally chokes out, “in the Carrion Canyon.”
Akeelah rears her head instantly, her gaze piercing Iapetus’.
“Go!” she snarls at him, and his clan is gathering its meager things and galloping for the mouth. They would have to cross the Sea, and many more Shade beast would have turned by then. Considering the amount of magic inside Brayen, Akeelah knows that this is a catastrophe.
“Everyone else,” Akeelah turns to address the rest of her clan, “stay away from Lightning territory until further notice.”
She turns her attention to the quivering dragon beneath her.
“And you,” she says, “you will stay here. And you will write your mother. Do not keep her in the dark about this.”
Brayen nods, stumbling to his feet. He stands in front of Akeelah for more than a few heartbeats, staring to the side but looking as though he has something to say. He leaves instead.
-
A few hours later, when Chamois goes to Brayen’s den to collect his letter, all the candles are out. When she pushes the door enough to see inside, Brayen is standing with his back to her, totally still. His letter is neatly folded and sealed with wax without a crest.
She slithers in to grab the paper. Clearly, he is not in a cheery mood, and she knows why. But she makes the mistake of turning to look him in the face when she scoots in front of him, and nearly drops the letter in shock.
Where his eyes should be, there are only bloody pits. He holds one eye in each claw, his feathers caked in red. Each eye stares balefully up at the ceiling, lifeless, as the blood runs down Brayen’s cheeks.
And from each socket, the black snakes out like spider’s legs, and Brayen’s face is neutral, no pain, no grief, only blood and Shade.
fuckin tumblr won’t let me add pictures so i guess we’re going full neanderthal on this shit
@jollyroger-fr @masked-phantom @fr-tangelojack @fusefr
(sorry if i pinged you and you didn’t want one)
“My name is Brayen, son of Okeer, son of Morrigan, child of the Bloodborne.”
“Bullshit.”
Brayen blanches, nervously glancing back to where Akeelah had disappeared back down the terrifyingly narrow corridor they had come down. She told him he would be sharing the common hall her and her own children would use, as well as many of the children of other leaders. He can also hear her chuckling as she leaves, low and hissing like a snake.
“Pardon me?” he says, and the Tundra in front of him stomps her foot and bares her teeth. Brayen tries not to stare at the metal implants turning her canines into hooks.
“I said that’s bullshit,” she says. The air is silent and still as Brayen gapes. He doesn’t know what to say. She just doesn’t believe him. How could he make her believe him?
“I dunno Morbus,” a pretty Wildclaw dressed like royalty says, glittering amethyst eyes giving him a once over. Brayen feels his cheeks warm, but he says nothing.
“He’s certainly pretty enough.”
“Windsinger nods to that,” says a white Fae. Morbus shakes her head again, staring Brayen down once again. Though he almost doubles her height, Brayen feels tiny under her gaze.
“There’s no way! No way Morrigan would send one of her kids to live in a clan that houses more than one Shade touched monstrosity,” she says, with a job towards a green-winged Tundra, who gives a black-toothed grin and a waggle of it’s fingers.
“Morbus, don’t call your sister a monstrosity, it’s not nice,” says a Mirror, and Brayen knows her name like he knew Akeelah’s. Zeelie, heir to Hellreek spends her spare time scolding her siblings and Brayen can push down the gently crawling fear to find that delightful.
“I came here of my own choice,” he says softly, and the bickering stops, entirely too many eyes turn towards him and threaten to burn though his skin.
“Why?” says the white Fae, and another with three eyes chokes on laughter just at his tone.
“Aquilone, it’s not that bad,” she says, and Aquilone rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. He lights upon Zeelie’s head, and Brayen again stops being scared to find it delightful.
“It’s a big clan. I can learn here, how to better hone my magic,” he says. There’s another silence, long enough for Brayen to shift uneasily.
“You do the magic thing too, huh?” the cloaked Fae says, drumming her claws on her chin, “Well, there are certainly people who can teach you. Just don’t do something dumb like, I dunno, bring someone back to from the dead. Azrael doesn’t like that kinda mischief.”
“Who’s Azrael?” Brayen asks slowly.
“She’s literally death. Like the reaper.” Brayen pales
“Oh.”
There’s a red Mirror who hasn’t said a word the whole exchange who just shakes his head as if Brayen is a naïve child. Brayen’s face heats in embarrassment. The Wildclaw shakes her head, stepping closer to him. He thinks he knows where she might be from. The only other blood of royalty in the room, he thinks, but the rest of them command the same amount of power, of respect. She places a claw on his shoulder.
“I’m Fernah,” she says, “I’ll show you to your den.”
“Thank you,” he says. She smiles at him, pure white teeth in the dim light.
“They’re rude, and loud, and annoying, and this place is noisy, and smelly, and terrifying at times, but I promise you, it takes no time at all before Hellreek is home and these guys are family. Whether you like it or not,” she says with a chuckle. Brayen smiles a little smile, and lets the tension fall from his shoulders.
Я люблю тебя, даже тогда, когда тебя нет рядом со мной.
Обожаю за это Tumblr. За то, что он хранит мою душу и самые честные воспоминания.
Прошло 3 года. Не было ни одного дня, когда я не думал о тебе. Не любил. Не чувствовал. Не волновался за тебя…
Я не знаю, что это значит. К чему приведет, но с психологами мы уже закончили. Думаю на этот вопрос у них нет ни решения, ни ответа. Сколько бы консультаций не прошло…
Я узнаЮ о тебе отрывками…
Клочок новостной газеты здесь, сплетня псевдо друзей там.
И честно признаться очень тобой горжусь. Ты растешь, путешествуешь, а самое главное продолжаешь улыбаться и даже любишь…
Да. Уже не меня. Что безумно неприятно для восприятия моему эгоистичному и нарцистическому характеру. Но тем не менее.
Ты теперь новый, сформировавшийся человек, у которого есть свои собственные выводы по любому вопросу. Твой и без того до безумия богатый внутренний мир, теперь приобрел возможность транслироваться этому миру!
Наверное, я просто этого не дождался…
«Но»… хотелось бы сказать «но». А не могу. Так и было.
Единственное, во что я верю теперь…
Это встреча. В которой из миллиарда заученных на этот случай фраз… я не смогу подобрать слов.
Встреча случится. В любой из вселенных твоего любимого Марвел. А я не буду понимать, что сказать.
Единственное, что я точно смогу произнести, отдавая себя до последнего атома этому моменту, будет…
За тем окном пару лет назад, в полной темноте и абсолютной тишине…
Исписанные дневники и заслушанный до дыр плейлист…
Мысли, что стаями заполняли комнату, заглушая даже музыку своим шелестом крыльев…
Все это так и осталось там.
Если оглянуться, прошлое ещё стоит за спиной, так близко, что его дыхание вызывает по коже мурашки.
Скорость жизни достигающая такой отметки спидометра, что стирала четкость с картинки за окном очередного такси.
Мелодии, лица, люди, эмоции, разговоры, сплетни, секс, дружба, путешествия, работа, деньги, предательство, прощение, улицы, алкоголь, закаты, кофе, касания, признания, книги, магазины, слёзы, смех, счастье, грусть и пауза…
Обычная поездка ради побега от бытовухи.
Сданные билеты перед вылетом домой.
Красная нить, что с каждым годом казалось становится лишь крепче, ярче, волшебнее. Потеряна, как медицинская маска случайно выпавшая из кармана.
Просто новый лист, с чистой жизнью…
Закончилась не глава. Книга закрыта.
Написание новой займёт определённое время, перо с логотипом “Montblanc” не станет писать чище, но точно с уверенностью будет вычеркивать ненужные строки.
Новое окно, другая тишина и тщательно выбранные треки.
Красивые завтраки, более дорогой алкоголь, отношения без привязки, дым электронной сигареты, бдсм и разговоры по душам за деньги.
Шаг в самолёт - это выбор.
А выбор всегда является правильным…
Мы же с тобой знаем, что каждое новое - это более счастливое сегодня!
