☯ + the scene he finds gyatso's remains at the air temple
send me ☯ + and a scene, and i’ll drabble it in my muse’s pov.
hopeful boy, wonderful boy: you will never know a life without fear. joy, a need, a desire, an instinct for play, he chases, he runs, he laughs. any place is my place. with friends he barely knew, with a nagging sense of fear, dull. pay it no mind, messiah-boy, live as the air whips over your skin, live as laughter bubbles to your tongue like fountain water.
curtains part, a familiar room: no. this is not my home. this is not the peace i knew. burnt, ravaged bodies lined the floor, frozen, suspended in time, reaching, assaulting, hating. it was then that his heart turned to stone, it was then that the stone plummeted down, down, down, into deep water, cold water.
a hand carved pendant, bearing the wordless testament to their wisdom, to their grace. bones, brutalized, kept together only by the tattered remains of the clothes he had donned for so many years. GYATSO. it was true. all of it was true. the world had ended, it had burned, & it was my fault.
it would be impossible to discern what precisely he felt first: the sting of venom, the suffocating smoke of fire, daggers along his spine, fear, loneliness. what he does not feel is him crumbling to his knees, another statue amidst the toy soldiers lost to time, to carnage.
❝ no. ❞
i’m alone, i’m alone, i’m alone. lost in a world that is not my own, a child, a man, stranded, abandoned, forgotten. fingers curl bluntly against familiar stone, causing his nails to cry out, but he pays no mind. he feels nothing. nothing but a hand on his shoulder, & the swell of an energy he had only known twice before. i’m sorry, gyatso. you told me not to show rage.
