Sinners-and-Mourners

 When I first step into the city, my breath hitches. I've caught sight of someone sipping tea and already, I can feel my face just crumple. The memories hit me like a stampeding herd of zhevra -  I have to force myself to take a few more stuttering steps before the scene glides to the front of my mind, playing out like it's happening right before my eyes. "Do I wait for you to drink?" I ask, voice low. Zaerindar's eyes rose again, the smile on his face softening. "Drink whenever you please, darling." I didn't say more, content to watch the love of my life for a second. I could feel the look on my face, however; one of awkward disconcertion

Tys'ayn is a spitting flame, harsh and constantly heated. Warm. Furious. Strangely tender. ____________________________________ Black tinges the corners of my blurred vision, a choking gasp erupting from the back of my throat. Agony; "Tsk, hold him down, boy. I don't need this scrawny runt bleeding more than he is now." ____________________________________ I wish we could return to the days of joyous laughter and quiet touching - but we can't. Not when one of us is six-feet under and dead for good.

Very rarely do I find myself waking up before Zaerindar. If I'm fortunate, I'd rise before him and get ready for our run, hair tugged back into a loose ponytail. Today was ... different from the normal routine. I peered down at him through sleep-lidded eyes, slender fingers brushing over his cheek in a tender caress before I reluctantly slid out of the warmth of the bed. He stirred but didn't wake as I quietly moved around the room to tug on a robe. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the dim room with golden beams as I pulled my arms through the sleeves; promptly stifling a yawn as my shoe-less feet carried me to the wind

Staring at the prone form strewn like a broken ragdoll across the table, my mouth becomes dry and the cup of freshly made tea slips past my numb fingers; crashing to the floor in a tinkle of shattering glass. The dark blond - messy - hair shrouding the still, bloodless face makes my stomach grow heavy with dread as I creep closer, heart pounding in my chest as emotions wrap around the beating organ in an iron grasp. Please no, I think frantically, brushing the bloodied locks away with trembling hands. Panic tastes bitter on my tongue. Light, please-- please don't be who I think it is. But it is. The handsome, always smiling step-brother

I spent yet another day with Orionar. It started out quite nicely, with me attempting to stifle my laughter at his complaints. The clothes "Zaer-dad" made him wear were "ugly" and ended up with him constantly adjusting his sleeves. I still can't get over about how sweet and adorable he is. He certainly has his moments but I can't blame him. He's only six after all. Yet, in a way, I find myself hating him. He will always symbolize a childhood that I never had a chance to have and I can't help but feel a pang of poisonous jealousy course through my veins. I'm ashamed of myself and fight to push such thoughts away. I'm his new father after all.

For the first time in years - decades, even - I feel too helpless. My thoughts go to war with each other as my heart continues to pound and tremble inside my chest, my hands becoming clammy. --Kill her, Seryou.-- Kill ... ? My stomach dropped. Can I? After all the time spent under my mother's cold hand, I found myself torn. I had vowed to not hurt - to kill, my mind supplied gleefully - anyone unless it was to defend myself. What if she's innocent? I wondered, staring at Cook's busy figure. What if she's not? ... You'd be endangering your only family, Seryou. Do you want them to leave you behind? I don't! I don't -- but .. she has

Lidded violet eyes glare down frigidly, a menacing snarl curling the pale mouth. It's almost as if ice has formed in my veins for I still immediately in Zaerindar's grasp, lips pressed together in an attempt to suppress the pitiful sound of fright and panic threatening to burst past. Tilting my head back, I return his gaze, face carefully blank. It's not her, I tell myself, brow furrowing slightly. You'll be fine, Seryou, a voice coos. He's said he won't hurt you. Ever. You trust him, don't you? ... A stagnant pause, however brief, feels like an eternity. Don't you? I shake my head once. Perhaps even twice. O-of course I do. Then why

May 14th Even a decade after my mother's death, I have yet to build a tolerance against a woman's touch. Goose bumps rise on my flesh like the aftermath of a roaring nightmare, my hands becoming clammy and cold... It was almost as if my body anticipated an oncoming blow - and I suppose I couldn't blame it. I had spent nearly sixty-nine years living in a secluded area of Ghostlands, getting beaten like some dirtied rug - and even if I had long emerged from the dark, suffocating den of my past it still managed to cling to my skin like a thin sheen of sweat. Mouth dry, I pulled my legs up against my chest, tucked away in some forgotten corne

Pale moonlight bathed the lavish room, illuminating the still figure of Zaerindar sprawled out on the finely-made sheets. I glanced at him, mouth pursed before slipping from the bed, my bare feet ghosting across the cool floor. After a few minutes of meandering about, I happened upon a mirror - and it was there that I turned, glancing over my shoulder. Staring at the nude, ghost-like figure in the reflecting glass, my gaze slowly wandered down the bare, slender back and focused on the silvery line that ran from the pale, delicate-looking shoulder to the thin hip. So clean, so precise… A tremor rippled through my entire essence, cold a