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
August 27th, Seryou's Journal: First Entry by Sinners-and-Mourners, literature
Literature
August 27th, Seryou's Journal: First Entry
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.
Confliction - Try One by Sinners-and-Mourners, literature
Literature
Confliction - Try One
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
Lips closed tight by Sinners-and-Mourners, literature
Literature
Lips closed tight
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
A journal of sorts - snippets of before by Sinners-and-Mourners, literature
Literature
A journal of sorts - snippets of before
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
Sticks and stones may break my bones... by Sinners-and-Mourners, literature
Literature
Sticks and stones may break my bones...
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