Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
I will always forgive you. Relief should have felt like release, a sudden unwinding of muscles wrapped with a white-knuckle grip around the knot in his breast, but it swelled and burned like fever in his blood.
The unicorn's forgiveness cut from both sides: rejection might have been kinder, for ugly scars may be borne with time as a bitter reminder of his mortality, but the mercy stroke raised welts of worry upon his soul to go along with the relief as the breadth of his own vulnerability became clear to him: he could not both love her and shield her from harm, so neither could he fully protect himself.
Was it a risk he could accept?
Was it a risk he could deny, now that they had come so far?
The red stallion's brow furrowed, internalizing this fresh and alien pain as Calliope locked her tail aggressively into his. Her blood marked him like warpaint, dark against his crimson flesh, accentuating the savagery of her promise like a brace of brandished daggers. "I believe you," he replied. The curtness of his words seemed nonetheless loaded with a kaleidoscope of his scarcely-contained emotions: admiration, apprehension, remorse, and adoration leeching into the brief lilt of his words like blood through white linen.
He did not deserve such primeval absolution for his crimes. He deserved to be burned to the ground with all that was left of his kin, to carry the sins he had eaten into oblivion, for Raymond the Red could never hope to be worthy of such devotion.
But there she was, a black thunderbolt dancing neatly along the knife-edge of all he was, a force of nature alight with a grace that he himself learned too late in life.
The ensuing silence left the red stallion aching, drained in spite of his own inaction. He draped his head across her back as she stole a glance beyond them at the court that had played witness to their violent awakening. "There is a story, but there are others who could tell it better. The regime grew complacent with decadence and power, and when tensions rose they responded by turning their might against their own people, imprisoning those that didn't wish to flee their homeland behind the Raven Gates and scorching the mountain pass without regard for the safety of their countrymen."
Isra's story still awoke in him an unsated rash of rage. They had done this and then, at the hour of judgment, had vanished, and he know just how 'perfect' a deity's justice can be. The regime would see no punishment for the evil and neglect they had wrought.
"I thought that I could end the threat without further bloodshed if I challenged the sovereign directly, but they did not return after the summit."
Were it not for the unicorn's living heat at his throat, grounding him, he might have gnashed his teeth in frustration. It was a lonely and dissatisfying story with an bittersweet and dissatisfying ending, and Raymond felt guilty for allowing the guilty to run free even when judgment of the old regime should never have been his burden to bear.
Someone had to speak up.
"The kingdom is wounded, but I can tell there's potential beneath the strife. It just needs to be rekindled." Raymond swallowed. Turning his head, he sought out her lightning-blue eye, keenly aware of the unsoundness of his position so soon after charging pell-mell into a darkened world without her. But if they were ever to stand shoulder to shoulder in defense of each other and their ideals, they could scarcely do it leagues apart.
"Will you stay? I am a better person when you're around."
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
I will always forgive you. Relief should have felt like release, a sudden unwinding of muscles wrapped with a white-knuckle grip around the knot in his breast, but it swelled and burned like fever in his blood.
The unicorn's forgiveness cut from both sides: rejection might have been kinder, for ugly scars may be borne with time as a bitter reminder of his mortality, but the mercy stroke raised welts of worry upon his soul to go along with the relief as the breadth of his own vulnerability became clear to him: he could not both love her and shield her from harm, so neither could he fully protect himself.
Was it a risk he could accept?
Was it a risk he could deny, now that they had come so far?
The red stallion's brow furrowed, internalizing this fresh and alien pain as Calliope locked her tail aggressively into his. Her blood marked him like warpaint, dark against his crimson flesh, accentuating the savagery of her promise like a brace of brandished daggers. "I believe you," he replied. The curtness of his words seemed nonetheless loaded with a kaleidoscope of his scarcely-contained emotions: admiration, apprehension, remorse, and adoration leeching into the brief lilt of his words like blood through white linen.
He did not deserve such primeval absolution for his crimes. He deserved to be burned to the ground with all that was left of his kin, to carry the sins he had eaten into oblivion, for Raymond the Red could never hope to be worthy of such devotion.
But there she was, a black thunderbolt dancing neatly along the knife-edge of all he was, a force of nature alight with a grace that he himself learned too late in life.
The ensuing silence left the red stallion aching, drained in spite of his own inaction. He draped his head across her back as she stole a glance beyond them at the court that had played witness to their violent awakening. "There is a story, but there are others who could tell it better. The regime grew complacent with decadence and power, and when tensions rose they responded by turning their might against their own people, imprisoning those that didn't wish to flee their homeland behind the Raven Gates and scorching the mountain pass without regard for the safety of their countrymen."
Isra's story still awoke in him an unsated rash of rage. They had done this and then, at the hour of judgment, had vanished, and he know just how 'perfect' a deity's justice can be. The regime would see no punishment for the evil and neglect they had wrought.
"I thought that I could end the threat without further bloodshed if I challenged the sovereign directly, but they did not return after the summit."
Were it not for the unicorn's living heat at his throat, grounding him, he might have gnashed his teeth in frustration. It was a lonely and dissatisfying story with an bittersweet and dissatisfying ending, and Raymond felt guilty for allowing the guilty to run free even when judgment of the old regime should never have been his burden to bear.
Someone had to speak up.
"The kingdom is wounded, but I can tell there's potential beneath the strife. It just needs to be rekindled." Raymond swallowed. Turning his head, he sought out her lightning-blue eye, keenly aware of the unsoundness of his position so soon after charging pell-mell into a darkened world without her. But if they were ever to stand shoulder to shoulder in defense of each other and their ideals, they could scarcely do it leagues apart.
"Will you stay? I am a better person when you're around."
@Calliope
aut viam inveniam aut faciam
