There is a new knot of emotions that twists and coils within the boy’s heart as he begins to explore the Night Markets. They are not all unpleasant—in fact, there is a fair amount of wistful nostalgia that washes through him, his mind transported with memories of the streets of Caeleste’s great capitol as they bustled with life. He remembers wandering through the rows of vendors on many occasions, each merchant selling their wares, their items displayed proudly around carts and counters. Conversations would be lively as bartering was made, stories were told, and friends laughed about old times.
Old times. Times long gone.
Times lost.
Fang had feared he would never experience such things again. The Terrors had eventually and definitively driven away any possibility of social gatherings or easy conversation. Who could worry about selling little trinkets when it was all they could do to simply survive? Each day was spent hiding from the shadows, and each night passed huddled for shelter, willing the ghostly screams to fade away.
He still hears their cries—they echo in his mind, they haunt his dreams. Seeing the Markets now, with the people mingling in a way that is so effortless and absent of fear (night comes, but they don’t hide), Fang finds himself tangled in both nostalgia and grief.
Shepherded into a corner by the push and pull of the crowd, Fang is lost in his thoughts when he’s suddenly aware that he has wandered much closer to a stranger than he would consciously. His large frame is standing right next to the dark mare, their shoulders nearly brushing—it is the warmth of her body that had jarred him to attention. Blinking, Fang quickly leans back to an appropriate distance, his head turning to meet the other’s viridian eyes with an apologetic grin. “There’s a lot to take in, isn’t there?” He offers after clearing his throat, hoping he doesn’t come off as awkward as he feels.
tag; @Absynthe
“…”
Old times. Times long gone.
Times lost.
Fang had feared he would never experience such things again. The Terrors had eventually and definitively driven away any possibility of social gatherings or easy conversation. Who could worry about selling little trinkets when it was all they could do to simply survive? Each day was spent hiding from the shadows, and each night passed huddled for shelter, willing the ghostly screams to fade away.
He still hears their cries—they echo in his mind, they haunt his dreams. Seeing the Markets now, with the people mingling in a way that is so effortless and absent of fear (night comes, but they don’t hide), Fang finds himself tangled in both nostalgia and grief.
Shepherded into a corner by the push and pull of the crowd, Fang is lost in his thoughts when he’s suddenly aware that he has wandered much closer to a stranger than he would consciously. His large frame is standing right next to the dark mare, their shoulders nearly brushing—it is the warmth of her body that had jarred him to attention. Blinking, Fang quickly leans back to an appropriate distance, his head turning to meet the other’s viridian eyes with an apologetic grin. “There’s a lot to take in, isn’t there?” He offers after clearing his throat, hoping he doesn’t come off as awkward as he feels.
tag; @Absynthe
“…”
Livin’ like we’re renegades
fang
Lost boys like me
are free.
are free.
please tag Fang in all replies; magic and force are permitted
