“It’s dark, Celes.”
“It’s always dark, sweetness.”
“It’s darker than usual. And cold. I want to go home, Celes. Why won’t you take me home?”
“I can’t take you home, sweetness. It’s too far…”
“How long have we been walking, Celes? Where are we going?”
“We’re going to take you out of this place, sweetness. You can’t be here much longer.”
“But where is out, if you aren’t taking me home?”
“It’s a place far away, sweetness. But once you get there you can recover, and then you can take yourself home. You know the way.”
“…”
“You won’t leave me, will you, Celes? I…I don’t want to be alone. I can’t be alone.”
“I won’t leave you alone, sweetness. Just trust me and keep moving. We’re almost there.”
“What kind of a place is it, Celes?”
“It’s a land called Novus, and, like most lands, it is full of…many strange and beautiful things. It’s no different from home, if you squint.”
“And if you don’t?”
“I know too little of mortal politics to care, sweetness; everything is ephemeral for beings like me. You know that.” A gentle stroke of damp, squishy flesh against her brow – it used to make her stomach turn, but now it’s a comfort, if a cold one. The darkness bends around Celes; she can’t see it, not really, but she thinks that she knows where it is. But this entire world swirls and loses focus, and she’s faltering, falling, fading-
“Celes,” She gasps, choking, twisting, “I don’t think I can keep walking.” Those tentacles writhe against her skin, grasp her, steady her.
“It’s just up here, sweetness.” And she feels it, now, a gentle tug against her coat, an electric hum that raises every hair on her body; she stumbles towards the gash. With each step, her legs – and she curses her perpetual frailty, her feather-boned uselessness - collapse beneath her, but she perseveres, panting, sticky with sweat, and-
“Don’t be afraid, sweetness. I’ll see you on the other side.”
And then, darkness.
---
She is lying in sand.
It clings to her limbs in a fine, prickling powder that crunches when she moves. Her wings splay out awkwardly at her sides, and her hair sticks to her sides in sweaty, disgruntled clumps that tangle in her legs. She aches - everything aches, throbs, numbs. She can hear the distant roar of the ocean – the low rumble of thunder, too, the faintest whiff of fresh water on the horizon. This all leads her to conclude that she’s on the beach.
She stirs, slowly, and raises her head as though she’ll see anything if she turns it about, ears swiveling in a desperate attempt to take in her empty surroundings. “Celes? Celes, where are we?” Her voice comes out hoarse and broken, like she’s swallowed shards of glass. She waits, patient, and-
Nothing.
Time drags on, but she finds no answer. “Celes? CELES?!” She is greeted by silence, and, as she writhes, frantic as the canary in a coal mine, she realizes that the darkness is still – it does not swirl or dance, but remains cold and void. She grasps for that spark inside of her, for that little bit of divinity that allows her to tear the world raw, but she doesn’t find it. She grasps further inside of her, down to the darkest depths, down, down, down -
But there’s nothing inside of her, nothing there, there’s nothing-
Virun is empty.
And, as she curls in upon herself, salt on her tongue and the first droplets of rain tumbling down to soak her glistening violet skin, she realizes that she is alone.
all my love won't bring you back to me and oh my god I'm wasting away PULLED FLOWERS AT MY FEET, LOST IN THE WIND
It was not often he wandered the beaches along Terminus.
Not only did the cliff-side beaches exist far too close for comfort to the Denoctian territories, but Terminus as a whole was dangerous. He had viewed it from the cliffs, watched the water swallow the beaches whole when the tide rose frighteningly quick.
But hours in the days prior, he had sat upon those cliffs, watching when the tides rose and fell. He felt the need to wander the shores out of morbid curiosity for what secrets the Terminus swallowed whole whenever it overtook the beaches.
And as wide hooves set foot onto the edges of the moist sand, they sunk a quarter of an inch or so - cool water bubbling up and soaking into the hard keratin of his hooves. It was an interesting sensation, but with the water came sand -
All of the sudden, he tasted sand in his mouth, grit between his teeth like the very day he was thrust into Novus, face first into the dry, hot sand of Solterra.
He felt the crunch, and steeled his jaw.
- - - - - - - - - - -
But on he wandered, slowly trekking down the massive expanse of moist sand as he kept a careful ledger of how long it had been since the tide had drifted away from the cliff-line of the beach.
It must have been fate that drew him to this place, right as the sky ripped open, static electricity sparking and igniting the air around the tear. Tor stopped, steps and body frozen as eyes the color of mulled wine stared upwards at the dark, vast void that had ripped open from the cliff's own walls.
Familiarity flooded his mind. For a moment he remembered the searing pain, the agony his body experienced when he was thrust from his Empire into the void that dropped him into Novus.. like a newborn foal dropped from the vulva of its mother.
And before his eyes, he watched her drop disgustingly to the ground, writhing on the soft, cold, wet sand of the Terminus' beach.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Every hackle on his body, every nerve along his spine, prickled and raised. Sensation roared through him, his veins lit up as if someone had ignited the blood within them like gasoline.. his jaw steeled with anger. He recognized her. That god-forsaken pitiful cunt that threw him here. The mage, the disgusting heap that ruined his life--
Where are you?
He tasted grit. He tasted sand. He tasted anger as it roared from his veins and up his throat; blind rage filled every space between his muscle and gut. Saliva pooled under his tongue.. so much seething hatred it made him physically sick.
Now, you're in hell. I'll make sure of it.
- - - - - - - - - - -
And there he stood, over a hundred plus yards from the dismal creature he wished he could snuff the very life out of. He was sure that his visceral anger was so tangible, so real and physical that she could feel it burning a hole into her useless little brain.
While his mind roared, the Triennial eye was wide open, frantic in its movements, the cloud upon it lifted. It spoke, clear as day, to him: BAD! Get rid of her! Now!
And he wanted to listen.
But he stood, watching as she writhed and called out to someone unknown, the sky beginning to cry as she did. His merciless eyes stared at the void-colored mare without repent, and at one point he swore her eyes met his own. He waited for her to see him, for the anger to flood her face. After all, she had come for him, had she not?
- - - - - - - - - - -
She made eye contact with him, but she never saw him. Was she literally blind? He toyed with the idea of simply letting her drown. It would be the easy way, especially if his revelation was true.. she would never even see the tide coming.
But then a notion peaked into his mind, cruel as it was terrible. He forced his body to relax, forced his nerves to calm, the wildfire within his veins simmering as he took a moment to breathe.
He stepped forward, closing the gap between him and the being he hated most within this world.
"What on earth--" he gasped, voice transforming into something that was barely even his own.
"Are you okay?!" he called out from a distance, empathy and concern coating his words so well that he almost fooled himself. Tor was an amazing actor, even in his cruelty.
The question was, would this facade work, or would she still recognize his voice?
Rain mingles with seawater spat out by the wind; it tastes like tears, she thinks absently. Her thoughts feel hollow and distant, like echoes from a voice that isn’t her own. Virun wants to scream. She wants to scream, but she can’t scream. She can’t move, either. She can just lay on the sand, limp and tangled like a broken piece of driftwood, and just as washed-out. She feels as though she lingers somewhere outside of her body, in darkness – but the gentle lap of cold water against her legs tells her that dark as the world might seem, she is still within it.
“Celes…” The word trembles past her lips; it is said with the understanding that no response will come. I can’t believe you left me.
There is an anger in her thoughts that shocks Virun, the sort of anger that leaves her trembling. (But maybe it’s just the nip of the wind.) She still can’t believe that Celes lied to her, much less that it would leave her alone in this foreign world. Is it really so shocking, Virun? You’re useless without- No. She wouldn’t be without her magic if Celes hadn’t left her, just like she’d always been told that it would. Nothing could ever love you, Virun. You’re reliant and needy, like a child. Even a monster with no one else to turn to couldn’t stand to-
She quiets the voices in her head, tucks them down deep, deep within herself and seals them tight; she needs to be reasonable if she doesn’t want to die. Would it even- If she doesn’t move before the tide comes in, she’ll drown. Her wings are more than strong enough to support her, and it is easier to fly than to walk because she can feel the air move around her, but she doesn’t like flying blind in storms, much less with no idea of the composition of the landscape around her. If she has to, she can try to keep herself aloft until the tide goes back out, but she doesn’t think that she can support herself for that long. She could also move towards some part of the shore that the waves would not touch, but, when she tries to move her right wing, she feels a sharp jolt of pain race down her spine. It’s definitely not broken, but it feels like she’s torn a muscle, and, when she pulls it back into place, she feels the hot, sticky sensation of blood running down her shoulder and is momentarily overwhelmed by the bitter stench of copper. Virun burns.
Without her wings, she has no option but to stumble to her hooves. She sways to her feet, stomach lurching and head spinning, and nearly topples over; she’s hit with a sudden rush of desperate hunger and thirst. Virun doesn’t know how long she spent between worlds, and she knows that time flows differently there, but she feels any strength she might have gathered drain from her abruptly, as though she flipped a switch. She steadies herself by flaring out her wings, though this sends another jab of pain rippling along her back. Virun swallows it down, biting her tongue.
Now, she only needs to get further inland…
“Only.” What a ridiculous understatement. It isn’t that hard, she tells herself, but it feels like a lie. She busies herself with untangling the thick locks of her mane from her legs and grimaces when she feels how bony they are. Maybe it would be best to just- No. NO. Virun tells herself that she just needs to stay alive long enough to find Celes. When Celes comes back for her everything will be-
A voice. Gods, a voice, seeping concern and shock; for a moment, she thinks that the accent sounds familiar, like…Stolthet? But no, that’s impossible – Celes said they were in a faraway land, and Celes wouldn’t lie to her. Even though Celes left you, Virun? “H-huh?” Her voice comes out as a choked stammer, head whipping wildly as though to pinpoint the source of the noise; she doesn’t understand her own reflex, considering that she won’t see anything even if she does look right at whoever just spoke to her. “A-am I…?” She trails off, as though still struggling to process his words. (She assumes that whoever is speaking is a he – the voice sounds distinctly masculine.) “I…will be fine, thank you.” Even though she’d like nothing more than to break down into a sobbing, pitiful heap at the his hooves, it would be rude to force her emotional turmoil onto a complete stranger. No, you won’t be fine. “I…where are we? Who are you?” She loathes feeling so pathetic and desperate in front of anyone, worst of all a stranger.
Cold wind ruffles through her feathers, but she barely notices at all.
all my love won't bring you back to me and oh my god I'm wasting away PULLED FLOWERS AT MY FEET, LOST IN THE WIND
An angry lump forms in his throat, and he's forced to swallow it much quicker than he pleases. He feels his hackles raise, and has to metaphorically smooth them down. This purple piece of shit still angered him, even in her defenseless state.
He could kill her - right here, right now - and be done with it. He could let the Terminus swallow her whole, or he could snap her neck at his own hooves and push her right into the sea itself. There were so many options, and while all of them sounded particularly brutal - for with no one around, he could truthfully prolong her pain and suffering (plus, who would care of a vagrant's death?) - but nothing seemed.. good enough.
She deserves so much worse. She thought him a monster before?
Oh, there'd be no denying it now.
- - - - - - - - - - -
But even through the nauseating anger, he quelled it. Forced the vomit back down his throat as he heard her speak to him. He knew not her actual name - Viduct, or something of that sort...? Such a vile name would suit her, after all - and he cared very little. But for his plan to work... he would have to force himself to care.
So as he approached her, he hurried his steps. Lazy walking turned to hastened trotting and eventually a brisk gallop down the sands, fully closing the short distance between them. The tide would be coming in shortly.. and he couldn't have it drowning the main component of his plan.
He stopped just a few feet shy of the knobbly mare, weak and disorientated. Having forced himself to run faster than he would normally, chest hitching as he attempted to catch his breath. "You're not alright," he murmured, surveying the filth that stood before him. Concern weaved through his voice - "Please, I'm Ein... the tide is about to come in, please let me take you away from the beach," he pleaded, extending his head out towards the wet, sand-covered mare's head, blowing a warm breath in her direction. "Can you see me? Did the sea blind you? How long were you adrift?"
Crimson eyes stared into her own sightless ones - and for a moment, he wondered why Roskildar would choose such an opponent with such an obvious weakness. It would be her downfall in the end.
Pulling his head up and slightly aware from her, he peered over her shoulder. He truly wasn't lying - the tide was coming in, and fast. "We need to get off the beach; the sea swallows it whole during high tide. It's coming in now," he sounded rushed, and truth be told he actually was. The large stallion turned his body, his right side pressing to her left; "I'm sorry, miss, but you're going to have to trust me right now. At least for the next few minutes," he drawled out, and nudged her shoulder. "Lean against me," firm but doting instructions whispered to her. He made sure to keep notable features away from any wandering touches - horns, chest, the likes.
But when her skin touched his own, his nerves lit on fire. It was an odd sensation - not just of anger and rage no more, but a serious need, want, lust for domination. He would have it in time, and on his own terms.. and sweet, so bittersweet, would it be.
But for now, he would settle for smelling the salt of her hair and tears, the pitifulness that wove into every syllable of her words and voice, the tremble as she struggled to walk. He truly wouldn't take no for an answer, and if she tried to refuse his attempts at moving her - he'd circle behind her and sidle his shoulder up to her rump and try to gently nudge her on.
She really was in no position to argue with him, after all - she had no idea where she was, or even who he was. "I promise, the grass atop the cliff will be more comfortable to rest upon," he'd reassure her, and together (the thought be damned), they'd make their way up the path to the top of the cliffs that overlooked the Terminus.
Virun is often lost.
She can’t see, after all. Even before her beloved friends left her to die on the beach (another sharp jab of pain, like a knife wrenched and twisted in her gut), even when she had all of their eyes to accommodate for her own blindness, she always felt like she was lost – if you could never truly see the path you were on, she had reasoned, it didn’t matter if someone was guiding you or not. You were still lost.
They were the only ones with control of the map. She could never even read it.
She feels his breath against her tangled forelock, and barely processes his questions. She doesn’t look at him, or where she thinks he is. Your eyes scare them, Virun. Take the blindfold. Well, the blindfold is gone, now, and she is the only one who is scared, insofar as she can tell – and the fear is an ugly, choking thing. It aches. Her words come out choked and stumbling: “I can’t see you. I have…always been blind. I…I don’t know how long I was adrift.” If she can call it that. The space between worlds is like a sea, too, if a vast and depthless one; moving through it feels like floating. She finds herself longing for that strangling ocean, now, even as she feels the bulk of him press up against her, forcing her up.
She wants the tide to wash her out to sea, to waterlog her great feathered wings and drag her down, down, down - down into a darkness where there is finally nothing, where her darkness is no longer something wrong and unnatural but the only thing that is right. She wants that cold, cold comfort, she wants the salt water in her lungs, she wants-
But she can’t, because Celes is waiting. No it isn’t, fool girl, it’s never coming back for- No. She stumbles up on unsteady and awkward limbs, swallowing down a fresh wave of nausea and exhaust. It would be so much easier to sleep, but this…this Ein is at her side, pressing against her, pushing her forward. His words to her seem like a distant dream. “Okay,” she whispers, soft and breathy to his reassurances - you have to get home. But do they even want you back, Virun? Without them, they have no use for you. You’re just a- But she doesn’t have time to think of that. She can only think of the stench of saltwater and the wind, the cold rain dripping against her skin; she tries to think of what she feels instead of what she knows, of the faint, massive warmth of her companion and the sharp, jabbing pain of her injured wing.
She wishes, more than ever, that she could spread her wings and fly away from everything – it would be much easier, she reasons, than stumbling upwards in this sandy hell, her every movement labored and painful, her quavering frame betraying her. Then you might be less trouble for this stranger. (As familiar as he seems – why can’t she remember? She’s paranoid, she tells herself, imagining it. She does not think that she thought the same of Celes, at first, that she had been nothing more than a lonely little girl who had finally snapped after years of isolation.) It isn’t just that, though. She feels everything when she flies. Even though she can never see the sky, (They tell her that it is beautiful, but she doesn’t – can’t – know what that means. She doesn’t remember.) she can feel every twitch and turn of the wind as it threads through her feathers. On the ground, she is meek, stumbling, reliant; it is only in the sky that she finds her way.
Finally, she thinks, she feels the brush of wet, sticky grass against her legs. It takes all of her energy not to collapse on the spot, but, out of what is largely a courtesy to her savior-apparent, she remains standing, wobbling on her hooves. “We are…off the beach, then?” She asks, her tone choked with uncertainty; she hesitates, for a moment, then asks again. “This…place. Where are we?” Even if she could see, she wouldn’t know that.
(This can’t really be the Novus Celes claimed, she reasons. Something must have gone wrong. They wouldn’t have left her like this…would they?)
Of course they would, Virun. You only hurt yourself more, thinking it might be otherwise.
all my love won't bring you back to me and oh my god I'm wasting away PULLED FLOWERS AT MY FEET, LOST IN THE WIND
@
