Dawnlight heeds the horizon, orange and yellow breech the blue of the sky and Reckitt groans, slow movement with eyes closed. She won’t see the perfect sunlight of the morning just yet, nor the flock of birds that soar so freely in the cloudless sky, she will hear them instead- their day song beautiful against her snowy ears. Each chord is struck so carefully and flawlessly, the notes have no meaning in words, the lyrics lost to her, but the feeling behind them is enough. Reckitt stirs, stiff limbs, they feel so heavy today. Every muscle in her being aches, the ground is no cushion but the sound of moving water is welcome- perhaps she is beside the stream of Elysium.
Why does it hurt so much?
Ashen lids lift, so slowly, as if the effort of waking is too much in this moment. Kitt sees the water, breathes in the smell of the damp earth beneath her, golden eyes flow to the green of the flora on the riverbank. Everything is seen past the curl of white lashes, so long, she doesn’t remember them ever being so lengthy, so fine like butterfly wings against her lids. Blinking, once, twice, she heaves her head up from ground, heaves it- her neck feels like piece of twine to lift a weight.
“Ouch,” she says quietly, the way her tongue moves in her mouth feels thick, unusual as it forms such a simple complaint of discomfort. The smells, nothing smells like home, the grass is missing the usual company of flowers she knows so well. Twisted legs, her joints ache more than they ever have, especially on her right- a pain she had learned to live with over the years, now it throbs.
Legs, looking down, eyes trailing the length of her now overgrown form. Perceiving through eyes that don’t feel like her own, feeling the mass of a body that can’t be possible. Hairless, alien, why does she hooves instead of paws? Where had all her fur gone? There are legs that are so impossibly long, with pale hair tangled and woven around the ground beneath her, silken threads of spun spider webs to anoint her neck and her backside.
Every nerve she owns is on fire, she wants to move, to run but her body will not comply- she is frozen in her fear, pained to exist. Within her breast, her heart hammers, the pace of a hummingbird's wings, her thoughts follow. Reckitt tosses her head back with a snort, finding leverage against her mobility, or lack thereof.
“Verona!” she shouts wildly, uncertain and fearful of the answer she might get, afraid there will be no answer at all.
A son, an orphan. A fighter, a soldier. A lover, a father. A leader, a protector. He’d walked hand in hand with death, jumped into the void a countless number of times; he’d been a speck of dust, a memory, a figure forgotten to the never-ending pool of time. He’d been everything, and nothing at all; but each life be remembered, each he mourned. This life would be no different, but he never was one to fear the inevitable - one day this life would end and he’d bloom into another universe. Novus was simply a new dawn...and he felt a certain amount of duty to make this life as good as any other.
Rouge had come to the realization long ago that there is only one constant in any of these things - Death. Cloaked in a veil of darkness, he remembers their first encounter along the shoreline of a land he hardly cares about anymore. Quiet, He had led him into oblivion. It could’ve been days, weeks, years, decades...maybe even centuries before Rouge was awoken again - he’d been given another chance. The second time they met was against a twilit sky...he’d been cold, but Death gathered him in His warm embrace and Rou had felt free. Life, he found, was fleeting and minuscule; Death was forever, waiting for each and every soul...Death was freeing.
He knows not how long he’d been here - long enough, he supposes, to learn where he should stand amongst the Gods that rule Novus and those that are Their keepers. Long enough to know he should seek out the Dawn Court and their leader, visit them and ask if they’d like a soldier - he was reborn for that, afterall. Wrapped tightly against his forearm was a simple black leather pouch, within it, a dagger that could’ve been carved by the Gods themselves. The edge was sharpened silver, the handle and blade cover adorned in sapphires and golden filigree; lovely, deadly, and a reminder of the new chance he was given.
Dawn brims over the horizon, casting a warm orange glow against the russett of Rouge’s skin. He’d been unaware of just how far he’d traveled, but it seemed he’d ended up in just the right place. The air around him is crisp, the cool breeze nipping against his shoulders - fall is in full swing, but it seems as though the forest has yet to make that assumption. Everything is still a lush, viridescent emerald, alive and rebelling against the early autumn cold. Mourning doves and blackbirds sing their loudest songs, filling the air with a soothing symphony. He closes his eyes, takes in a deep, thoughtful breath, and then -
“Verona!” A scream pierces the early morning calm. Copper ears point forwards and nostrils flare; a woman, she sounded distressed. There is hardly a hesitation as the stallion bounds through the forest, towards the mare’s echoing cry. When he finally finds her, he cannot help but notice the pained, confused look in her eyes. His chest heaves as he makes out a gasping sentence. “I...heard...you. Are...you okay?” Rou asks the ivory mare, cerulean eyes locked on her terrified amber pools.
If a heart could rise up the throat, the way the stomach sometimes does, that’s exactly what Reckitt’s would have done in this moment, and in a way- it had done just that. There was nothing physically apparent about the organ, but the tone of her words was enough to convey her emotion. Words that were as crimson and vital as blood could ever be, if your eyes closed as she lamented, perhaps you would be able to feel them bleeding through. Her cry was one of pain, loss, confusion, there were so many emotions to feel- so many mixed up thoughts to sift through.
So she was somewhere new, this had happened before, but her heart ached and longed for the world she left. Too much was left undone, unsaid, she had settled in so easily and once more she was ripped up by the roots from her soil. What is the meaning of life? she thought to herself, looking at the ground with forlorn golden eyes. It is not often that the pale dove has such conflicting thoughts, in light of recent events, perhaps her inner turmoil is understandable. The tears that slowly trail down her face certainly are, leaving rivers against her cheeks that are damp and dirty.
In all her fussing, she is surprised when someone comes, but it is not the someone she called out for, nor was it a someone she knew or expected.
A new face, long and faded red, she watched as he approached in part shock and part awe. There were winged wolves in Ourania, a thing completely new to her, something that was Magical when she encountered it, she was often left staring at the propellers in admiration. These wings, they were so much different than what she has been so far exposed to, the stretched membranes much like that of a bat. Kitt regarded him with an inkling of uncertainty, though she does not yet rise and run, partially because she had yet to leave the ground. His cerulean gaze is somewhat soft, if not a bit worn, and she carefully chooses her words now.
Does he know I’m not supposed to be here, does he know I am not one of them? Will there be consequences for the state she finds herself in?
“You have,” she says in words that are brittle, they could crumble like a leaf in Autumn the way they strain to free themselves from her milky lips. “I’m not sure how I’ve come to be here,” another sort of vague introduction, and it is only now that she attempts to stand for the first time, the lengthy legs feel like stilts. Swaying her way to standing, wobbling like a newborn filly, she must look pathetic.
Pain, loss, confusion - these were nothing new to the russet stallion. He knew them too well, felt the uncertainty of Death and the apprehension for rebirth. The tears that flow so restlessly down the alabaster mare's cheeks are all too familiar - she's been brought somewhere strange, expected by Death to acclimate to something new - it seemed cruel and unusual now, as he watches the mare pitifully cry. He remembers his first resurrection, the hesitancy and distress he felt as he walked through the Veil to find himself alone against a hazy shoreline. Rouge remembered how it felt to see a face within the fog; it was comforting to know you weren't alone.
It didn't seem fair that someone who seemed so innocent be ripped from everything they knew, and he grows a bit angry at the thought. Although it was too late, he silently cursed whatever Fate decided the ivory mare should end up here, alone. Empathetic blue eyes stare into her honey-dipped irises, watching as they linger on his face for awhile. Rouge feels his chest tighten, his heart begin to ache for the terrified femme before him. He bends his neck down slightly, as if to say "I mean no harm."
Finally, she manages to speak. The words are broken and scarred, as she struggles to release them from her lips. Only then does she decide to rise, wobbling like a newborn as she tried to steady herself. Rou raises his brow slightly (it wasn't everyday that he saw a grown mare wrestle with her own legs), but decides to go closer to help her regain her balance. "Where did you come from? You can hardly stand," He observes, standing strong against her pale shoulder so she can attempt to move without the fear of a fall. He glances over at her, acknowledging the faint cerulean dots that grace her undereye - so simple and delicate, yet so beautiful - and then looks away before she can notice.
im not afraid of leaving, not of god & not of death.
Reckitt’s emotions run freely down the curve of her pale cheek, tracing soul-bare rivers against the soft ridges of her features. Each salt-stained trail makes the white of her fur stained, as if the dust from the air does not care for the imperfection of her beauty, in truth, she has never thought herself wholly beautiful. The wind could be of no other inclination, she was just another soul was she not, another body carrying out days of existence in futility? There is nothing sharp about the white woman, all meager curves and soft edges, delicate fringe of a spring daisy. Kitt was a breakable thing, considering, there was little toughness to be found in the Druid- she could not be expected to bear the hardened exterior that some chose to carry.
Did she blame them for that choice?
Never.
No harm. Those words could not find a place in her current state to ring without caution, some say one thing, while they mean another- she was not a stranger to twisted meanings. Still, she can not think too ill of this stranger, with wings made of the Night, and eyes like the clearest gem.
There was once a horde of such treasures, somewhere, though as she is fleetingly reminded of the memory, it is but a wisp of thought. Was it even real? For the first time in her rather short existence, she begins to wonder if it is short at all. How many lives was she meant to live? Even the weight of her own body is on the verge of being too much for her now, did she dare seek help in the unknown? His own strength is there, the calm but firm assertion of her needs, before she asks, before she can process the will to know which path was right.
“Thank you,” she says slowly, the words still choked up in her throat as they move against the thickness of her tongue, the worn edges of her new teeth. “Not from here, though you seem to already have figured that out.” Her golden eyes look up, sidelong at the stallion, both curious and full of uncertainty. She was a Goddess once, how does she still balk? It’s another first for the dove, she did not see herself as some great being, never putting herself before others, but would that bring her strength if she could pursue the mindset of the haughty?
“No,” another whisper, though one that can be heard due to the closeness of their frames, one like the untainted snow of a mountaintop. The other the color of burning brick, there was fire on his skin, baking it until it was copper and metal.
“My old life, it was so very different from this one..” each syllable is full of longing, there was too much left behind, bonds that she still hungered for.
There is little he can say as he watches forlorn tears flow down the delicate curve of her face, staining the virgin snow of her cheeks with salty brine. He wants to look away, to shield his cerulean eyes from this display of sorrow but he cannot pull his gaze from her amber irises. How they stare so profoundly into his soul is enough to make his chest tighten; this gut wrenching show feeling all to familiar.
How he wants to take the pain away from this stranger, to bare the brunt of her emotion, to let it lay on his shoulders and weigh him down. Why, for such a peculiar creature as she? Was it simply because he knew in his heart she could not protect herself, especially with the creatures that lurked in the deepest corners of Novus? Or was it more complex than that - was it because he saw himself in those confused golden pools, another victim in Death's cruel game?
She thanks him, and he nods solemnly. "I'm not from here, either," He admits to her, watching her closely as she finds balance. A leathery wing spreads out over her, a blanket of security for the uncertain mare. "I'm Rouge." He tells her, finally removing his wing and tucking it back to his side. He stare intently upon her, letting her speak her peace. No She had said to herself, just loud enough for the russet stallion to hear. He tilts his head curiously, but brushes it off for the time being.
"You could say I've had many lives, too," Rouge says, taking in that look of longing in her eyes. What could he say to comfort her? It seems almost silly to try.
But he will...he always tries. "It will be okay..." His voice trails, and he wishes he could grab the words as they leave his lips. For who is he to guarantee things would be okay? "...I, I will help you, if you so wish. I live in Delumine, just north of here, in the kingdom of Dawn. You're not alone now, I can take you there if you desire." He says in a comforting tone, continuing to stare at her. He hopes she will accept his offer, he hopes he can assist her.
He was a born protector, after all.
im not afraid of leaving, not of god & not of death.
this is trash im sorry but I LOVE KITT.
@Reckitt <3
There was an acknowledged emptiness in her chest, a pain with which she was unfamiliar, as she was unfamiliar with so many things that she was experiencing. A hollow where there was not one before, a crater carved against the space behind her ribs, the place her heart rested and beat steadily within her snowy breast. Heartache, if it was something she knew, in some other life she did not recall, she did not hold the memory of it- it was crushing her in this moment; it overwhelmed her senses. It all happened so fast, so quickly, snatched away from what she knew, forced into a new life before the first had even taken root and thrived. There was no soil to grow in, a seed that had no sustenance to sprout, to make life.
A breath rattles in her lungs as she takes it, slow, steady, long; with that intake of air she wants to cleanse herself from the darkness that was trying to push its way in. One thing that was always trying to get a grip on her, to noose itself around her neck, shadow over her silver.
“You could say I’ve had many lives too…”
His words ring like the tolling of a bell, waking her from the sullen pity she was finding herself in, the self lenity that was not becoming on someone like she. It inspires hope, enough to allow that settling intake of breath to calm her nerves, the tense pieces of her silhouette to unravel from knots.
“You have?’ She asks before thinking, a thing she sometimes did, overwhelmed with her curiosity, drunk on the pleasure of Faith. It is the first time she has carried or displayed any semblance of her old self, her true self, since waking against the giving earth of the river side. Since smelling and seeing everything she did not know, but would know, perhaps, given enough time. Though that was starting to be something she did not have a lot of, a thing that did not work in her favor, things slipping away before she could really complete a single task of her existence.
“I would like that Rouge,” she nods, titling her pearly head towards her chest, chin downward to chest. “I might need your help more than I am prepared to admit,” a small but graceful smile paints her lips, spreading to reveal the warmth she could exude if given the chance. “My name is Reckitt, do you make a habit of protecting?” The forward tone is not to be missed, she was intrigued by his readiness, his willingness to help her, he had no reason to; she had not given him one.
“I am no horse,” she confides, slowly, hushed, as though the water insects might tell her secrets, the nearby trees might keep them, and whisper them among their kin. Before long, too many might know but something inside her could not keep him in the dark, it was not her nature to draw curtains and settle in shadows.
Equines are not solitary creatures by nature. This fact is not lost on Rouge, considering the entirety of his lives he had been one. To seek out relationships, however distant they may be, was only natural - horses, himself included, needed protection, compassion, but most importantly love. Standing there before the mare, he can see that maybe she had spent too long alone - frightened, agitated, he feels her tense bodice against the bulk of his skin. She takes in a prolonged breath, as if an unknown force holds their hand against her airway - as if she's drowning in her own sadness.
Before he has a chance to ask her if she was okay, she is responding to him. "You have?" She manages to ask tremulously, and Rou nods his head. "You don't have to be afraid...I understand your pain." And he did - wholeheartedly he felt every bit of her sorrow and distress, for he too had lived it many times.
When she accepts his offer to bring her back home, the stallion smiles. She tells him she needs his help, and then gives her name.
Reckitt. Her voice saying her name, soft and sweet, replays in his mind. He bows her head to her, glances up through cerulean eyes and grins. "A pleasure to meet you, Reckitt," He says. Before he can say another word she is eagerly asking questions about him. He lets out a warm chuckle, and nods to affirm. "I used to be a leader, long ago. I'd do anything for those I care about." Rouge lets the words settle, resonate with her for a moment. He looks down to his hooves, swallowing as memories wash over him, nostalgia chilling him to his bone. He'd only been in Novus a short time, but already he felt he was doing right by his own intentions...but he can't say it doesn't hurt, having no closure in any other life.
These thoughts fade as he hears her hushed whisper. "I am no horse..." She says almost secretly, as if she is ashamed of it. To this, Rou tilts his head - how could she not be a horse, if she is standing right there before him as one? Rouge is hardly one to judge, though - he knows the things Death is capable of - so he gives her a friendly nudge. "I suppose I'll have to teach you to be one, then." He says tenderly, gesturing for her to come forward. "Come. We can talk about some things on our way to Dawn..." He looks deep into her haunting amber eyes, stares at her virgin ivory, and then carefully drapes his wing over her once more. "You're safe now Reckitt."
im not afraid of leaving, not of god & not of death.
Solitude has never been her true friend, nor has it been her enemy, a middle ground, an acquaintance she tolerated. The haze of a veil sheer placed against her face, at first perhaps, she had balked at the looming suffocation speechlessness was capable of. Unknown things tend to have that effect when one finds themselves faced with them for the first time, initial reaction to things that are new. Eventually, Reckitt found ease in the company of herself, most of the time she was content with it, able to withstand the long silences that grew like shadows in the night- elongating and seeking purchase on her soft heart. That’s the thing though, isn’t it, she wasn’t faced with true silence, always the thump of her heart or the steady sound of her own breathing. The world was never truly overtaken with reticence, not so long as she was still a living thing.
Then, in contrast, she was just as comfortably finding satisfaction with social interactions, perhaps that is where she thrived, if we are to make plain her bubbly resonance. The way she pressed herself into friendships, without doubt wrapped herself around another, braiding such pure light on each soul she came into contact with. Gabriel’s horn manifested some might have cause to believe.
It was her way, when circumstances were in her favor, today, she didn’t feel as if that was so.
Hope was a simplistic notion to the pale mare, but since the changes had taken her form, she was struggling with finding the beacon she once bore. Not that she wasn’t capable of it, it was strained now, it was taking more effort and it made her worrisome; she felt like she was failing somehow, maybe failing herself, but mostly, failing all others. In mere hours of waking, she was questioning herself, finding that she was filled with uncertainty, leaning against the strength of her rock. This mass of a man, so gentle, comforting, even in his nocturnal splendor, with wings like stretched and worn leather. Kitt was close enough to focus on his breathing, allowing that sound to fill her head, while the malignant creatures of apprehension continued her inner turmoil, biting the soft flesh of her cheek.
“Before, I may have delighted in this, if I had been given a say,” her words are tainted with bitterness, hungrily wanting to make itself known, a thing most unlike the old Kitt, she stomped a hoof in distaste. Her very thoughts made her a stranger to herself, she looked sidelong at the river, catching the pale monstrosity of her reflection against Rou’s rust. It is his cloak that keeps her from nearing the water’s edge, the one he forms from a single great wing, she is thankful for that barrier now, even if she does not make it known. Even if it is meant to comfort her, to guide her, it was the blockade she needed before she even realized she did.
A protector, a leader. Qualities of her own, from before , from there. It brought a knife to her thoughts if she allowed the name to creep in, much the same as the absence of her self-made pack did.
“What is safe?” she asks, that same acidity prevalent, it is enough to make her stop, wobbling to a halt. “I’m sorry,” an apology, she was not feeling herself yet, she was pained and humiliated, but most of all Kitt was afraid. “I do not know that I am ready, or willing, but I can see I do not have a choice. I have to be a horse, whether I choose it or not,” sadness now, that’s the emotion that fills her tone, the cherub vocals that do not often do much but bring light, bleed happiness to the world.
“Do your kind fear Wolves here, will I be afraid of my own?” Another blow, the cosmos berated her with closed fists this day, and she could do nothing but absorb each jab- like she had each ivory fang as an Omega.
He realized this long ago, on the last deathbed he found himself on, before he had made an appearance in Novus. It was comforting, at least, to know He could carry Rouge onto the next life - that after that black veil brought itself over his eyes, Rouge would find himself somewhere new; a fresh start, to put it simply. This wasn't without sacrifice though. This did not come without pain or uncertainty or anger. For why must he continue to rebuild, to take the weight of his nostalgia and create something new? Which was scarier - to be reborn or waste away in cold oblivion?
He listens to her, how her bitter voice bites for something, some remnant of hope that maybe this was all a dream. "...had I been given a choice." Ah, but what was a choice to Death? They had no control over how He decided to handle them - should Rouge tell her she was lucky for this chance at all?
He doesn't...not now anyways. He figures she will figure it out on her own time, and with his wing still draped protectively across her back, he leads her home. Delumine, he hopes, will give her some solace in such a terrifying time. When she asks him what safe is, he sighs. "Safe is just a feeling. I couldn't tell you if we are ever truly safe from the evils of this world," Rou replies, glancing over to her, watching how she stares longingly at her own reflection. As though if she had any choice, she'd be back to where she came from...unfortunately, he knew that wasn't how it worked. She apologizes almost immediately, to which Rouge smiles. "It is surely alright...this is all an adjustment. I hope I can help you feel safe, though." He says, moving away from the river and traveling east towards Delumine.
"...I have to be a horse, whether I choose to or not." To this, Rou can only nod. He's never been out of his own equine body before, so while he feels the innate sadness of her tone, this isn't something he feels comfortable commenting on. Instead, in an attempt to give her some sort of respite, he pulls her closer with his wing. Was this what she needed, a shoulder to cry on?
"With the body you reside in now, I doubt you will have much issue with the equines," He says, sighing. "As for your own...I'd be cautious. I assume you come from a land of peace among horses and wolves...not every place is so loving." He knows this will strike her heart, but who is he to lie? He only hopes he can help her find peace within herself here...
He couldn't be blamed for hoping.
im not afraid of leaving, not of god & not of death.
