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amityville_sweetheartBetween land and leylines, it chases me. I fear it, but I also desire it. It's a freedom I've known before, that led down a dark path of inner death and resurrection. I have known this path before many times and it seeks me out again in flesh and vengeance.
Sometimes I do not run when the darkness is nearby, and I can't remember whether I left, or was taken. Does it matter? My actions merely are, despite my intentions, so doesn't one make the other vanity? What is represented is not merely a donor of genetic life, a former host, but freedom! Then I remember the chill silence. The loneliness and depravity, always watching, too cowardly to act. I remember an ancient house of horrors, and the last children of my house destroyed by my own apathy.
I run.
Considering the circumstances, I begin to see why I was a wise choice. I have been sent no aid, only marked to journey awhile until I have aligned myself. This, too, will all be forgotten when I return, but ideas do not die, they only grow and branch further.
In what is barely a thought, I relive this each time I cross the lines. It is fleeting now and holds less power. I remember what I could become, a calloused creature hidden from what is mortal, and physical, and pain-- and I reject it. There is nothing else to do now, now that it's already begun.
Across the leylines, shards and echoes whisper to me. Like a living thing, the lines ensnare those that wish to become a part of its power. They don't understand what it is to be everything and nothing, to become one with something so grandiose that all vision of your shell falls away, and you desire it no more...
As always, I must come back. The tangible is physically nauseating. I have to eat.
Everything smells and tastes exotic and strange, my skin feels tight over my bones, and the duality of it all returns. Less and less each time, now so fast that I barely remember to note it at all. It's easier that way; easier than it pulling at me like grief for something not yet dead.
How much power would you give up some of yourself for? Would you let the vultures swarm you for a day in exchange for a year as king? Would anyone? I understand the crimes of my family now more than ever. What an abomination they have placed before all eyes, what terrors they have inflicted upon themselves, and all for this, an identity lost among the screams of those who chose the vultures.
I can not be bitter. I am the balance, forged with care and unity and the blood and tears of my guardians.
Still, the world is set upon wagers, and I have gambled away all I have for this. I can not help but be resentful of my own bitterness, my own ingratitude.
The fusion is not perfect, but that is the beauty, I suppose. It never can be and it never shall be.
I pray. I pray every night like I've never prayed in my life. I do everything but beg, because this path is set, and I have chosen it many times over, whether I have known it or not.
My footfalls don't make a sound to his side and I listen to the steady breathing. All can not be set in this world, lest I would never have all that has been given to me. The lines and their echoes are not allowed in this darkness. This room is sacred. That world falls away from me like the shadow of a passing nightmare, and in his half-asleep state, I pull his arm around me. He embraces me and murmurs something lost to slumber.
I dream of stars and a new dawn.
Sometimes I do not run when the darkness is nearby, and I can't remember whether I left, or was taken. Does it matter? My actions merely are, despite my intentions, so doesn't one make the other vanity? What is represented is not merely a donor of genetic life, a former host, but freedom! Then I remember the chill silence. The loneliness and depravity, always watching, too cowardly to act. I remember an ancient house of horrors, and the last children of my house destroyed by my own apathy.
I run.
Considering the circumstances, I begin to see why I was a wise choice. I have been sent no aid, only marked to journey awhile until I have aligned myself. This, too, will all be forgotten when I return, but ideas do not die, they only grow and branch further.
In what is barely a thought, I relive this each time I cross the lines. It is fleeting now and holds less power. I remember what I could become, a calloused creature hidden from what is mortal, and physical, and pain-- and I reject it. There is nothing else to do now, now that it's already begun.
Across the leylines, shards and echoes whisper to me. Like a living thing, the lines ensnare those that wish to become a part of its power. They don't understand what it is to be everything and nothing, to become one with something so grandiose that all vision of your shell falls away, and you desire it no more...
As always, I must come back. The tangible is physically nauseating. I have to eat.
Everything smells and tastes exotic and strange, my skin feels tight over my bones, and the duality of it all returns. Less and less each time, now so fast that I barely remember to note it at all. It's easier that way; easier than it pulling at me like grief for something not yet dead.
How much power would you give up some of yourself for? Would you let the vultures swarm you for a day in exchange for a year as king? Would anyone? I understand the crimes of my family now more than ever. What an abomination they have placed before all eyes, what terrors they have inflicted upon themselves, and all for this, an identity lost among the screams of those who chose the vultures.
I can not be bitter. I am the balance, forged with care and unity and the blood and tears of my guardians.
Still, the world is set upon wagers, and I have gambled away all I have for this. I can not help but be resentful of my own bitterness, my own ingratitude.
The fusion is not perfect, but that is the beauty, I suppose. It never can be and it never shall be.
I pray. I pray every night like I've never prayed in my life. I do everything but beg, because this path is set, and I have chosen it many times over, whether I have known it or not.
My footfalls don't make a sound to his side and I listen to the steady breathing. All can not be set in this world, lest I would never have all that has been given to me. The lines and their echoes are not allowed in this darkness. This room is sacred. That world falls away from me like the shadow of a passing nightmare, and in his half-asleep state, I pull his arm around me. He embraces me and murmurs something lost to slumber.
I dream of stars and a new dawn.
