[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by * aitvaras on December 3, 2008, 3:25 pm, in reply to "is what you abandoned*"
70.72.195.66
Can you tell sense from insanity?
I recoiled from Centurion as he spoke my name, shying away from him as though he had struck me a violent blow. The gap that separated us seemed to narrow in that instant and I could not say whether it was the wind or the heat of his breath that now danced the length of my neck. Flames smoldered in the barren depths of his eyes, burning me even as I remained ensnared in their primordial gaze. The half-moon scar, a parting token from the last time that I had spoken with him, prickled painfully as the memories made their furious descent.
Memories of that night. Memories of the day that I lost him. And I could tell, solely from the alien expression that now contorted his once familiar face, that he was thinking of the same thing. In that instant I was sorry. Sorry for what I had done to him. Sorry for relegating him to a position of apparent insignificance in my life, despite the fact that he had once been everything to me. Sorry for breaking his heart. Sorry for leaving him. Sorry for forgetting him… sorry for remembering. So sorry.
But to admit to such remorse would undo me. I knew that. He knew that. This is what I am. Me. Me and my foolish, callous pride; conceit that could never admit to such a wrong doing. I tried to compose myself, to resurrect the barriers to had always kept him at bay before. Away from me. Yet, what had once been so effortless for me had somehow become infinitely laborious. I could no longer deny what I had done to him, how important that he was to me… but I could never admit to it either. No longer able to meet his eyes, my head tilted cowardly away so that I would no longer have to look at him, no longer see the anger and hatred that were a seeming embodiment of my own self loathing.
I turned then, took a step forward, and felt the trees press tightly against me. The tree branches seemed to crane down, lowering so that they tangled in the alabaster tresses of my mane. The earth itself seemed to rebel against me, barbed vines curling around my legs like iron shackles. Unwillingly, my gaze turned once more towards Centurion. I watched as he strode away from the mare, wreathed in a twisting mass of snake-like vines, and made his way towards me. I truly saw him then, I think, and I understood. There would be no running this time. No hiding. It was time to face him.
I almost gasped as the thorns dug into my skin, embedding themselves deeply so that blood began to flow freely, trailing crimson ribbons across my pale body. I knew that he was doing this to me, that he had somehow become one of the elementals I had once envied so much. It was not the first time he had hurt me of course, not the first time that his touch had left me with physical scars. We dealt each other blow for blow, Centurion and I. I knew, even though I had never touched him, that his own scars delved just as deep as mine.
“Centurion… I-I…” My voice wavered sharply then, filled with pain and uncertainty. I wanted to say it. Knew that I couldn’t. I’m sorry. Forgive me, my friend… let me save you.
beneath the surface, a dragon dwells
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