Post by Lady on Aug 19, 2015 7:39:06 GMT
So I write lots of really sad and death-related drabbles for my characters because I'm an awful owner, and people seem to love it, so I will be posting them in this thread as they come up to make everyone cry to share . People can feel free to contribute too if they like.
Arckan didn't hurt. He never hurt. He head a headband that made sure of it. But even his body could only endure so much punishment before giving out and as he lay on the ground, trying to will himself to stand and move forward or do something, he couldn't. His body was coated in his red, red blood. As a demon, it meant nothing. When he was a troll, it meant so much. Mutant. Outcast. And he'd embraced that designation. He didn't want, nor need, to be like everyone else. His lusus taught him to be brutal and uncaring. To rend, tear, devour. To survive. Because someday they'd come for him to cull him and if he could fight back like a cornered monster, he might survive. High caste trolls thought he was a mistake. He learned to make sure that any who approached him would find he was the worst mistake they could have ever made!
His lusus didn't teach him anything soft. That had all been Tevran. His moirail. The only troll who saw a snarling troll pretending at monsterhood and decided that the silly wiggler needed to stop playing and start living. Arckan had fought him and Tevran had been relentless and in the end all those pretenses at being the big bad creature under the recupoopracoon were gently worn away until an actual, functional troll began to appear.
And then he died. And it was Arckan's fault. And trolls don't kill their friends, only monsters do, so he donned the old mask again and this time locked it in place. When Enkiea came back into his life, he made the motions of needing a moirail--he needed SOMEONE. But it was a hopeless task he'd given her. He was iredeemable.
That's why when he couldn't will himself to move, he decided to stop trying. And it felt strangely good. He'd been fighting his whole life. Could he stop now? Enkiea wasn't there either, and that was good too. Thinking about her hurt. He'd been a bad moirail to Tevran, but he'd been an even worse one to her. It was good he wasn't going to be with her anymore. It was good and Arckan reminded himself of that as his eyes flooded with bloody tears. He would miss her. He'd miss her so much. He wanted to get up and go find her and curl himself around her, wrap her in his wings, and be glad that there was one other person who'd been willing to pretend he wasn't what he was. To make life worth living.
If he did, he'd only cut her up. One day he changed and his outside finally matched his inside. He couldn't hold onto anything good or soft without hurting it.
Would she miss him?
Arckan hurt. He hurt so much. He always hurt. Maybe when he saw Tevran, Tevran could make the hurting stop again.
Arckan
Arckan didn't hurt. He never hurt. He head a headband that made sure of it. But even his body could only endure so much punishment before giving out and as he lay on the ground, trying to will himself to stand and move forward or do something, he couldn't. His body was coated in his red, red blood. As a demon, it meant nothing. When he was a troll, it meant so much. Mutant. Outcast. And he'd embraced that designation. He didn't want, nor need, to be like everyone else. His lusus taught him to be brutal and uncaring. To rend, tear, devour. To survive. Because someday they'd come for him to cull him and if he could fight back like a cornered monster, he might survive. High caste trolls thought he was a mistake. He learned to make sure that any who approached him would find he was the worst mistake they could have ever made!
His lusus didn't teach him anything soft. That had all been Tevran. His moirail. The only troll who saw a snarling troll pretending at monsterhood and decided that the silly wiggler needed to stop playing and start living. Arckan had fought him and Tevran had been relentless and in the end all those pretenses at being the big bad creature under the recupoopracoon were gently worn away until an actual, functional troll began to appear.
And then he died. And it was Arckan's fault. And trolls don't kill their friends, only monsters do, so he donned the old mask again and this time locked it in place. When Enkiea came back into his life, he made the motions of needing a moirail--he needed SOMEONE. But it was a hopeless task he'd given her. He was iredeemable.
That's why when he couldn't will himself to move, he decided to stop trying. And it felt strangely good. He'd been fighting his whole life. Could he stop now? Enkiea wasn't there either, and that was good too. Thinking about her hurt. He'd been a bad moirail to Tevran, but he'd been an even worse one to her. It was good he wasn't going to be with her anymore. It was good and Arckan reminded himself of that as his eyes flooded with bloody tears. He would miss her. He'd miss her so much. He wanted to get up and go find her and curl himself around her, wrap her in his wings, and be glad that there was one other person who'd been willing to pretend he wasn't what he was. To make life worth living.
If he did, he'd only cut her up. One day he changed and his outside finally matched his inside. He couldn't hold onto anything good or soft without hurting it.
Would she miss him?
Arckan hurt. He hurt so much. He always hurt. Maybe when he saw Tevran, Tevran could make the hurting stop again.
Just.