this life has not been good, you see

Itachi Lykoi · 04-18-2011, 08:08 AM

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There was a memory he had tasted on the wind lately; an extension of unwanted thoughts that seemed to linger with him always. He was not accustomed to spells, but was aware that he was likely to be under the influence of one. It was strange and unsettling, but perhaps it was what the young man needed to know that he was still alive and a part of this society. He continued to wander in the darkness of his realm, but the false density of the night mocked him. It was strange how currents twisted and turned into directions that could not be anticipated before the trap had seized its prey. With the sound of nothing on his heels, the man shaded barley gold followed the whispers of air and out.

Immovable rock gave way for the living world seeking green. But here too the layer was darkened blue, and he quietly contemplated how time was lost down there in the darkness where only raw flame would lead the way in the underground world, his home. With calm he chased the last slits of colour in the horizon, but the demon with his defect wings could not soar and chase after the fire that would devour his feathers and condemn him. But tomorrow the same sun would rise, and he could choose to greet it if he so wished. But Itachi was not a creature that pursued beauty. Everything was taken for granted, for he was not easily swayed by the visual wonders blooming around him.

But what about songbirds? What about the silvery little creatures with the flighty wings and eggshell blue that held the world’s secrets? He was a predator and he had scared her away with his hostile nature. Regret did not exist, but something did, deep where not even the owner of the pond could reach. Life was strange.

Time had passed in a world veiled with spring’s lighter evenings before the young warrior of Anathema found the fallen bird wing broken wings and exhausted heart. It was with some ache he merely watched for a few moments. The world would have continued without her pristine presence, but he had to genuinely ponder whether or not he could have looked at it the same. He appreciated her existence, even if it was beyond reach. Slowly, the fallen Prince approached the still form, crouching down next to strands of dark silver and accompanying hues of soft blush. Pale, nearly white fingers reached to caress the unconscious bird's silky hair. Too much time had passed, he decided, and now everything was a little less beautiful. Her perfume was flawed by copper and the absence of her song.

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