12-30-2007, 10:53 PM
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indent He had used to live here. When Azathoth was still very real, when his mother lived, this had been their home. They had slept here and she had told him a great many things; war, disease, the promise of a new day. She had cried, laugh, sung, prayed. She had gone into fits he could not understand and often he did not want to be with her. Once she had died, though, he had regretted it all. He wanted her back and he still wanted her back—had Damian never come, his life would have been better. Had he never set foot in Chimera, a thousand things would have changed.
indent When he was older, this place became welcoming. No one dared its ruined walls or dark secrets. In this building he had lost his virginity, lost his mind, and lost his way. He had done more drugs then he could remember, drowned in a bottle so deep even now he was drowning, torn up holy books and cursed the sky. All of that remained in a haze, a dim world he dared not tempt while sober. Things had changed, though, as they always do. Repression leads to regression and so the cycle went on and he came back, unable to remember his steps here or his reasoning. Safety. That was the only thing he could recall; this place was safe.
indent It was safe even if his demons refused to leave.
“Yeah,” he said lowly, moving without feeling the ground, moving until he had wound up on the floor and had a blanket around his shoulders.
“It’s safe,” he heard himself say, though this was jumbled in the German and the Latin he did not fully understand.
indent When he was older, this place became welcoming. No one dared its ruined walls or dark secrets. In this building he had lost his virginity, lost his mind, and lost his way. He had done more drugs then he could remember, drowned in a bottle so deep even now he was drowning, torn up holy books and cursed the sky. All of that remained in a haze, a dim world he dared not tempt while sober. Things had changed, though, as they always do. Repression leads to regression and so the cycle went on and he came back, unable to remember his steps here or his reasoning. Safety. That was the only thing he could recall; this place was safe.
indent It was safe even if his demons refused to leave.
“Yeah,” he said lowly, moving without feeling the ground, moving until he had wound up on the floor and had a blanket around his shoulders.
“It’s safe,” he heard himself say, though this was jumbled in the German and the Latin he did not fully understand.