This fire burns inside of me

Scorpius D'Angelo · 05-07-2012, 05:19 PM

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ooc My Scorpi was always mopey, now he's straight up melodramatic! 500+

And suddenly, like an angel, there she was. At first all he could see was the cloudy white form as it galloped towards him; she had already seen him, but he knew there was no other who it could be. His heart skipped a beat and then made up for it double time as his tail began whipping the air. There had been a time when he thought he would never see this seraph again, but by the fires of hell, there she was! He suddenly felt like a puppy again, his soul singing as his mother hurried toward him. Protocol be damned, she saw him, she knew he was there. He surged forward, breeching the borders of Anathema to run like a manchild to his mother.

“Mother!” He cried, the word a breath of relief. She did not have arms in this body to throw around him, but he did for her, so he dropped to his knees before her and wrapped night-black arms around his mother’s light shoulders, the satchel dropping into the dust as he let go of it; its importance paled in comparison to this moment. “No, I could never leave you.” His words were a vow. “I needed to see what was out there for myself… what was outside of Anathema so I could know what it is we face. I never wanted to be gone for long. I’m sorry, I should have told you. Can you forgive me?” His words were half pleading, nothing would shred his soul more than her rejection.

He leaned back, sitting level with her. “I went west, and south. Crossed the old country borders into the US, but I didn’t go far. I couldn’t get far… not with that bastard…” his voice became a low grumble and he turned away from her, teeth clenching and grinding with ire as his ruby eyes darkened.

“Ravesque followed me,” he muttered, refusing to call the beast ‘father,’ and not forthcoming with any information beyond that, though his story would likely be told soon enough.

His gaze dropped to the satchel in the dirt. What an apt place for such a thing… in the dirt… He couldn’t turn back to his mother, even though looking at her would soothe his soul. He didn’t want to be soothed in that moment. He didn’t feel remorseful for what he had done, and he didn’t want to.

“I’m back for good, if you will have me back, Mother, my Angela,” he softened just slightly. “I have forsaken my pack, I know that. But I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that I regretted it every day. I have something to make up to you. Please, let me have that chance.” She was the ever merciful Mother, he knew she would not reject him. Yet there was still some horrid terror tugging at the corner of his heart, telling him that she could easily send him away without even flinching. This fear held him steadfast, unable to look at her, unable to turn away from the bag of ashes.

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