ILU <3
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MISERYMisery was old. There was a dull and unpleasant ache in her joints when the weather turned sour. Her leg hurt constantly, endlessly. She had taken to smoking weed again - only when the pain got unbearable. She had found a new medication, a new release. Poe had been lost to her, drifting always out of reach. She loved her girl but the child was gone now. Misery simply knew. Then there was Samhain, her beautiful ghost. Gone too. Damian, her love for her Crimson King had turned her son away. Damian's children, the flesh and blood incarnation of their union...oh how dark and terrible they had been. Beautiful Jude with his bloody eyes, lost to the river. Rift, timid, sweet boy. A nail through the skull. Meth, madness and sickness oh, how she had burned. Blessed be Corona, Ahren's golden girl.
MISERYPsyhke, Damien, Zadkiel, Nox, Cerulean...lost now. She had set them free. Left them to wander in new lands. It was better that way. She loved them dearly, they needed to be away from her. Anzu's blood had set them free. Gin was lost, still in Europe. She hoped he was safe. Loneliness had gotten so close to claiming her, but these days it was all better. Larkspur, her beautiful boy. The most devout child - and she considered him as such, he was everything to her - was her constant companion. He had been birthed by her younger sister, Hollow. A beautiful boy of inky fur and orange eyes. She let her gold-green eyes flicker to him as she regarded the strong, strapping boy with a grin. The mad fever lingered in her eyes - it seemed to never go away now. She was saving him. She would purify him, and save him. He was her last chance at redemption.
MISERYAnzu had been a mistake. A beautiful man of black and white coat and eyes that burned like fire. When he held her, when he spoke, when he was close, Damian's whispering voice in her ear grew quiet. It was nice to have the silence. So she had loved him, in a hollow and unsettling way. But as with all the others she had loved since her Crimson King had been taken - she had killed him. Adder by her own hands, Hollow had died too, they would all die. Anzu had been a trade. A stranger for family - for her pretty little Lark. When they had descended the cold and frigid mountain...she imagined she could hear him screaming. The Gods were hungry, he would make a fine meal.
MISERYThe bleaching had turned his fur orange for now. They would have to work harder. She had been branding him - holy words and symbols, ways to set him free from the sin he had been born with. She loved him fiercely, and without him, she would have been dead. Misery was still thin - her body would never be full and fleshy, it simply didn't suit her.
MISERYHer body was ghostly white with streaky patches of pale silver now. Her 'hair' that fell in a messy dread locked tangle from her head was still the color of ink. The symbol of chimera stood crisp on her shoulder. She had taken to wearing a loose pair of black pants and a matching shirt - she often got cold, the clothing helped keep her warm. A knife was kept tied around her waist, hidden beneath the shirt that swallowed up her torso. A long walking stick - carved with intricate care,symbols of the Khalif, a masterpiece of woodwork was tied to her back. They had acquired horses - Misery's was a black stallion she had named Solomon. He was good and steady on his feet, and made the traveling far more easy for the crippled woman. Larkspur was good about those kind of things. She would save him, and he? He would take care of her.
MISERYThe natural order of things had fallen back into place. She was lonely no more. For a moment, those fever bright gold-green eyes closed, and on the breeze she heard a whisper. Misery...go home. Her King, her dark dragon whispering all in her mind. Everything was back to how it should be. A soft laugh escaped her, barely audible. Oh, she listened to Damian often, but now was not the time. Home had burned to the ground. This place held promise, a new adventure. They would stay here for now, her and the beautiful boy she now had. All would be well. "Not yet, Damian, my love, not yet." Larkspur would not bat an eye - she spoke to him often.
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As his aunt, his mother, his savior, spoke, there was only the swivel of an ear to even seem that he had heard her. Misery often spoke to her dead king. She had done so when she had saved him from the Khalif. How many years had he scraped by on luck? Nearly four. Strangers came and were burnt. Then, one winter, there were no more strangers. Like those who had come before him, those that Tak had chosen, Larkspur was destined for the fire. He fought. He screamed. He had been cut and battered and nearly taken.
Then she had come. Like a ghost from the fog Misery had appeared. Never again had he heard her voice as it had been that day. It had changed into a low, dominating tone. She did not need to raise it in order to be heard. He listened, as if he would never hear anything again. Lark understood what she was, just as the rest of them had. The boy had been chosen. Bleeding, on his knees, he had grabbed onto her and buried his face into her fur. My life for you, he had sworn, over and over again. There had been a peculiar change in her eyes when he said that, one he did not recognize.
Since that day, he had kept his word. Come hell and high water the boy (now nearly five) had stayed with her, a faithful companion, follower, son. Over his shoulders the fur throw remained, the only piece of clothing that the thick-furred male had ever needed. He carried no weapons; his size was enough to protect them both, and Misery had forbid such a thing. In all truth he did nothing that she did not ask or tell him to do. His hair, bleached to a bright orange (save for the roots, which were growing in quickly) fell around his face haphazardly. All of his hair was peculiar like that—marred by those patches of orange the same color as his eyes—save the pristine scars along his arms.
Under him, his own horse followed the stallion. A mare, flaxen chestnut, had been taken the night he stole the stallion. Misery never asked him how he did what he did, only that it be done. Lark was crafty. It was the only reason he had survived as long as he had. Not a sound came from the four year old; after all, she had not been speaking to him.
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MISERY My life for you. The words had rocked her to her core. She loved him then. The moment those words spilled from his inky lips, he was hers. She would create in him the image of all that was good. She would cut out the parts of him Tak had his claws in, pull him out of the cold and unforgiving darkness that Tak's dark embrace offered. Misery had been born in that darkness and after so many years she had finally emerged from that long and terrible tunnel.
MISERYHe had stolen the horses, she guessed that much. Sometimes theft was the only means to survival. She had climbed that terrible mountain and saved him. Now he was her lifeblood, he was her guiding path. Through him she had made it here, through him she would thrive. She had plans, oh yes, she had plans. If there were relatives here, she would seek them out and see if they were worthy. The D'Angelo's were holy, said to be borne of Tak's dark blood. They would not be shamed by Godless ones. They would believe.
MISERY "Tell me Lark," Her lovely bird, so beloved to her. "Do you think we should settle here, and search for our family?" His opinion could sway her, perhaps. She would not force him to do anything he was unwilling - and of that there was precious little. He would have slit his throat to please her.
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They had become symbiotic. Without her, Larkspur could no doubt survive—but he was uneducated outside of the realm of Khalif and would likely be unable to assimilate. Misery was his guiding light; his dancing star. Each time he looked into her fever-bright eyes it was love. One day he would make her proud, and he would do her right. It he had to call down the Hand of God he would. He wore the marks. He made an oath.
Both ears rose to a crown atop his head, two black peaks breaking the orange mass of his hair. Larkspur’s eyes focused on the back of her head. “If you wanna,” he answered simply. There was a distinct twang in his voice; it was thick, and almost slow. There was little eloquence in his speaking, and he found this enjoyable. He had no formal education; Lark was, by all means, nothing more then a smart dog. A loyal, extremely dangerous dog.
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MISERY He was a simple beast. Of that she was very thankful. Smart, cunning creatures took far more to make happy. So much more to deal with. Lark was content with her guiding him. He reminded her of Gin, the retarded son of her cousins Jinx and Curse. He was more evolved then Gin, but it was the same thing. Simple emotions, simple feelings. Gin simply wanted love - Lark wanted to be saved. A good and simple boy to shape into God's greatest wonder. Oh yes, he would be perfect..
MISERY Let him go. He will forget in time, he can have something more. She wanted to shout no at him. At his voice that seemed both pleading and demanding. Would Lark forget? Could he walk away, forget their dirty and dark bloodline, and forge a simple and good life. He would find a woman - simple creatures like him always somehow found a woman, a good strong one. He would father children - some smart, some simple, but good children. He would forget the complicated prayers maybe, forget why exactly he was evil. But it would leave her alone. She would die alone. She couldn't do it. She needed him. Misery loved him.
"I think we will. I...I've been brought here. Tak means for us to do work here."
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Inbreeding had damned their bloodline, but this was not the thing that cursed Larkspur. His fur had done that for him. Since birth, he had been an outcast. He knew only pain and fear. These were the things that had made him evolve the way he had. Scars, now covered in brands or hidden under his fur, were as much a part of him as the dark coat. They were the only sign he knew how to fight; his size was irrelevant. That had come when he learned how to steal. Steal well he did.
The only thing he did better was pray, under his breath and in that half-mad, rambling tongue of the Khalif. A cold wind blew from the west, bringing with it the smell of salt water. Lark only knew what that was because he had seen it, coming here. “Then we do Tak’s Work,” he echoed. Idly, his lips pulled up and he yawned widely, off-white teeth a sharp contrast against his orange and black fur.
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MISERY Larkspur never offered much in the way of in depth conversation outside of their musings on the nature of the three Gods. He was a good student. He understood Ankh was the white lady, the Goddess of the Light. He knew well of the silver huntress Rah'Khir, the lady who stood for all between darkness and light. Most of all he knew Tak, the dark one. He who walked behind the rows, the dark one. "You aren't sleeping." Her voice was sharp and displeased. Near the end of Damian's days, when his breath smelled sick and rotten, she had barely slept. Three day, four day stretches were the norm. He slept long and hard - his sickness made him tired. But not her. She had children, and she could rarely pull her eyes away from him. So beautiful in his dying. But the visions had gotten sharper and sharper, her mind conjuring the most wicked of delusions in her exhaustion. "It will make you too weak to keep fighting." Fighting the darkness, working his way towards the light.
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Like a child being scolded, his ears fanned back and nearly vanished under the thick orange hair that hung well beyond his shoulders. By all accounts he was her child now. Her child, and Tak’s child. Tak, who spoke to him in his dreams, who he saw in the deadlights, who came to him when he needed. Those episodes of can tak had kept him alive. Lark had yet to be gifted by a can tahs, and believed that he was not yet worthy for such a thing. One day, perhaps. Until then, he would do as she bade.
“I can’t,” he explained flatly. He had never been able to sleep properly. “It hasn’t been that long,” he further added, not to argue with her, but to explain. “I will sleep when we stop. I promise.” And he meant that. As certainly as anything he had ever told her.
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MISERY Misery only wanted the best for her son. He was the oldest son she had - all the others were dead. Lost before they had aged. She didn't know Samhain's fate, she assumed him gone. Her voice was soft, she had hurt him with her sharpness. His ears had sunken back in the orange hair - they were trying to wash the blackness from his fur. Her voice grew more gentle, maternal and sweet. "You beckon the unformed ones... You open your mind to the ini when you don't sleep. Wicked things move there, you do not want your heart to become one of the unformed, do you?" The unformed. Dark and mindless creatures of pure and utter evil. He was a good boy but without sleep he kept further and further away from Ankh. It was she who guarded the realm of dreams - nightmares were Tak's domain. With neither he broke apart. "Good boy." Warm and affectionate as she studied him. "You must make friends here, Lark. We cannot appear as outsiders...we must appear the same as them." But they were not. They never would be.
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The ini. He knew that dark and terrible place. The monsters came from there. Tak came from there. Only a few times he had seen such a thing. It terrified him. It sickened him. Even now, a low and terrible whine rose from his throat, dying in the cold air. She comforted him, and this settled the noise. Both of his hands began twisting the soft leather of the reins, a nervous habit. “No,” he agreed, dropping his eyes. She explained that they were different, as they always had been. Somehow, their kind was marked. “Misery? Can you make a new dreamcatcher for me?” The last one had been destroyed after it had captured a terrible demon. All of his teaching had told him to burn it, and so he had—burning the demon that had come from the ini with it.
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MISERYMisery had done reasonably well blending in with the old lands. Chimera had allowed her to be very much herself - celebrated that behavior in fact. But there was no Chimera here, no safe haven. Paradise was lost. The thought sent a wrenching, staggering bit of pain through her chest, but she hid it from the boy. More a man really, but he was young next to her, he was her son. No mother could look at her child - by blood or not - and see more than a boy really. He had burned the last one after a most terrible and painful dream, and she had been sad to see it go. He had been so very fond of the dreamcatcher. Her bones were getting weary, her joints creaked often - the inbreeding didn't hold well for strong stock - but she had always been a skilled craftsman. The dreamcatcher had been a labor of love, and well worth it.
MISERYHe made her smile. An earnest and open thing at him, and her words were soft and easy. "Of course I will, Lark. I know you sleep better when you have one watching over you." Misery had long gotten past the dream of trying for good dreams. All of her dreams these days were consumed by fire, and her Crimson King. Any sight of him - a beautiful dying man who held her, and a sad dying creature who struck her - she would not deny either. Both were him, and both were like a cool drink of water to her. "Larkspur, do you want to be a father?" She missed having children. She had no interest in laying with the boy - the thought was terrible - but she was nearly certain she was past the age of having her own. She missed little ones about. He could find a woman and lay with her - Misery didn't care what happened after, only that young ones were around.
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There was no home that meant safety. Khalif had been no home. It had only been terrible pain, vicious words, and fire. Larkspur had never known home, never known safety until his aunt-mother had come and saved him. Now there was hope. She was his light, his truth, and she would show him the way. A sickness had grown in him since birth and this was a terrible truth. Now she was cleansing him, and the process of killing the demons was a part of this.
He smiled, pleased she would make him a new protector, and this smile faltered and turned confused at her second question. The thought had never even crossed his mind. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, as all of his answers were to her. “If you want them, I will make it happen.” He would swallow the sun for her, and tear down the moon. Devotion was something that ran thick in the D’Angelo line.
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MISERYIf she had not thought herself well past the age of having her own, she would not have asked him. But she had failed them all, so fucking many of them. She had done well by Gin, but she longed, longed to have her own that she did not fail. She knew well what she would do with the new child, knew well what she would teach the young one. If only Damian would return, or a suitor that could provide the right means. There were so many things she wanted in the father - most of all an absolute disinterest in staying around for the child. Anzu had been clingy. So involved. Adder had died for his involvement, and Hollow? She had loved the bastard, but she had seen his eyes fall on Poe. A dirty and sick man he was. The men in her life failed her so often. But not Larkspur, not her boy. He alone was the shining spot of light. He saw her in the same way, and they would always be locked together. She would save him. He had already saved her.
MISERY
"One of the greatest things we can do is pass on our teachings." She had always enjoyed the passing of knowledge. Misery might have been utterly mad, but she was a reservoir of knowledge as well. Her intellect was terribly vast and destructive. "A child would be the perfect candidate. It would do well with your age to appear to be a father as well. You are strong and handsome, it would be silly to think you have not found a suitable lady by now." Silly in the real world. In Khalif there was chance they might have castrated him for even daring to look at a female too long. They kept them young of mind, it was easier to control them. Every detail of their lives was laid out, simple decisions were taken away. Misery was lucky she had been so ignored - functioning beyond Khalif would have been impossible without that.
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He knew nothing; she knew everything. He was the follower, her serf, her son, her protector. She alone taught him; Khalif had been nothing. There he had not been taught anything. Larkspur could not read. He could not write. All he knew was how to fight. Larkspur was damn good at that. It was the only reason he had survived to see his fourth birthday.
A low whine escaped his muzzle as his ears fell back against his head. He hated when she explained the outside world in ways he did not understand. It made him feel ignorant, though by all accounts, he was. “I’ve never touched a girl,” he explained, knowing she knew this. “I don’t know what to do.”
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MISERYHe almost made her laugh with that. She shifted her weight on the horse, her hair obscuring her face for a moment - and the large grin that appeared and quickly was tucked away for a more serious expression. She brushed the hair from her face and turned to look at him, a soft smile on her face as she shook her head. Poor innocent thing, not a clue about so very many things in the world. She had learned in a young and terrible way what sex was. It hadn't taken her long to learn the value of it - men could be so damn stupid for want of the area between her legs. Misery was not above using that power - she had a streak of whore in her a mile wide.
"Well, ah." Oh come on, Mis. Getting shy now? If he was alive she would have smacked him for the dark amusement in his tone. If he was like most of the males she had been with, it was simple. Pin her down, muffle the cries, and simply thrust away. Nothing difficult. Did she want him to be that kind of boy? Not really. "Well. I can...teach you. Tell you anyway. Not actually, show you. That would be...strange." For once he had presented her with an ignorance she was unsure of how to explain. At least in terms she wanted to use with him. He took her so very literally.
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From an early age, Larkspur had been told he was a filthy beast. He was not supposed to live, not supposed to have survived. They had never let him touch a girl, much less spend time with one. It was Tak’s Will that his fur should be so dark, and because of this, he was made evil from birth. It was only ignorance that kept him from being cruel; he did not intend to hurt others because he had been hurt. This was a simple truth in his world; and he knew as little about the world as a child.
Orange eyes narrowed, confused, and he stuck his tongue between his teeth. It was a childish motion, but he had long since outgrown his child’s body. Now, two rows of white teeth gleamed in the light. Larkspur was a monster in size and build. There was no doubt that in time, he would learn this truth. “Okay,” he answered. “Thank you.” A long pause hung in the air, and then the four year old continued. “Do you want me to do anything else?”
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