Of Wolf and Red
Pale little legs, swinging back and forth, back and forth. Bare heels occasionally tapping his shin as those little legs swung, he absently kept on hand on her tiny little hip so the momentum of her kicks didn’t send her flying off his lap. Blazing curls tumbled, swaying this way and that as she alternated from staring wide-eyed at the sky then to the dizzying sight of the fatal drop from the cliff over which they perched. She kicked her legs out carelessly, as if feeling the rush of emptiness beneath her feet.
[Asch] - Corpses
If I claw my way to the core, will I find what I seek? Are the answers buried somewhere beneath flesh and bone, whisperings its secrets in the chambers of the heart? If I strip away the barriers, will everything be laid bare? Will the truth finally come to light?
I dig. I dig and dig and dig and claw and scratch and tear but nothing works. Bones block the path, blood blinds and stains, muscles weave over entryways. There’s nothing here. I can’t find it. I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t but I search. Dig and dig and claw further, deeper. Beneath the skin, layer after layer.
But it’s not here.
[Asch] - Message of the Kill (excerpt)
Something thick weighs heavy in the darkness.
Something slick stains him.
Something soft lay beneath him, so fragile beneath his fingertips.
[Asch] - Lonely (excerpt)
Clarity seemed unreal, as if a thick dream he was slowly suffocating in.
How… pitiful. To be reduced to this.
Fingers curled, biting in the edge of the bed as Asch sat, shoulders slightly curved, and staring out the window at an inconspicuous spot on the balcony’s railing. A chill coiled around his right wrist drove needles of pain into the bone; black chains, that always failed to reflect any light, wrapped around his wrist and shuddered an ice blue hue — his anchor.
[Hendell] - Morning again
Suffocating… or was it merely drowning? He couldn’t tell. But it was hot… so hot.
Sunlight flickered above, forced into a strange dance upon the water’s surface. The surface above him shimmered, the sunlight shaped so strangely — like large diamonds shuddering, fluidly exploding and merging with one another in an endless process. If only he could reach that surface, then perhaps he could escape the heat pressing upon him; he could never recall the water ever being this hot.
[Asch] - Stars
"Prince Ouvqum," a voice hailed from behind, soft in the night’s whispering silence and heavy with inquiry.
"Asch," corrected the orc without turning around. He remained with his face upturned to the night sky, golden gaze admiring the sight. A thick dark red coat, almost black in the night, draped loosely over his shoulders, his arms stuffed into his pockets instead of filling the coat’s sleeves which dangled at his side. "Need something, Scales?"
Asch didn’t need to look back to know a scowl tugged upon Nera’s lips as she glared a hole into the back of his head. But she gathered herself after a brief moment— ever the proper little princess — and the fire boring into the back of his skull receded. She knew he was smirking that damn same smirk that radiated arrogance and blatant disregard for polite formalities everyone else adhered to but gods be damned if she was going to give into his taunts. “What are you doing out there?” Caution, though a hint of curiosity, laced her voice.
[Asch] - the Fall
White walls darkened to grey, marred by claw marks and dried flecks of crystalized blood. A small room, so tiny — blissfully suffocating. He sat upon the cold stone floor, absently brushing fingers over bloodied marks his fingers left behind the last time he locked himself up in this bare room. Pale pink crystals chipped at his touch, crumbling to fine dust. The sole ray of light flickered beneath a thin gap under the door, a torch’s light teasing him of the outside world.
"You’ve changed," a voice spoke, muffled by the heavy metal door.
[Rolandelsca] - The Night After
White encases wounded fingertips, round and round the bandage winds. Gentle, least the hand within his grasp slip from his reach — least he lose all he tried in vain to so desperately protect. Shoulders set, perfect posture for a soldier stationed at a bedside, Rolan urged his hands to function properly despite the concern that weighed heavily upon him and wove into his very muscles and bones.
[Asch] - Bedside
Blood crystals glimmered in the moonlight. Such a strange thing, that moon and its gentle silver light — so alien to him. The moon, the bright visible sun, the clear blue sky — all legends brought to life before his eyes. That sky overhead seemed so vast, so empty, that half the time he feared he would somehow fall up into it. Disappear. Then the steel colored clouds would roll back in, trapping him in the heavens.
A foolish fear. But a nagging thought it remained.
[Aschiel and Aocleus] - Scars of Chalk
Five days. A hundred and twenty hours. Seventy-two hundred minutes. Such a short absence, an insignificant time, really. Yet, what had her absence earned her? What greeted her upon return?
Five simple, short days. So short, yet long enough for him to be captured.
How slowly did the days, hours, minutes, seconds crawl by while pain suffocated him? How long were the seconds of his days?