It's been a long day, a tiresome day.
Inayl had spend the entire day searching for his knight, to no avail: none of the knights he encountered were his. In addition, he had also been reminded of the fact that Summoning was an illegal practice in this City, meaning he would have to start breaking the law sooner or later. It would have to be later, cause right now, he would hardly be able to summon the tiniest of things.
As he entered the small appartement, he let out a long sigh and threw himself on the bunk. He was gonna lay down for a while; he had to think.
Magic. How much he had loved it, and how much he hated it, nowadays. A means to an end; gruesome in the wrong hands and deadly in the right ones. The thing that had ruined his life.
He stroke his arm, thin and pale. It looked sickly, unhealthy. He could use a gentle tan, the kind field workers have, after they've spend the entire summer on their fields.
He felt the tingling sensation, the one he knew so well. Would he continue? Was he ready? Or would the memories stop him? He pointed his finger, as a paintbrush, towards his arm, and gently stroke it. A healthy brown appeared, wherever his finger would follow the tingling sensation; his skin would heat up a bit, like hot paint... He was a painter after all, a sculptor of the human body.
Then he noticed the white line, a long, thin scar across his forearm, a memory of pain, of his past: a failed attempt to grow wings, an attempt made by his captor. Could he? The scar started tingling, a pleasant kind of tingling, powered by his own wishes and his own free will. Shakingly he repeated the motion he had made with his finger, this time across the entire scar. It dissapeared, leaving a healthy brown in its place.
It worked. It had worked. He just lay there, a few minutes, watching his arm, the healthy arm , and the other one, his real arm.
Could that have been him, if everything had gone according to plan? If he had been better... less naïve. No. His parents, they'd had brought this upon him. The pain, the suffering. Endless Suffering.
'Let's try this one more time, hold still now. You do like this, don't you? Or do you wish to end, end it all? Your choice, make a choice. No? Then lets continue, 'student'! '
The voice. His voice. The voice. He hated him, adored the other him. Has the knight abandoned him aswel? Where was he? Gone. No. Yes. All this way, through the wilderness of Syliras, and still... always, alone. Help me, why won't anyone help me. Have I died along the way?
He cried himself to sleep that night; his arms both pale and thin, one of them scarred, just like Inayl. |
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by Inayl on June 18th, 2013, 3:35 pm 