Post by Vyn on Mar 22, 2008 10:39:09 GMT -5
Author: Vyn
Characters: Malachior
Takes Place: The Court of Spades, shortly after Anwen's death
Word Count: 893
Note: This is Malachior's half of the Ophelia fic, (Running Away). Apology for the crappy writing of both fics, it's immensely hard to write decently while the family's around. >_<
(Falling Apart)
Ophelia's words rung sharp in his head, but his eyes said nothing of his pain. Was she so stupid as to believe that he didn't care?! He'd never even known she was sick, his beautiful Anwen, and now she was gone. He would have done anything in his power if only... if only he'd known.
Her words weren't registering clearly anymore. He glared down at her in his human form, but all he could see was her mother in those soft features and that...that was rightly unbearable.
She ran and he turned away, back to the sound of her fleeting hooves. His movements were stiff, unusually tense, but he made the long journey back to his room in a mask of composure. He was fine, death happened. It happened to everyone. The door closed behind him. He heard it click but didn't remember shutting it, he didn't remember when he'd hit the floor either. The jolt knocked the glasses from his face, sent them to the floor with a tinkling of glass, but he didn't hear any of it over the horrible sound of his own beating heart.
The world was spinning away, broken into a thousand irreplaceable pieces before his eyes, and the dam that contained his emotions had broken to release a torrent of chest-racking sobs.
Outside the sky was sunny and birds were singing. It was all terribly wrong. His beloved, his Aeronwen, was dead! The world had no reason to be bright and warm on a day like this, not when she was in the cold ground! It should have been dark and the heavens themselves should've been crying at the loss! His beautiful, strong, Anwen! He wanted to scream but the force of his own sobs held his throat like a vice and instead he pounded his fist down roughly against the floor.
Ophelia was a fool to think that this was any doing of his!
She was the one thing that had always held him together. She was his light, his life, his soul! It was gone, all gone!
How could he play any part in her death!? How could he let something so precious slip away from him? He hadn't even known! Proud and beautiful, stubborn! She'd been her own undoing and now his own daughter reddened his hands with her death! O why had she gone and left him like this?!
At some point he moved from the floor to his bed. Everything was blurry, as if he was watching himself from the outside looking in, and time moved as if it were trudging through molasses.
He didn't want to move. Even once he'd run out of tears, he didn't want to move. "Anwen." The buck sighed the name and nearly held his breath, waiting for her reply. Nothing came, of course nothing came. She was gone. Something deep down within him clicked at last. It turned off the waterworks at last and pulled him to the edge of the bed, movements of the living acted out by a dead man.
He knew that Anwen would want him to move on and to find love again, to be happy again, but it was impossible. There would never be another that could complete him like she had, she'd been the only beautiful thing left in his world. Malachior stood up then, his motions rigid and halting like a rusty machine, and began to move around the room. Everywhere he looked there were pictures of her staring back at him, he had to remove them all. He couldn't look into those loving eyes and know that was all he had left.
Pictures.
He packed them all away, hid every last trace of her in boxes that he pushed into his closet and which made his soul more barren that it had been when he'd awoken from his crying. Only one thing remained, draped around his neck and laying cool over his heart - the spade pendant he'd given her when they were young and first dating. She never took it off, and he wouldn't now.
A knock on the door roused him from his internal prison shortly after he'd put away her pictures and he shifted to his bipedal form to avoid the unsightly appearance of his tear-stained cheeks. His eyes were cold, his voice hollow, but he spoke cordially with the servant that had come to inform him that his daughter had been seen leaving the courts with a small rucksack and had not yet returned even though it was long after dark.
Ophelia's words came rushing back to him, full of venom and hate and a determination never to see him again, and he knew right away that she wouldn't be back. Malachior closed his eyes, his world rocking once again. Just like that and everything was gone. His wife, his child... He reopened his eyes, eyes locking sharply on the servant before him.
"I assume, then, that she has run away. Let it be. If she returns, tell her she has no family here and that she is not welcome in my sight." He snorted and then lifted his gaze to a nearby window, trying to judge how much day was left. "Also, alert The Queen that I will be seeking her consul in the morning."
The servant bowed and hurried away, leaving Malachior in his empty room. He needed some time away from the Courts, from everything.
Characters: Malachior
Takes Place: The Court of Spades, shortly after Anwen's death
Word Count: 893
Note: This is Malachior's half of the Ophelia fic, (Running Away). Apology for the crappy writing of both fics, it's immensely hard to write decently while the family's around. >_<
(Falling Apart)
Ophelia's words rung sharp in his head, but his eyes said nothing of his pain. Was she so stupid as to believe that he didn't care?! He'd never even known she was sick, his beautiful Anwen, and now she was gone. He would have done anything in his power if only... if only he'd known.
Her words weren't registering clearly anymore. He glared down at her in his human form, but all he could see was her mother in those soft features and that...that was rightly unbearable.
She ran and he turned away, back to the sound of her fleeting hooves. His movements were stiff, unusually tense, but he made the long journey back to his room in a mask of composure. He was fine, death happened. It happened to everyone. The door closed behind him. He heard it click but didn't remember shutting it, he didn't remember when he'd hit the floor either. The jolt knocked the glasses from his face, sent them to the floor with a tinkling of glass, but he didn't hear any of it over the horrible sound of his own beating heart.
The world was spinning away, broken into a thousand irreplaceable pieces before his eyes, and the dam that contained his emotions had broken to release a torrent of chest-racking sobs.
Outside the sky was sunny and birds were singing. It was all terribly wrong. His beloved, his Aeronwen, was dead! The world had no reason to be bright and warm on a day like this, not when she was in the cold ground! It should have been dark and the heavens themselves should've been crying at the loss! His beautiful, strong, Anwen! He wanted to scream but the force of his own sobs held his throat like a vice and instead he pounded his fist down roughly against the floor.
Ophelia was a fool to think that this was any doing of his!
She was the one thing that had always held him together. She was his light, his life, his soul! It was gone, all gone!
How could he play any part in her death!? How could he let something so precious slip away from him? He hadn't even known! Proud and beautiful, stubborn! She'd been her own undoing and now his own daughter reddened his hands with her death! O why had she gone and left him like this?!
* * *
At some point he moved from the floor to his bed. Everything was blurry, as if he was watching himself from the outside looking in, and time moved as if it were trudging through molasses.
He didn't want to move. Even once he'd run out of tears, he didn't want to move. "Anwen." The buck sighed the name and nearly held his breath, waiting for her reply. Nothing came, of course nothing came. She was gone. Something deep down within him clicked at last. It turned off the waterworks at last and pulled him to the edge of the bed, movements of the living acted out by a dead man.
He knew that Anwen would want him to move on and to find love again, to be happy again, but it was impossible. There would never be another that could complete him like she had, she'd been the only beautiful thing left in his world. Malachior stood up then, his motions rigid and halting like a rusty machine, and began to move around the room. Everywhere he looked there were pictures of her staring back at him, he had to remove them all. He couldn't look into those loving eyes and know that was all he had left.
Pictures.
He packed them all away, hid every last trace of her in boxes that he pushed into his closet and which made his soul more barren that it had been when he'd awoken from his crying. Only one thing remained, draped around his neck and laying cool over his heart - the spade pendant he'd given her when they were young and first dating. She never took it off, and he wouldn't now.
A knock on the door roused him from his internal prison shortly after he'd put away her pictures and he shifted to his bipedal form to avoid the unsightly appearance of his tear-stained cheeks. His eyes were cold, his voice hollow, but he spoke cordially with the servant that had come to inform him that his daughter had been seen leaving the courts with a small rucksack and had not yet returned even though it was long after dark.
Ophelia's words came rushing back to him, full of venom and hate and a determination never to see him again, and he knew right away that she wouldn't be back. Malachior closed his eyes, his world rocking once again. Just like that and everything was gone. His wife, his child... He reopened his eyes, eyes locking sharply on the servant before him.
"I assume, then, that she has run away. Let it be. If she returns, tell her she has no family here and that she is not welcome in my sight." He snorted and then lifted his gaze to a nearby window, trying to judge how much day was left. "Also, alert The Queen that I will be seeking her consul in the morning."
The servant bowed and hurried away, leaving Malachior in his empty room. He needed some time away from the Courts, from everything.
I just love that you wrote out both sides of the story, it just made the other side that much more interesting. <3 Joy!
