Ancient Scars (Open)

Things move quickly, and people are not as they seem. As winter's chill quickly seeps into the bones of the unsuspecting, reality and right are indistinguishable to one another - etheral and so very lucid, but there all the same. A fleeting fracture in the silvery stream of time is the only remaining echo that alerts me to my rift with Kaya, signalling that the world is a much more dangerous place than initially foretold. Under the vapor of my meltdown she pieced me back together; took the shards of my sanity and helped me repair the missing cracks, molding herself into the crevices where they couldn't be replaced. I ignored the hate I harbored of my own self and worked on repairing whatever fractured mind remained for her sake, hoping one day that I could again be steadfast and oh so confident in myself like I used to be.

But the hours go on and people change, and I believe to find myself filling once again with melancholy distaste of the world's apathetic aversions. Though this place is now viewed in a different light since I was torn and twisted and brought in on myself, it's plainly obvious that the outside worlds have not changed from their flithy superficiality that I always used to hate, and still do. This familiarity comforts me.

In fact, familiarity to a rapidly spinning life is the only type of normalcy I have left. I'm frightened half to death by these feelings I can't control, twisting ivy that crawls upon the walls of my heart and lodges deep in the vessels of my throat when I even think about trying to rid myself of the redhead. Her presence, in this sense, is both suffocating and comforting at once. She is a translucent figure that remains with me even after her physical body is gone, and that in itself is more disturbing than the fact that my bloodlust has been temporarily sated, if not flipped on its head. My secret passenger is quiet ever since my inner destruction, content on watching these half-insane feelings flit about my head and drive me into deeper depths like I've never known. Perhaps it is why I stand without even a coat of some sort tonight, watching the opal stars and the way my breath forms little cotton candy clouds that swirl upwards to disappear into the sapphire sky.

Saliva freezes in my throat and goosebumps run up my arms but it's of no great importance as I walk to who-knows-where, content in the enigmatic presence of the night and nobody else's. Snow crunches underfoot and seeps into the steaming warmth of my boots, nipping at my toes and steeping them in a frigid puddle of air that collects in the soles and remains. It is these nights that I can just be, safe from the asphyxiating struggles that are presented to me once I return to my own waking world.
Hn, asphyxiate. A strange word. One that presents both elegance and raw power at once. If I did that to myself, would I see the sudden burst of light and earth-shattering reverie that so many rave on about, or simply a dull ache like the last time I tried to do something as idiotic as trying to take my own life.

Watching myself watching myself in the fragmented reflections of a mirror is ironic as I watch watch watch all the mistakes I've made. What I lack and what I possess, however melancholy and down from my usual haughty personality doesn't score any pity points because it's such a long time coming - one can only live the way I've been for so long, perhaps I'm lucky that this epiphany came while I was still young and able to bound back from heartache. The lake shivers quietly under my lithe fingered touch and the mirage of a calm and collected teenager ripples and cracks under the intense scrutiny to which it is presented. Light spills from distant shadows of trees and pools into my open palm, shining now as it is with frigid water that drips steadily from the glossy off-tan of my chipped nails. The void between who I used to be and who I'm turning into is a continuous chaotic vortex, brought to surface as the unknown illumination from afar breaks the natural stillness of the night and begins to whisper in my ears. It is just a casual pass of the hand; a delicate raking along the shell of my ear from cold fingers but it shows that my insanity hasn't quite left.

It slumbers.

From aching knees I lever myself standing, but a phantom among the lonely willows that murmur for companions. I love this obscurity among the trees, this nothingness, because here I am alive. Here I can hear my own thoughts and steady heartbeat, so out of touch with reality that it takes a moment for it to register as my own. Towards the effervescent light and through the creeping tendrils of shadow that stroke at my numb ankles, until I have to slit my gaze from the glare. I meld myself a picture of what I would see, shaping and stirring contents from my own hazy memories of a picture perfect family.

Instead is a sterile place that feels like false affections and people who don't know anything of the steady love that keeps people together. The rug is too clean and the people too plastic, and I must tear my eyes away from the scene. Momentarily they flit downwards and dance with the faint, frenzied impressions of footsteps that long to be anywhere but here. Intrigued and spurred on by the cold light of evanescent stars I crunch through the bracken, making myself into the shape of satisfying fear that I believe I embody. Many look into my eyes and fear, but how is this when I can't even trust myself anymore?

Inside the pristine clearing there is a figure, and her raven hair is accompanied by a sudden jolt of memory so clear that my stomach lurches and I must swallow bile to avoid pushing it all up again. Wordlessly I travel to her and sink into the frostbitten snow, kneeling sideways to stare at her tear-stained face. Long have I learned the delicacies of inflicting and fixing tragedies with a single touch, and letting my fingertips touch the delicate porcelain of her skin is no exception. I remember how each fleeting slide used to make sparks explode and I believe she still has some hold over me, for I tug on her wrist and tilt her elegant jaw towards myself.

"What happened, Luna?" It hurts to see her so broken, usually the more calm and collected of us both. She knows that I'm here and will always be here, but it's up to her to give into that and let herself be comforted. It's a scary thing to give in to another, even for such a fleeting moment, and I tenderly brush back a stray strand from her face. Has it really been a lifetime since we first met?

I never thought to myself we'd be friends. It was always some crash and burn relationship that wouldn't work because one party was in too deep and the other wasn't in deep enough. Yet here we both are at some twisted turn of fate and I can't stop my heart from twinging at the sorrow etched onto the mismatched plains of her face. It seems so wrong to smile in this moment and by sheer force of will I keep it together and instead run fingers through her tangled locks, willing her to just this once, give in.

There was no anger in this disassociation from my feelings and my wants, in this turning vortex that went round and round and spat me back out as such a fragile, broken thing. It's strange the way things work out; in my effort to protect those around me from heartache I only injured them further. I didn't smoke around Kaya - it was to give the illusion I wasn't self destructing - but she could tell in the clothes I wore and the hood in my eyes, and it was always that soft, sad smile that killed me a little bit. In my effort to be alone and be strong and be myself I ended up pushing everything that defined me far away from this battered body.

I was always so angry at the world. At my father who adorned himself in superficial conquests and false allures so he could just feel something for once in his life, to forget my mother and the way the click-click-click of her heels sounded on the dirty pavement as she left and never came back. At my brother who let the bright neon lights of his dreams create stars in his eyes and cloud reality into nothing but a crepuscular haze of an unwelcome thought, requiring nothing but a fleeting wave of fingers to vanish. He was tenebrific in his own right - surrounded by light but shrouding it with his own denial. At Kaya for letting me leave her mind when she made one of those childhood promises that she'd never forget what we had. What we could've had, before it all simply... slipped away.

This anger that warped and twisted on itself, a chaotic mumbling of homicidal urges coupled with self-decimating tendencies that... still... defines who I am. You never really lose who you are, because all you need is a shard to regrow. Even if it feels like you're nothing but a broken mirror, time and a helping hand can repair the damages that feel like they can't be replaced.

Her threads are silky and off-black in my fingers, and it takes all the self restraint I own to not tug at them to snap her out of her choking haze. Instead I watch her while she cries - curiously and with a hint of heartache - until the words she sputters out in broken syllables begin to take proper form in my mind. I see myself in her, in the angry and tired and so very lost expression that rotates constantly in her eyes. The polychromatic agony that reflects in her orbs make me look away; the part of me that just won't die finds her pain delicious and refuses to let me comfort her when she requires it the most. Frostbite snaps at my knees and my fingers curl into themselves to warm the frozen half-ice that drips steadily from their lukewarm tips, matching the tears that slip down her face and curl into parted lips.

Instead I try to rub feeling back into numb cheeks, blinking incandescent eyes in an attempt to gather my scattered thoughts. Words bounce like double sided blades and hold just on the tip of my tongue, but refuse to appear out into the opaque night where countless souls whisper from above. Her shoulders hitched high with sobs and settled low; my chest rose high and sunk low, lower, lower. I've never been good with emotions - not even my own - so I can't do anything but give a sad smile and nod silently.

But as her meaning finally sinks in my eyebrows crease into a frown barely noticable. I know I haven't been the most available as of late (I've been a mess) but she honestly thinks I could just get up and leave? I should be offended but I can't, not with the luminesence pouring down to set her hair into limpid pools of black-blue. Luna looks pretty even in heartbreak, and I find an irrational jealousy that I have to swallow cold.

My hands find homes in the burning heat of my thighs, a welcome respite from the biting temperatures that surround these two fallen souls. I attempt to smile but fall short, remembering exactly what this feels like and wanting nothing more than to wipe the hurt from her face. "You think I've left, too?" While the sentence is soft it holds a sharp overtone, something only the old Flight could have put together. This fact both disconcerts me and pleases me, for it shows that I haven't shifted completely. "Do you honestly think me so heartless?" Suddenly the plastic emotions in the window make sense - this is where her own memories were made and shattered. Perhaps an older version of Luna once hid away from the world in those rotting panes since painted over, wondering where her daughter went and why she would run so far away.

Again a jealously so strong pulls up that it makes my jaw arch and clench in an effort to keep it at bay. She had a mother that would love and care for her no matter who she was, what she did. That she could return to no matter how the world dropped out from under her feet and sent her into another abyss even deeper than last. Why should you aid her? She was allowed to taste what you couldn't even touch. I have to blink furiously to banish the voice, cheeks flushing with being so ashamed of myself. It was an ethereal temptation, a seductress lingering on the edges of consciousness. Now is not the time...

Sanity is a fickle mistress. You can believe you possess its perilous embrace, but in reality it's nothing more than an illusion created by your own treacherous mind to satisfy your inner cravings for normalcy. As my once linear relationship with the delicate balances of knowledge and desire became twisted and far from their original format, my shield of humanity that I once wore so regally disappeared. That morality (whatever small fraction I possessed) kept me tied to this world, and in retrospect, to myself. If I was stripped of the things that kept me - somewhat - human, I would begin to turn into the monster I so feared that lurked within the depths and crevices of my depraved mind.

Some argue that normalcy is void. Simply a flawed logic to accompace our innate need to feel included in something other than our own devices. Others believe that is necessary to the survival of the human race - some have defied being like the rest and while it can reap great rewards, it can also sowe the greatest discontent.
But at times, it is all you have left. That false comfort that others are doing what you do, so it can't be wrong and you can continue on your parade without that mental raincloud stalking your every footstep. What if you were doing something so wrong, so vile, that your mind didn't want to acknowledge the beast that dwelled within that outer husk - that charade of a being - and instead debilitated your reasoning to nothing more than a shaking mess? That, perhaps, being high and shivering and raving is better than the fear you instill when you have your wits about you and can coherently form words into meaningful sentences?

It seems that my mind and body had turned against me; one continuous warring of snarling and fucking at my feet punctuated by lucid nights of half-truths and dying dreams where it pulled my soul (or whatever's left after all these years) into tangles from being so torn. My physical form was content in rotting in a supine, half floating state with a needle shoved so deep that the skin began to rip and bleed, while my mind was becoming increasingly dependant on the crystals and powders and smoke to keep the shadow at bay. In those rare moments where my eyes would contract and I would be sober, there was a terrible feeling that I was losing the last pieces of myself. The last pieces of my sanity.

But darling, they already left long ago.

A sudden tidal wave of stickyhot rage washes over the fragile grip on rationality, and I see nothing but tenebrific sparks overshadowed by an impending hatred that is manifested by the brilliant haze that now clouds my vision. Everything is shrouded in a fine mist of red, and if I unfocus my gaze I swear I can see disgusting figures crawling from the woods in ways that bodies aren't supposed to bend. My whole form is shuddering overtop her own; muscles clenching and relaxing in a haphazard song as tension rolls into me with waves. When nails begin to split from gripping so hard into the hard-packed dirt I can't help the low, keening wail to start in the back of my throat - a response to the scorching air that bruises my lungs, another being using my chest to fuel the cocktail of turbulent emotions coursing through every fiber of my being.

"Luna, please." I whisper, voice trembling. I feel close to crying as the repeated howling of the monster smashing against the feeble constraints of its cell echo in the deepest pits of my chest, I'm growing too weak to resist the constant battery. Liquid agony sloshes inside my skull, brain long replaced by acid that eats away at whatever shattered remains of reality used to exist. "End this. I--I can't..." Again it screams and this time I scream with it, muscles seizing and curling into myself - and by default, into her - as this next assault has me seeing nothing but darkness. It is as if I'm disengaging from my proper body, the puppet giving the puppeteer both the strings and the ability to move them. My ragged breathing is so loud in my hypersensitive ears, each inhale sending a jagged spike of poisonous pain directly into my churning core. From unseeing eyes there is a patter of feet and the frenzied slamming of doors, coupled with an eerie quiet save for my tortured noises. Yes. Let them fear.

"Get away!" I shriek, and as if propelled by some unknown force I'm suddenly on the ground. While the cold is a welcome respite from the sweltering heat that has gripped me in a death grip, it is unnoticable against the culmulative emotions that seethe throughout my core. I am unravelling and being reborn all at once - attaining a perfection through my destruction that could not be achieved alone. As my wails grow in pitch I hear answering cries from the house, likely the two children. Their walls won't save them. When I am the sole possesser of my body once more I will stalk over to their shelter and rip them apart, starting from the boy. I long to hear his tortured screams as I tear him limb from-- NO! Not now, I've been so good! Oh god I wan't this to stop I just need it to stop, please just stopstopstopstop

A sudden seizure has me arching my back as my orbs roll so I can view the insides of my mind, a horrible twisted place that I take no pleasure in visiting. The contents confuse and horrify me both at once; I struggle to rend myself from this nightmare. My body twists and writhes and claws but I can't escape from this blind agony which has me reduced to nothingness. Thinking hurts so I stop thinking, letting my physical form writhe as my consciousness slowly fades away.

Perhaps... just this once.

Sleep comes quickly.

My body rolls in this endless void; I am blind and deaf and dumb but at the same time I can feel the extended reality that thrums just out of reach from my dull fingers. Each breath is cold and slimy and tastes like death, but it helps cool the fire that moments ago was raging throughout my whole being. My teeth ache from being clenched but I can't find it in myself to loosen, especially when I feel a clammy hand touch the strong cheekbones that grant me an impression of fallen royalty. It was Luna's birthday a few days ago. It murmurs quietly, shadowed prose slipping silently into my ears. I shudder at the feeling of it invading my body - a foreign presence that doesn't belong and certainly isn't welcome.

And this is relevant, how? The words manage to be forced through gritted teeth and a numb tongue, flopping helplessly in its moist cavern. It chuckles and I can see a flash of gray from the peripherals of my vision, but the rolling continues and I lose sight before I'm able to fully grasp what it wants. A whimper rises from my throat as I halt on my stomach, arms and legs dangling down into the endless abyss that is presented to me. You don't want to go back, do you? It cooes, materializing beside me and gazing down into the chasm with me. I don't dignify it an answer, but the unspoken terror on my features speaks louder than whatever I could congugate.

It takes my most precious possession - a crescent moon of ultramarine brilliance - and dangles it in front of my eyes. A hand reaches out to snatch it but it's like I'm a clumsy child again, it moves far out of my reach before I've even made it half way. If you are weak, she will leave you. Do you want that? Uncertain where the energy comes from I shake my head vigorously, elegant eyebrows knitting into a furious scowl as I struggle to right myself. Never. It pulls a sword out of its sheath; they have been broke down to long knives but still gleam deadly, shining with a sickly promise in this horrible halfdark.

Then let me help you. The blade runs quickly across my throat and crimson blood spirals down into the gaping void, and I scream and scream but it just laughs and worms its way into my wound where my skin stretches and burns until it has integrated fully into my soul. All the noise turns into ominous silence, and I feel the sudden urge to smile. It is both mine and not, but the intent is obvious.

They will all die.

---

My eyes snap open with a strangled and undignified noise before I roll over and heave, coughing up the dredges in my stomach and frowning when instead, blood spews out from my mouth and saturates the ground beneath me. It creates a little pool that seeps to the frozen lake, curling into the ice and making intricate patterns where it frosts over and remains. I spit out the scarlet and cough slightly, righting myself and blinking hard when the world spins out of focus. In all honesty I should be falling over myself but I've never felt so... alive. It's like all the energy I've ever felt at one time is centered directly in my chest and is pulsing out into all my limbs like an organism feeding to its offspring. This... rage is what propels me to my feet instead of remaining on the ground in a monster-induced stupor, glancing around without direction. My eyes fall onto Luna's for a moment - why was I suddenly so frustrated - and I give a confused raise of eyebrows.

"Why're you staring like that?" A cough; my voice sounds so rough and wild compared to usual, it's slightly unsettling. "I'm sorry about your birthday, by the way. I tried to find you." That piece of information came without consent and I roll my eyes at the sappiness of the phrase, stretching and popping bones that are in all the wrong places. Instead the monster curls out in decidedly feline contentment, finally given a chance to breathe. Why don't I do this more often? Integrating it into my life makes me feel (complete?) free.

My breath spirals from delicate formations into the starry sky beyond; it's outstanding how much sharper everything appears. Each outline is in clear focus, I can even see the shallow rise and fall of Luna's chest when she inhales. The bitter air is delightfully cold upon my tongue, and the thrill of the hunt calls to me like a siren's song. Go. You have much to do. Let Luna come into her own... it may prove interesting. For a second my eyes darken drastically and a cruel smile curls at the corners of my lips, viewing the face of the one that got away so many months ago. "Wonderful to see you again, Luna." I purr, brushing a strand of inkblack hair from my face. "Amusing that you aren't trying to stop me this time. Perhaps I will let you keep your life." But then the strange wave is gone and I'm left feeling slightly dizzy - the spell was broken by the decidedly terrified slam of an inner door inside their flimsy house.

Yes... I murmur quietly inside my mind, feeling the euphoric rush of the chase settling upon me. Their screams are always the sweetest when I let them hope of their survival in the beginning. It is time. My gaze flicks over to Luna even as my crouch becomes animalistic in its execution and my fingers curl into crude claws. It is her night; for this one time, she will be Queen.

Lead the way.