kalopsia ;; [stella vs aeson day eight]

I think I lost my mind a while ago
'Cause I've been seeing some ghosts
And I'd be lying if I told you I'm fine
But I lie

Vengeful man; you crumble with broken things.

A useless limb, splintered bone; you forget what it means to scream.

(you remember what it means to be six years old)

And then you forget.

(and then you remember what it means to be worth it)

And then you forget.

Ski pole in the ground, an ice storm trapped within your chest; this is what it means to be frozen. At war with your own mind, watching your sanity splinter like bone, watching your life fray with the wind.

You're taken by ice

(torn by the wind)

You listen to Stella's words, static background and white noise -- this is what it means to die.

You wanted to taste brimstone, you wanted to kiss fire and hear an inferno.

Instead you hear a howl--

("But you were worth it")

-- and taste ice, remember warmth.

"I could surprise you. Don't doubt me, Aeson. I'm more powerful than you think."

Power, strength, cruelty; spokes on the same wheel.

The same madness with different faces.

You forget and you remember; Aeryn's eyes, Ava's cigarette, Euley's lips.

You forget.

"I don't doubt you." You're not a good man. Just a nameless beast, risen on the wings of chaos and burning his skin on fire. Hell freezes over and the wind grips your throat; smile as you down the poison you never had the privilege of picking. You listen for deceleration, the slowing of your wheel and the creaking of bone.

"I deny you."

There's a special place in hell for people like you; but it sounds too good to be true.

So you fight.

Or you could just disappear.

So you fight.

Gripped by vengeance, but driven by greed, you heft your ski pole in silence broken between labored breaths. You listen to a crown crumble, you watch brimstone melt in your hands and beg for the fire to take your skin. As if you care what comes next. A special place in hell for people like you, where you can find your mother and father's god and pull their throat from their neck.

Where you can bathe in ichor and call it ruination.

It sounds too good to be true; maybe you'll just disappear.

You spit a spray of crimson into the ground, and make demands of silver against your skin. "Fuck dying." You decide, because it's so exhausting, you're desperate. And that won't do, for desperation is not what had you drive your spear through Vesper's chest, it isn't what made you banish Caine Winchester to the graveyard, it isn't what made you smile as you added a broken kingdom to your list of transgressions. "And fuck fear, right?"

It was you, just Aeson.

It seems almost unfair, how you have nothing to lose and the thousand of bodies beneath your boot lost the world. How Vesper had a future, Caine had a lover and Violet had a legacy. But you'll exist on as a red smear, as a murderer, in the hearts of those who remembered the wrath of never repaying your debt to the Kights. In the hearts of those who have seen you, all of you and shuddered. The nightmares you haunt, the scars you left behind.

"I don't doubt you, Stella, I deny that you have what it takes. Because I'll never truly disappear."

You told Violet you live on through the transgressions you left behind, you told Euley you would exist together as murderers.

A special place in hell; it seems too good to be true.

So you remember their words.

You forget their scripture.

("You're not a good man, Aeson Kight.")

Not a good man, an evil one.

Gripped by vengeance, but driven by desire, your ski pole takes blood in silence; you scatter your blood into the snow and watch yourself ignite.

You soar on the wings of agony and sin.

[dars]