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Mythical Nymph
𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢
𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔠 𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔱
𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔠 𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔱
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Mythical Nymph
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Mythical Nymph
𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔮𝔲𝔢
I tend to mock the wishful thinkers and absolute dreamers for their lack of a grip on the reality we inhabit. Their whimsy and quote unquote miracles, which can of course be explained by simple science, only serve as fanciful escapes from that which we face day in and day out. I by contrast, am a scientist and by nature, a realist. In light of this, I must be the first to reveal one of the deepest secrets of my nature.
I am a living lie.
I was born under the name Michael Primrose, and I will be damned if I die under any other name. Call it selfishness, call it stupidity, but I want to have that name again. I want the things associated with that name. The money, the prowess, the education, the parties, the food, the sugar, oh, do I miss the sugar. I want to be the aristocrat I was born to be. It is my blood right and I deserve it.
Of course, I have no problem being an Organic. I have no problem being a system error, as the government refers to us. There are so many nobles out there who walk around in colors and have so many beautiful emotions and … they’re everything we’re fighting to be. The only difference between them and us, would lie in their complacency, of course, and the fact that they have money. But one day, everyone will be able to enjoy the things that I love and the things that they love and the things that they enjoy. One day … one day soon.
Don’t mistake my optimism for a mistaken view on reality. My opinions are only swayed in such a direction because we are right. And in being right, we will be victorious. Ah, but you’ve come to learn of my personality, and I am rambling on ideologies.
Rambling, it’s something I can be noted for doing more oft than not, although I try to contain it. You see, nobility should know their place, and when to speak and when to hold their tongue. A slip of the word can be the difference between life and death in a social manner, although the social aspects of nobility have always terrified me. I have always suffered from a terrible case of shyness, and I fear that I am a hindrance when it comes to matters such as speaking with those who I don’t know.
Socially speaking, I don’t really fit anywhere. The other Organics more or less hate me, and even if they have overcome such feelings of disdain, there is still a measure of distrust. I came here by choice, actually seeking out Robin instead of letting society kick me aside. They would think that because I hold fast to ideals that I was raised with, that I should be the one betraying them, because of where I came from. But speaking on a social level, once more, I am by nature an outcast of their society. I am immune to the suppressants they shell out like water. I need somewhere to fit; why would I turn in the people I fit in with the best?
But … I ramble again. I fight with the Organics, to one day take my place back in society when things are as they should be. I suppose that to others, I come off as, and pardon my language, but as an a*****e. But as Djaq says, it’s not my fault. It’s the way I was bred. In many ways, it can be said that I am attempting to imitate my father. He would be the biggest influence on my life. I suppose there are times that I say things I shouldn’t, but it’s not intentional. I believe in honest, complete and utter honesty. Ironic, I know, as I am a living lie, but I do not believe that lying to others is strictly necessary.
There are certain matters of conscience that I have never had problems with, such as stealing, killing, and the like. There are nobles out there who gorge themselves, why should I have to starve? There are aristocrats who can smoke and drink as much as they want, where god forbid we even get water. And there are sophisticates out there who would have no problem killing their wives for being different, so why should I have any problems taking from them. I believe in equality, and it is quite obvious that there is no equality here.
On my best days, I am considered neurotic, absent minded, and abrasive. Sometimes, I speak words that are colder than needed to be. Sometimes, I just speak the truth. It needs to be heard, doesn’t it?
On my worse days, I am depressed, cold and lonely. But in retrospect, these feelings surround everything that I do. I’m just a noble, working his way back into nobility. But with so many flaws in the system …
❝𝔦 𝔞𝔪 𝔞 l𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 l𝔦𝔢❞
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Mythical Nymph
My name is and will always be Michael Primrose. I have taken on the façade of another, and live the life of a vagabond and have been forsaken of the things that I love in life; I am and will always be the son of one Madeline and Percy Primrose. But life is nothing but chaos, and it … it is all too confusing at times. I have given myself migraines trying to fit together the broken pieces and fragmented shatters that create the puzzle what is my mind. Sometimes, it’s best to stick with the bare facts.
𝔪𝔶 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔦𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔩 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢.
- Sometimes, it’s best to start with the most obvious facts. I was born one and twenty years past, on the tenth of October, a particularly beautiful day, so report the almanacs, but the sciences of farmers can often be predicted wrong, and edited to be perfected and proven correct at a later date. I do not remember much of my early life. I wish I did, but I’ve always been plagued with the worse of memories when it came to the more important matters in life.
Sometimes, I wish my brain worked differently. I do find myself reminiscing to days when I met those who could remember things from their childhood like it was nothing and recalled events from years past as though they had just happened yesterday. My father spoke highly of my faulty memory, saying that this was a sure sign of intelligence. These were, of course, the days when he thought of me favorably. So proud he was, to have a son, not just a son, but a brilliant son. Yes, yes, I was brilliant. My sister of course outshone me, but he was proud of his son nonetheless. We couldn’t help we were brilliant in different things. While my father only pushed me in more academic matters, my mother … I suppose that the proper term for it would be “coddling”.
Yes, yes, my mother wanted me to be affectionate, and loving. She was a brilliant woman in her own merit, although her kindness turned out to be her biggest fault. It was really what killed her in the end, but that’s for a later time. When asked about my name, I always say that it was my mother’s idea. She loved the name Michael so much. It sounds so elegant in French, as though the French knew the way it was supposed to sound. Michel. Sometimes, I do so desperately wish I could change- my name came from the Bible, actually, banned years and years ago, but my mother still managed to have an old copy, of which she thumbed through every so often to acquaint herself with old takes that warmed her heart and soul. Michael was an angel, you see, and she said that when she saw me, it was the first thought that came to her mind. ‘My precious angel.’ And so, she named me, Michael Primrose.
𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤
- Memories of sister. I can assure you, they’re not happy.
𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯
- It was not a pleasant night. Mother and Father fought so bitterly, so viciously over the fundamental matters, matters which one could never push aside. It remains a simple fact that opposites attract, but there are some opposites that are so different, instead of attracting, they violently repel each other! And unfortunately, these ideas were such. Mother could get along with anyone, and although she dispelled my father’s opinions in the kindest way, she still managed to anger him. His anger was so violent, quite often I feared for her life, and rightly so! They argued, nonetheless, despite my pleas for them to stop. Quite often I believe that my sister thought I was mad for attempting this, and I swear she would laugh at my feeble attempts for them to stop them, but the screaming never ceased. And it rose to such a violent point one night.
I believe I was eight years old. I say I believe for all of the points in my early life just seem to spin together in one massive blur that I now call my childhood. But as I grow older, it seems that these things just seem to blur with my adolescence and now my young adult hood and I fear that absolutely everything in my life will eventually be spun into a massive blur, and while other people have beautiful masterpieces that canvas their tales, mine shall be nothing more than an indistinguishable mark in the wretched place we call society. Yes, yes, I was eight, and I was attempting to sleep. It was quite late at night, I do recall that, as I had been tossing and turning in my bed for quite some time. It occurs to me now that they must have been shouting at nearly ear piercing levels, to have awaken me from my room, which you must understand, was quite the distance away from their own. It was a horrible sound to awaken to, the shrill voice of my mother and the bellows of my father. Their cries and desperate attempts for the other to understand were only interrupted by the sounds of breaking valuables, glass, porcelain, paintings, anything they could find to dash into the ground and break up their own frustrations.
To this day, I cannot recall what motivated me to go into their room. Something beckoned me there, perhaps morbid curiosity, perhaps it was my own childish stupidity. I do not enjoy delving through my mind to find these things. I crawled out of my bed, and as quietly as I could, made my way down the grandiose halls that marked my own home, dismal now, in the dark night, with the lack of light and my parents’ screams haunting the halls as ghosts of times past. I was frightened, but pressed forward nonetheless. At times, in my darkest of days, I truly wonder how life would have changed had I never gone there. Would I have become the man I am today? Would I know the things I do? Would I still live in the attentions that I so desperately crave, from both my father and the society which was built on such distrust and lies?
I crept into the room, hiding myself behind a dresser drawer. I do not remember what my parents yelled at each other. The vicious overtones were enough to frighten me into ignoring their actual words, and hoping that the argument stayed within words. I prayed that Father would come to his senses and realize that no matter how loudly he bellowed, he could never sway my mother, who stood firm as a rock mass when it came to her beliefs. Unfortunately, I was horrible wrong. I can see the events happening before my eyes, but as they unfold, I find myself wishing so desperately I could expunge them from my mind for an eternity.
She was pleading at that point, in tears and pleading with him to show some humanity. The desperation saturated her voice like the rains of a monsoon saturate the earth below. I had never seen my mother in such a position before, so hurt, trying to change things so desperately. She told him that if he didn’t change his heart, she would leave him, and take us with her. I suppose that it was all in anger. I know my father, and although he changed on that fateful night, no matter how much he disagreed with her, that man would never hurt my mother. It seems as though anger brings out the more savage traits in humanity, the very traits that his beloved government attempts to wipe out. I remember seeing him bring out the silver revolver. It was an antique, one of the more expensive ones in his private collection. And how he prided that collection. I remember the gun and how it seemed to glisten in the most maniacal of ways, almost as though it were laughing at me, daring me in its own strange way, to try to stop it.
He took the gun and pointed it straight at her head. And although tears streamed down her face, like a river, cascading downward into a waterfall, I honestly do not believe that my mother cried in a fear for death. No, the tears that dampened her cheeks in the last moments of her life were of anxiety for others. By nature, she worried for them, and even in the last moments of her life, she could not muster tears for herself, but instead mourned for the loss of society. “You will never take what’s mine away from me.” And with those words, he pulled the trigger. The bullet shot out with such vim, as if it were eager to delve into my mother’s skull, splattering blood across the ground behind her. She closed her eyes as it hit her, and barely yelped, as if she were embracing the pain. Her body went limp and she fell down, with a dull thud. My mother, you see, was the true angel in my life.
I remember that I let out a cry. I couldn’t believe that my mother had died, not only that she had died, but a man who laid such deceitful claims, such as love, would have been the one to end the life of his wife. I ran to her side and took her hands in my own, but alas, I was not greeted by the familiarity of warmth and a gentle squeeze from them. Her blood pooled around me, but all I wanted to do was to lie my head against her chest and feel her warmth once more, hear the gentle and rhythmic beating of her heart, and let it lull me to sleep, where I would awake from this horrible, horrible nightmare and back into a world of bliss, where my mother was once again the angelic force in my life, and my father stood proud of his son, the genius.
Instead, I was greeted by the rough hands of my father, pulling me away from her. He nearly threw me down the stairs, letting my small body crumple at the base of the staircase until he came and lifted me up once more and dragged me into the basement. The bulk of my life, you see, was spent in that basement. I am, you see, a scientific oddity.
𝔦 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔞 𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔦𝔪𝔪𝔲𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔱
- It only makes sense that eventually, this would happen. I am, as aforementioned, a scientific oddity. I do not follow the general pattern for humanity. But this is only a natural immunity. The government’s medicines were not meant to be ingested, they are not supposed to be in the human body. The human body, by nature, only resists what is not supposed to be there. And while others may have fallen way in their fights, my body simply never stopped fighting. Try as they might, the Ghost simply will not take away that which I am.
This idea infuriated my father. He wanted me to fit in like the others. When I lived in the house, I was treated to the finest foods. For a child my age, I had acquired quite the palate, but when I was forced to live in that wretched hole in the ground, why the government rations were all that he would afford to me. It was of course, how I found out about my immunity. Father expected that I would take the pills and become a mindless puppet, subject to his endless and rather cruel treatment, because I would simply have no resolve to argue. He was of course most horribly wrong. Unfortunately, this changed nothing in his treatment of me.
I suppose as far as junctures in my life, this would be the perfect time to admit to my horrid disdain for needles. You see these experimentations that my father subjected me to most often involved blood work. As a child, I was actually quite afraid of needles. The pain of them slipping under my skin always frightened me, and although it may have been the over active imagination of a young one, I swore that I could feel the liquids either pumping in or out of my body. Such feelings naturally only fed my dislike for these things. Father would push a needle into my arm, and I would jerk away as fiercely as I could. He would come near me and I would cower like the child I was. Years and years of this abuse naturally lead to scarring on my arms, and only angered my father more. I recall times when he would sit on me, pinning me under the weight of his massive figure (of course now that I am older, I realize he was of average build, and I was but a child) to medicate me. My arms would be bruised and bleeding, but he didn’t care. He had experiments to run.
I think that it angered my father, the fact that he couldn’t understand me. And of course, there was always the fact that I was a haunting image of mother. We both had very similar features, you see. Her eyes were a bright sort of blue, matching the sky on the crispest of winter days. Black hair fell down her shoulders, straight as an arrow. We both have narrow features, and to be honestly, are taller than is strictly necessary. And of course, we both had a hope for the future that could not be dissuaded. I believe that by locking me away, my father was attempting to destroy the last remaining piece of my mother, but the forces in life are simply not that forgiving.
I spent much time alone. Oh, my father knew the cruelest of punishments. He gave me books to read, such marvelous books, filled with the wisdom of worlds before. He would let me learn whatever I wanted. He taught me so many wonderful things, as regards science and literature. These were the things that aristocrats were allowed to know, being of a more noble blood. He never denied me in matters of the mind. I was allowed to learn the more artistic endeavors, such as archery, fencing, and hunting. But he denied me the one thing I wanted more than anything. I was denied society. I am a part of that society, goddamit! I should be allowed in it! I should know what was happening. He would hold marvelous balls, parties which my sister attended regularly, or so he told me. He let her bask in the limelight, while I, the true genius was only allowed to lust longingly over what she had.
Day after day, my contempt rose, but it was not with my sister, it was with the brute I called “Father”. I simply could take his abuse no longer! How dare he restrain me down here in such a manner. And he promised me, day in and day out, that should I become favorable in his eyes, he would let me come back above. I did everything for this man, I gave him my all. How could he treat me in such a way? Oh, I hated him so much. But I felt such guilt for hating him. Mother wouldn’t have wanted me to hate. She would have wanted me to change. But thoughts of Mother only fueled my hatred, for I realized that I could never be what she was. She was an angel, but I have both angel and demon inside of me, and while I strived to be angelic, falling into charnel sin was simply an indulgence I could not refuse. Such hatred only lead to the next truth in life.
𝔦 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔯
- I hated and resented my father so much. He’d locked me away for years! He had ruined so many things for me. My chances at ever properly interacting with other human beings had been ruined. Spending so much time locked away in that blasted cellar, the society which I longed to be a part of had of course forgotten me. I was nothing more than a rumor, a wisp in time that is both quickly swept away and forgotten. The brilliant Michael Primrose had been completely erased from the world.
But what gave my father the right to take me out of this world? He hadn’t gone through labor with me. He didn’t have to endure the physical toll of pregnancy. He did absolutely nothing worth while, that man was nothing more than scum! If anyone had the right to revoke my existence in society, it would most certainly be my mother. Ah, you see, there are two lives which that horrible, horrible man took away. The murderer. It was late at night that my scheme came to me.
You see, he had wronged my mother and despite the better side of me, I knew that this man would have to pay. It was only right that he pay for the horrible sins that he had committed. I wanted him to die in the slowest and most painful way humanly possible. I researched methods of torture, but then realized that these would take too long. I was in such a terrible position, in that I had to make him suffer without the death taking so long that others would get curious. With my calculations, I really only had a window of four days to make him pay. And although I wanted to see that man writhing in pain, whenever such horrid ideas came to my mind, I could see my mother, with a disapproving frown on her face. I couldn’t do that to myself.
And finally, one night, I settled on a method. I would simply poison him. I would be simple enough. He left all of his working tools in the basement, where I was given free reign. I knew better than to bother his experiments. He would have hurt me so badly if I did that. Besides, spending years in that abhorrent environment, I knew exactly what sort of medicines were kept down there and which ones would kill him. I selected my poison careful, the venom of a snake, or it was created around the venom. It slowly poisoned a man, from the injection sight, until it made its way to the vital organs. When his heart stopped beating, then he would die. I took a syringe and hid it, under my bed, and waited for him to come down with my food. And as he left, I stabbed him in the leg.
It was a magnificent experience, holding one’s life in your hand. I watched him tumble to the ground, and call out in pain, and in agony. I watched the expression on his face change from one of surprise to horror as he realized he would die. He cried out until the poison reached his jaws, clamming them shut in the most distorted manner. And although it filled me with such joy to watch him suffer there, in such a manner, watch him hurt, I … I couldn’t let him do it. When I closed my eyes, I could see the face of my mother, the very stern fast looking down at me and shaking her head fiercely at what I had done. I … I had never felt so guilty in my life, so I went and found the antidote, and brought the monster back to life.
𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔠𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔢, 𝔦 𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔱𝔶
- I never realized the type of political power my father held, and I never quite realized the power that he held over me. He awoke the next morning and told me that I was ready, ready to be inducted into society. He finally freed me from my hellish prison. I suppose, being under the grip of such a mad man, I never quite realized how depraved I had become. I didn’t know that I was slowly being molded into a figure which my father saw appropriate for a son. And I hated what I become, once I realized it.
“I’ve never been so proud of you.” He told me, right as I awoke the next morning. “I thought you were a bleeding heart, just like your sentimental slut of a mother. I thought you didn’t have the heart to prove yourself as a real Primrose. I thought that I would have to keep you locked away in here forever. But last night, you tried to kill me. Your mother would never commit an act so heinous. My son, you are growing wiser, craftier, and finally accepting what it means to be a part of this family. And here I thought your sister was the only one with any hope.”
Of course, I inquired of the attempted murder. I should have realized something was wrong with him then. No man in his proper frame of mind would actually want his son to try to kill him. I felt there was evil in this house, and only in that moment of clarity did I realize that I couldn’t be a part of it anymore. My father had inculcated in me a deep desire to be a part of nobility, but I yearned for nobility like my mother’s, nobility in death, in doing the right thing. I want the nobility that had yet to loose the noble part. And so, I declined.
My father turned red, screaming at me, just as he did at my mother. He called me fearsome names, and bellowed insults as though I were nothing more than a peasant. He demeaned me in any way possible, to illicit any sort of reaction, but I did the only thing I knew how to control the flood of emotions that would have overwhelmed me: I pretended to be my mother. I did just as she did, or should have done, and I sat still, not saying a word. I let that man insult me until he was blue in the face, and finally, I told him, “I want the world to remember who I am. My name is Michael Primrose, and let it be known that I still want you dead. But your death shan’t be at might hands.”
I walked out of the room, carrying only my reputation and my conscience with me. On my way out of that hell house, I found a calendar. It was my nineteenth birthday. And I was finally free.
𝔦 𝔧𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℜ𝔬𝔟𝔦𝔫 ℋ𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔲𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔱𝔶
- Ah, but now we come to the most interesting juncture in the story of endless twists and turns that defines my wretched life. This juncture of course deals with how I met our fearless leader (what a risible concept), the bold and the brave, Sir Robin of Locksley, who is informally known by his comrades and enemies simply by two words: Robin Hood.
It began on a particularly gloomy day in … to be honest, I remember neither month nor day, only that it was one marred by horrible memories and a sky of a particularly distressing shade of gray. Alas, when doesn’t sky turn such a morbid shade of gray, so as to mock our mire of a world for what we have become, for what we have allowed our great human society to sink into? On this particular day, I had traveled among the city of Nottingham, lamenting over the loss of a woman so perfect that words cannot describe her; a woman so beautiful that the words of poet would be considered sinful when it came to properly describing her. Yes, yes, my mother was most assuredly the epitome of amelioration. It only seems right that I still mourn her.
I recall standing at the crossroads of a major intersection and looking to the left and the right of me. On my left stood the riches and the glory that I wanted, that I so desperately craved. And on the right, stood the poverty, the depraved world, the people who were so pained and didn’t even know it, the people that humans like my mother (for my mother is the only true human I’ve known in my life, besides Djaq, but I digress) wanted to help. I remember thinking to myself, “Michael, these are the crossroads of your life. Which road will you take?”
It would seem that the world had different plans for me. I heard a brawl, the entertainment of the paupers, sinking into their more animalistic traits, not by choice, but because our government has pushed them down so far and they don’t even realize it. I followed the sound, perhaps it was my own Neanderthal instincts pulling me closer and closer. And that was when I first saw him. Granted, I didn’t know who he was at first. He fought like an animal, I’m sorry. That statement is an untruth. They all fought like animals, but he fought like a wild dog being turned on by wolves. Each time he pushed one of them off, it seemed as though more and more were thrown on him. But he just continued fighting.
Ah, I remember these moments all too well, they are some of the very few things that stay firm in my mind. Imagine, if you will, that this entire brawl is nothing more than a play, set out on stage. I am stage left, watching carefully and learning, taking in everything that I can from as far away of a distance as possible. But how eagerly my eyes soaked in the sights before me. Oh, what a pitiable day, when such displays of physical violence are viewed as entertainment. Then, I am forced to wonder of my own well being for as I watched this, I felt myself absolutely entranced by the bloodshed. Center stage lies Robin and his attackers, men all around him, coming from all angles, and he just takes them, takes them like he’s a king. And all is well, until far stage left, the wail of sirens in the background mews into the mix. Such a quiet and hushed sound, hidden my the cries of men, only a truly trained ear would hear it. Call it a moment of weakness, but I couldn’t let this man go to jail. I simply wouldn’t allow it, so I stepped up, much out of place, and placed my arm around the man. “Samuel there you are!” My actions were grandiose and quite over the top, and he even had the audacity to attempt to attack his savior. But he came to his senses when he heard the sirens and allowed me to lead him off into the nearest building, an empty warehouse.
And so, having nothing else to do in the darkness, we talked. At first, we didn’t introduce ourselves, just allowed the informal small talk take over. Alas, small talk eventually opens the doors for deeper means of conversation. We spoke of the things wrong with the world, we spoke of how things would be better. The government would consider this man a blasphemer, but I quite enjoyed listen to him. Such vigor and vim. Such a beautiful spirit. Such a strong man, and he still is. But all good things must come to an end, and eventually the lights came on in the warehouse.
“You’re the son of Percy Primrose!”
These were most certainly not the words I was expecting from this man. Quite honestly, I was shocked that anyone even knew of my existence, and if anyone did, that it would be this man, the infamous Robin Hood! Showing surprise at this juncture seemed … quite moronic, actually. Of course, I knew who I was. The rest of the world might have forgotten me, and I might have been expunged from the better part of society (granted, this decision was my own), but knowing that he knew who I was only gave me a greater sense of gratification, although I did find my mind plunging into curiosity about how he knew me.
“Yes.” I remarked quite calmly, folding my arms and leaning back. “And you’re the infamous Robin Hood.”
At that juncture neither of us had anything to do, but … stare in disbelief, I suppose. I knew that I couldn’t take him in a fight. Robin not only had a talent for the brutish acts of war, but he had a taste for it, and these two facts combined quite often turned a man into a monster. Nay, I wouldn’t test his blood lust at this point in time. A silence passed between us, finally broken by my words. “I want to join your cause.” And quite quickly, before he could interrupt me, like the brute that he was, I continued. “I have a background in science and know the inner workings of this city better than the back of my own hand. I can get you fresh supplies, before they have been tainted by the sickened hand of our own government, who’s duty to serve and protect has clearly taken a more dismal turn. In fact, I can and will aid you in not only liberating the people of the government, but liberating the people of The Ghost.” I’d like to say this peaked his interest.
The others, however, didn’t trust me. But how could they? What had I given them to trust? I hadn’t saved their lives. I remember the coldness, the emptiness. I felt so alone, in such a way that I hadn’t quite honestly felt in ages. I had more of a connection with my father and sister, who let me live with minimal human contact in a basement. Of course, I realized that I didn’t need them. Humans and their companionship are just distractions from the greater issues at hand. I needed to work on an antidote. And for quite a while, my … I suppose dismissive attitude of the others worked well.
Until Djaq came around. He was a rather … maternal man, to be perfectly blunt. His exact words to me were “I think you’re lonely, and I want to be your friend.” Oh, how I hated him. I loathed him I despised him. I wanted him to leave me be, but of course he wouldn’t. He was such a nag, constantly pestering me. But I suppose I grew used to that. His constant interruptions to make sure that I was getting enough sleep, or eating my vegetables, or even occasionally just to chat … well, I grew quite used to these things. I rather enjoyed them, after a while, and had to bring myself to pester him when I felt the neglect. It was rather strange, bothering him. He didn’t see it as the same way I did. In retrospect, he probably saw it as my way of extending my hand of friendship to him. Of course, then, I didn’t realize how desperately I wanted his companionship. I … I craved something more from him, something more, something that he probably didn’t want, and of course, I realized that a long time ago. But … spending a little time with him … that couldn’t hurt.
And this was the mentality I kept until I found out his secret. We were in the kitchen, and he was making a cake. You have to understand, a man in my position has gotten used to sitting back and watching people move. It’s the entire purpose of politics, and the driving force of any sort of serious matter. And in watching him, to be honest, he just didn’t walk like a man. It probably wasn’t something the average man would have noticed, but … the way he swung his gait was wrong. And so, being the man of endless curiosity that I am, I walked up to him, just barely standing over. I suppose in my own sick amusement, I would flirt with him, although I’m not sure if he ever picked up on this. I tilted his head upward, and held myself just a hair’s breadth away from his lips, looking longingly into his eyes, while my other hand just … well, it was a rather coy action, and I felt him up.
Of course, by now you know when I say him, I mean her. Oh, how she faltered and nearly screamed, turning positively red. She could barely get her words out. And all I could do was smile at her. I knew there was something wrong with him. She begged and pleaded for me to keep her secret, as though I was some sort of monster. I have nothing to gain, learning of her womanhood. I had even less to gain in telling others. I assured her that her secret was safe with me, and even offered to help her. The poor girl was lost. That pitiable girl … I pray my feelings for her don’t endanger us both.
... 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔐𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯
- Doing this in honor of his mother
He’s immune; and honestly, gives two shits about people
BUT THAT’S THE EVIL TRAINING OF HIS FATHER, I SWEAR!!
He hides this very well
Self explanitory
last words
❝𝔦 𝔞𝔪 𝔞 l𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 l𝔦𝔢❞
x__per fect ly poe tic
Mythical Nymph
❝ 𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭𝔰 ❞
ɪ suƿƿosɛ мʏ oɴʟʏ тʀuɛ ɪмƿɛʀғɛcтɪoɴ ɪs ʜoɴɛsтʏ тo ɑ ғɑuʟт
ɪ suƿƿosɛ мʏ oɴʟʏ тʀuɛ ɪмƿɛʀғɛcтɪoɴ ɪs ʜoɴɛsтʏ тo ɑ ғɑuʟт
✖ Robin Hood
- I do not pride myself as being one who can read the depths of one’s personality after knowing them for a few moments. But you, I have known for nearly two year, and I know what I see when I look at you. There is fear, even if you don’t see it yourself. You were pushed somewhere you didn’t want to be, and quite often you question yourself for it. It’s only natural that you would be afraid. You cannot help this fear, and I do not blame you for being afraid. I merely wish you to be aware of this fear. But the heart of the matter resolves in this Robin, whether or not you want to be here, the people need someone like you. As a result, fearless leader, you need to stay where you are. Ah, but with Much pushing you along, I highly doubt you have a chance of faltering.
✖ Little John
- Where should I start with you? Loyal to a fault, and probably a much better human being than I ever give credit. Your social abilities and aptitude for compatibility with other humans are both traits of which I find myself raving with jealousy. The trust that you hold with Robin, perhaps not so much. It is admirable, however, that you have managed to keep in good terms with him, especially with a temper as violent as yours. You see, I can say nice things about people. God above, and Mother, please forgive me for the crudeness of my next words. After holding you in such esteem, I must now ask you to ******** off. I am not a traitor. If I wanted to turn you in, you would be in prison, or dead, knowing my sister the Sheriff and I would be resting on my laurels. Quite frankly, I’m too self absorbed to starve myself only to betray you.
✖ Much
- Ah, yes. You. You bore me, I am sorry to say. I know that I must sound terrible prideful, taking such a spirit of haughtiness with you, but it’s simply the truth. With that being said, I do quite appreciate what you represent. You are what makes The Spirit a glimmer of what it is. You spread stories and ideas, and while a man can be killed, an idea is much harder to get rid of. You stir up contentions and hatred among the common populace, something which they need so greatly. Turning them against the Sheriff and the Prince, slowly but surely, it’s quite the brilliant idea. I must commend you for this. See, I am capable of showing kindnesses when I want. I hope you don’t know the bad things I think of you, because you truly are the quite the clever little devil. And of course, I use devil in the highest of esteems.
✖ Djaq
- You intrigue and interest me. You were a nuisance at first, wanting to be my friend, and being determined to like me. To be honest, at first, I wanted to get rid of you, although there was something about your personality that drew me in like a bee to flower. And then, of course, I learned your secret, a fact which I’m certain results in the only true reason we share a friendship to this day. With that being said, I wouldn’t change our friendship for the world. Helping you makes me feel proud, because to be honest, you are a rather awful man at times. You still haven’t quite mastered shifting your gait from your hips to your chest. We’ve much to work on, but it gives me an excuse to spend time with you, because I do fear I am beginning to have feelings for you once more. Man or woman cannot hide your wonderful spirit. I would kill anyone who hurt you, and I'd gouge out the eyes of anyone who looked at you the wrong way. You are the closest thing I've felt to family in a long time. I swear to God, if you die-
✖ Prince John
- Yes, if you found the sharpest sword in all of Nottingham and pierced yourself through the genitalia, then used it to cut out your tongue and choked on your own blood, it would not be a good enough death for you. I hope you are slaughtered in the most inconvenient manner, and if I have any say in the matter, I'd love to be the one who does it. I could learn cruel and unusual punishments for your sake, you writhing half dead snake.
✖ The Sheriff of Nottingham
- God above and Mother, please forgive me for the words I speak. I do not mean to disrespect my “wonderful” sister, but how can you be so goddamned stupid. I hope that you are condemned to the lowest level of hell, and that they dig deeper to create the spot where your soul is lost in eternal torment. God will not have mercy on your soul, you imbecilic b***h. How dare you side with John! Do you not realize that the creation of his sickened government is the very thing that brought the death of your mother? We came from the same womb, from the same mother! We both had nine months of private time with that angel, before being touched by the hand of Satan, so how did you come out so evil, while I came out so good? I do not understand what is wrong with you. I’ve tried, I really have. But … you make it so difficult, sister. Is it ignorance? Ignorance isn’t an excuse dearest sister. I believe at one time in our lives, I looked up to you, but now … I just want you to find a abyss and hurl yourself into the endless darkness. And if you think that I'd ever betray the others to you, reflect on this nugget of wisdom: you've had everything in life handed to you. Why the ******** would I make this simple?
✖ Allan a Dale
- You ignore me, just like everyone else. This fact has never bothered me, but it’s given me a better chance to watch you, observe you. You’re reckless, a fact of which I’m sure you are aware. You like to do things for the thrill, and this is dangerous. It could get us all killed. I do not know if you’re stupid enough to do anything to get us killed, but it’s not a risk I’m apt to taking. I have work to accomplish before I die and I cannot allow you to stop me. Perhaps I am too guarded around you, but your behavior is simply unacceptable at times. Stupidity should not be mistaken for bravery.
✖ Sir Guy of Gisborn
- Oh, let's make this sweet and simple, shall we? You make me sick. I appreciate narcissism as the next person, but you have no reason to be so self absorbed. Have you seen yourself in the mirror? You're not as beautiful as you think, neither are you as brilliant, cunning, witty, charming. You're really quite the average man with an extreme God complex, which has always amused me, as Prince John will kill you for having such foolish ideology. But it will be your head on the platter. Maybe your beloved Master, the Sheriff of Nottingham, will be the one that does your body the favor of removing your head.
✖ Maid Marian
- OYou, my dear, like to play with people. It amuses me, the way you flitter around Robin. The poor boy can hardly think straight when you’re around. It’s quite bemusing, I must inform you. It makes me laugh, oh, do you make me laugh sometimes. You are very sweet though, so pardon me for laughing. But you like to toy with people, and this is a bit worrisome to me. Are you after something greater? What is your ploy? Of course, I can never concentrate when you’re around. Your personality just overpowers my thoughts. I’m not infatuated with you, but whatever you do, you do it very well.
all subject to change ;; in fact they will probably ALL change ;; i have yet to read the profiles
x__per fect ly poe tic
Mythical Nymph
𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰
space
The world has become something awful and grey. Dim gray, if you will. But if you close your eyes, and open your mind, your thoughts can brighten the world. And if you just open your mouth, you can “Create beautiful new ideas to illuminate the minds of others.” And if we're not quite so self-involved, and listen to the words of others, “Something truly magical can happen.”
♪ ♫ ♪
spaceThe world has become something awful and grey. Dim gray, if you will. But if you close your eyes, and open your mind, your thoughts can brighten the world. And if you just open your mouth, you can “Create beautiful new ideas to illuminate the minds of others.” And if we're not quite so self-involved, and listen to the words of others, “Something truly magical can happen.”
♪ ♫ ♪
FRGT/10, Linkin Park/Shinoda
- What's happening
City governments are eternally napping
Trapped in greedy covenants, causin urban collapsing
Bullets that scar souls, with dark holds, get more than your car stole
Some hearts be blacker than charcoal
For real, this society's deprivation depends
Not on our differences, but the separation within
Like the Shadows, Kamelot
- In a glimpse from a quiet childhood
I recall a mother's smile
Nothing needs to be understood,
I am free
In the deep of a distant forest
I'll lose my sense of time
Where the words of the wind is honest,
I can breathe
One Day, Kamelot
- Can you remember the morning
I told you goodbye
a piece of me died
somehow I have to try to
getting used to being alone
If I could only hold you once again
I'd never let go
You're Gonna Go Far, Kid, Offspring
- Show me how to lie
You’re getting better all the time
And turning all against the one
Is an art that’s hard to teach
Another clever word
Sets off an unsuspecting herd
And as you step back into line
A mob jumps to their feet
Now dance ******** dance
Man he never had a chance
And no one even knew
It was really only you
x__per fect ly poe tic
Mythical Nymph
❤ тhε acε of hεaятs ❤xxxxx
is an 《 anɢeℓ 》 in disguise ｡ ｡ ｡
is an 《 anɢeℓ 》 in disguise ｡ ｡ ｡
About the author !!