He had completed his tasks up until this point, each and every one that the Goddesses had asked for.
But nothing changed.
He almost longed for the blissful unawareness he had left behind in the mire of shadows that occupied that very first room. The Shrine. It had held hope, in the beginning, and Loffie had undertaken their quest, drawn by the coolness of their stone, drawn to their promise of ascension.
But he was still grounded, wingless and flightless, an altogether miserable creature.
They all were, he and all of the drab and grey figures that milled about, his rivals, his competition. The Goddesses' blessings had guided them to work together but for Loffie that was as far as the camaraderie extended; he wanted nothing to do with anyone. He had felt that way in the beginning, escaping from the awful throng of hearts into the crumbling metropolitan wasteland that was the Ruins. The Ruins had been just as awful, its setting hard and unyielding and its stench polluted and vile.
But he had endured.
He had made it this far, though his head swam with unanswered questions, with doubts, with despair. Fragments were all he had left, bits and pieces that flickered across his vision in nonsensical patterns. It was driving him mad.
He had lain in the soft and tender grass that took over the ruin, watching as the colours of the sky warred with one another. How easy it would be to just stay here and forget about everything. But though the question circled around his head over and over with countless others, Loffie knew it wasn't an option. He had to choose.
There was green and gold. Those were the new colours, the ones that came bearing peace. They had never done anything to harm him but his heart refused to sway in their direction. Because above all there was red, and Loffie watched with dismay as the red was slowly blotted out from the sky, suffocating beneath shades of gold and green. It had maimed him, true, but it had gripped his core the tightest, it was the strongest. Even though it was outnumbered, the scarlet pieces of sky desperately clawed to remain, fighting against the uneven tide. Watching it, a familiar feeling depresses his bones and curls around them until his peace is wrecked with melancholy and apathy and only remembering the pain of the red moon makes him feel anything else.
He had no idea of happiness, at least not this self.
"Destroy me," he whispered to the moon.
Achievement completed: Side Blessing 011: Link to blessing win(s):LINK HERE
Choosing an ornately decorated cup, the grail cold in his hands, Efflo lifted it to his lips and drank deeply, the liquid sliding cold and refreshing down his throat. He felt different somehow, after drinking it but in his mind, everything was just as it should be. His skin was pale, and his hair dark, and his long white jacket embellished in green swirled around him. His trusty weapon, Glowworm, was held tightly in his hand, the hive-mind buzzing excitedly within his own.
Yes, this was definitely correct.
Main Blessing obtained: Blessing of the Grail Zone obtained: Zone 2, Green Link to blessing:LINK HERE
He knew who he was. He always had. He knew what others thought of him, and frankly, he didn’t care. His apathy gave way to determination, and unhindered by foolish feelings, he was going to persevere, alone.
Main Blessing obtained: Blessing of the Truth Zone obtained: Zone 4, Violet Tower Link to blessing:LINK HERE
Posted: Fri Aug 23, 2013 4:39 pm
Quote:
Yes. He was satisfied. For if nothing else, the little creature reminded him of his beloved, and he reached out to fondly stroke its head. Gabriel had cared for him so dutifully, and so he had imparted that care onto the tree. It had grown tall, and draconic, and he was proud.
He was one step closer to home.
Main Blessing obtained: Blessing of the Sheath Zone obtained: Zone 5, The White Lake Link to blessing:LINK HERE
He curled up, burrowed beneath his bed of straw, gentle sobs shaking his dark form.
He cried alone.
He had turned them away, not wanting their friendship. It was warm and wonderful and he was nothing like them.
He wanted to be alone.
He had shared their memories, the taste of them bitterly clinging to his spirit. They taught him about them, implored him for his compassion. But he gave them nothing, only his hatred, and his judgement.
He would rather be alone.
They were all laughing, and smiling. He watched them, his heart heavy.
He had always been alone.
It felt like he cried all the time, for no reason other than he had come to enjoy being sad. It was all he knew.
He liked being alone.
The scissors were cold against his flesh, and they snipped at his heart.
He wished they’d leave him alone.
They didn’t matter. They were insignificant. He had no problem sacrificing them.
It was better to be alone.
The very core of him was a putrid yellow-green, warning any predators to steer clear because he was unpleasant prey.
It was in his nature, to be alone.
How could he compete with Sibyl, how could he ever feel anything less than inadequate next to her smiling face?
Jealousy made him alone.
The darkness coiled around his heart, digging in its fangs. He clung to it as it snaked around the whole of him, wallowing in his misery.
He’d always be alone.
The arrows stung his shoulder, and his stomach, piercing painfully through his skin.
There was nothing he could do, alone.
But he wasn't alone.
He knew that now, and he clung desperately to the memories of the one he loved. He would sacrifice everything to hold onto those memories, to hold onto the hope that there was someone waiting for him after all of this. The hope that he had someone who loved him, and that he had friends who cared for him, and that he didn't have to be alone. Gladly he gave up the triggers of his biggest doubts and fears to Excalibur's plight, cleansing himself of the misery that had held him for so long. It was as though a giant weight had been lifted from his chest, and he in breathed heavily, not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry.
He floated in nothingness, in peace. It wrapped around him and enveloped him, shielding him from the dark glare of the door. But the door’s gaze was unrelenting, and it spoke, repeating its question and pressing him for an answer.
Efflo knew, as he drifted quietly. He knew what his answer was. Memories sadness, grief and bitterness had been offered to Excalibur and though he did not remember them, he still felt a new freeness. Yet despite this feeling, something sill chained him down, an anklet of despondence that kept him from being totally free. It clinked in his mind as he moved, a metaphorical bind that he was unable to shake despite the peace that the vacant nothingness offered.
So he turned to the door, listening to its offer. He could return, and leave the last vestiges of his unhappiness behind. He could leave behind his greatest failure, which ironically, as he floated in nothingness, was simply nothing. It was a period of time that he’d closed himself off to everyone and everything, and chose instead to wallow in the misery of his solitude. He could remember his first days, and even weeks at Amityville clearly, from the opening ceremonies, to the boats, to meeting his first friends, Alwine and Calder.
He would keep those, because they were not failures. They were his first memories of hopefulness and happiness that he had turned away from. After those early memories, his school life became a blur of depression as he tucked into himself and away from everything else, ignoring his classes, his friends, his everything. There was his failure at prom, one that stood out particularly sore against the mass of sadness. He’d been excited about the chance to pull someone’s carriage, for some reason getting dressed in fine trappings and harnesses had made him happy as a horse, feeling proud to pull the couple to their destination. But he’d been apprehensive and he’d balked, and the whole thing fell through as he ran away and back into hiding. For two years of his life he’d spent it being miserable and alone, all out of his own ignorance. For two years he’d rebuked everyone and everything, and it turned him bitter and afraid.
He didn’t want to feel like that anymore. Not with the memories of Gabriel tucked preciously in his heart. He didn’t want to be afraid to move forward, held back by his fear of the past. He didn’t want to push anyone away, and he definitely didn’t want to lose his most beloved person because of his own inability to deal.
It hurt his legs to think of the days he’d spent wandering alone. He travelled over the paths where hundreds of others had travelled daily, but he wanted nothing to do with those other paths. His footsteps had stamped over theirs, erasing them until there was nothing left but his own trail. His legs ached now, as he remembered, as though it had only just happened, and his muscles were burning from having walked for days without rest.
He wanted to be rid of his legs. He wanted to forget those two years of his life.
He reached down, and he clawed at his legs. But it was with a measured franticness that he de-limbed himself, his nails digging into his skin with a steady measure. There was no urgency, only the simple determination that they must come off, and that they would. It was the same determination that had kept him going all this way, this determination to beat his sadness, to reunite with his love, to survive and just exist. With each piece of flesh and muscle that he tore away, his heart felt lighter, his existence less futile. It hurt, the pain screaming upwards through his entire body but the pain was refreshing. It was freeing, just as giving up his unpleasant memories had been. So he bit his lip in concentration, and agony, and tore off his legs.
