Your darkened face, well known to her
And it's a low, low, low indivisible man to be myself again
Please get inside, quiet in the mind of the people
Nothing new here, under the sun
Away with me, away with me they run
α и т ı g ø и e
¢ α š š ı ø ρ e ı α
ł ı ł ł α и т ı и e
føямeя яανeи¢łαω │ αяıтħмαи¢eя │ ρυяeвłøøđ
The first memory Anti had latched on had been a fuzzy and dim- Cyrus was two and confined to his crib and five year old Vander, standing up on his tiptoes, was trying to prod him with a hot poker from the fireplace. Tiny bits of charcoal and rust flecked down onto Cyrus's blond curls and he screamed and sobbed but no one came.
Then he was four and Vander was holding him down headfirst in the bath while he clawed uselessly at the sides until their mother came in and tore him away with a shriek of rage. He was six and his father was bemoaning his lack of magic, calling him a squib, a useless branch of the family tree.
"I hate you," snarled Vander in his ear- in her ear- "You're stupid and pathetic and no one wants you. Not even Mother. She just pretends to like you because she has to. Everything would be better if you were gone."
"If I ever catch you in this study again," said Father scathingly, and even though it was a memory and he was dead, Anti still cringed away from the sound of his voice, even knowing this was her brother's memory, not hers, "You will spend the rest of the summer in the attic with the house elves. Now get out of my sight."
"Of course I love you, darling," Mother crooned. "Why would you think otherwise? You're my precious little boy. You're special."
"Just leave me alone!" It was herself as a child, teary-eyed and flushed. "Stop it, Cy! You make everything worse! Get out!"
Then he forced her out of his mind, or her tenuous grip slipped- and the door slammed shut. Cyrus couldn't apparate out of the house, being inside it, only from room to room. He left behind a steadily darkening trail of blood, and she knew he kept splinching himself, in his panic and rage. When she found him in the nursery he'd lost two fingers and an ear to it, and was curled up against the wall, gasping for breath.
Anti looked down at him and realized he'd been hurt worse then she'd realized before- the white of his shirt was completely soaked in blood over his stomach, and there was a deep gash in one of his legs. He was white-faced and trembling. "Just stop," Anti said slowly. "It's over. It's done, Cyrus- the Ministry will be here soon."
"You're wrong," he muttered, but he wasn't looking at her- his glassy-eyed gaze kept drifting from one old, battered toy and piece of covered up furniture to the next. "It's never over for us. I could have left. I could have gone somewhere else and done whatever I fancied, with my inheritance- I could have-," he coughed, and his spittle was crimson. "I could have buckled down and studied and been someone. Someone really powerful. But once Father was dead and Mother left... all I wanted was this."
"It's just a house," Anti shook her head. "An old falling apart house."
"It's a symbol," Cy said through gritted teeth. "None of you ever thought I belonged. But I do. I always have. It's my birthright. I was owed this from the-," he coughed again, shaking his own head. "From the moment I was born, this was mine, but instead they gave it to a b*****d who... who would have squandered it, kept us rooting around in the past." He smiled numbly. "Trying to keep us pure. I should have purged this whole damn family tree the moment I had the chance."
"You squandered it," she whispered. "Any chance you ever got, you tossed it away because you were so desperate to show us all how wrong we were."
"I never had any chances, not really." He looked like he might have laughed, if not for the pain. "It's better this way." The look on his face was growing distant.
Anti could have apologized to him- she'd never been the best sister. She could have tried to forgive him, tried to understand. But she didn't have it in her. "Goodbye, Cyrus," she said after a moment.
"Don't leave me alone," he said weakly. "Just stay another few minutes. I don't want to go by myself."
"I can't," Anti said. "I have to help Vio."
"Antigone, please." He sounded almost frightened, except for the half-smile on his face, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening.
She looked down at her dying brother, and turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her while Cyrus gasped a laugh or sigh or something like that.
¢ α š š ı ø ρ e ı α
ł ı ł ł α и т ı и e
føямeя яανeи¢łαω │ αяıтħмαи¢eя │ ρυяeвłøøđ
The first memory Anti had latched on had been a fuzzy and dim- Cyrus was two and confined to his crib and five year old Vander, standing up on his tiptoes, was trying to prod him with a hot poker from the fireplace. Tiny bits of charcoal and rust flecked down onto Cyrus's blond curls and he screamed and sobbed but no one came.
Then he was four and Vander was holding him down headfirst in the bath while he clawed uselessly at the sides until their mother came in and tore him away with a shriek of rage. He was six and his father was bemoaning his lack of magic, calling him a squib, a useless branch of the family tree.
"I hate you," snarled Vander in his ear- in her ear- "You're stupid and pathetic and no one wants you. Not even Mother. She just pretends to like you because she has to. Everything would be better if you were gone."
"If I ever catch you in this study again," said Father scathingly, and even though it was a memory and he was dead, Anti still cringed away from the sound of his voice, even knowing this was her brother's memory, not hers, "You will spend the rest of the summer in the attic with the house elves. Now get out of my sight."
"Of course I love you, darling," Mother crooned. "Why would you think otherwise? You're my precious little boy. You're special."
"Just leave me alone!" It was herself as a child, teary-eyed and flushed. "Stop it, Cy! You make everything worse! Get out!"
Then he forced her out of his mind, or her tenuous grip slipped- and the door slammed shut. Cyrus couldn't apparate out of the house, being inside it, only from room to room. He left behind a steadily darkening trail of blood, and she knew he kept splinching himself, in his panic and rage. When she found him in the nursery he'd lost two fingers and an ear to it, and was curled up against the wall, gasping for breath.
Anti looked down at him and realized he'd been hurt worse then she'd realized before- the white of his shirt was completely soaked in blood over his stomach, and there was a deep gash in one of his legs. He was white-faced and trembling. "Just stop," Anti said slowly. "It's over. It's done, Cyrus- the Ministry will be here soon."
"You're wrong," he muttered, but he wasn't looking at her- his glassy-eyed gaze kept drifting from one old, battered toy and piece of covered up furniture to the next. "It's never over for us. I could have left. I could have gone somewhere else and done whatever I fancied, with my inheritance- I could have-," he coughed, and his spittle was crimson. "I could have buckled down and studied and been someone. Someone really powerful. But once Father was dead and Mother left... all I wanted was this."
"It's just a house," Anti shook her head. "An old falling apart house."
"It's a symbol," Cy said through gritted teeth. "None of you ever thought I belonged. But I do. I always have. It's my birthright. I was owed this from the-," he coughed again, shaking his own head. "From the moment I was born, this was mine, but instead they gave it to a b*****d who... who would have squandered it, kept us rooting around in the past." He smiled numbly. "Trying to keep us pure. I should have purged this whole damn family tree the moment I had the chance."
"You squandered it," she whispered. "Any chance you ever got, you tossed it away because you were so desperate to show us all how wrong we were."
"I never had any chances, not really." He looked like he might have laughed, if not for the pain. "It's better this way." The look on his face was growing distant.
Anti could have apologized to him- she'd never been the best sister. She could have tried to forgive him, tried to understand. But she didn't have it in her. "Goodbye, Cyrus," she said after a moment.
"Don't leave me alone," he said weakly. "Just stay another few minutes. I don't want to go by myself."
"I can't," Anti said. "I have to help Vio."
"Antigone, please." He sounded almost frightened, except for the half-smile on his face, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening.
She looked down at her dying brother, and turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her while Cyrus gasped a laugh or sigh or something like that.
OOC:
Just look across and see my weary stone of knee
Back to dust, as we have been told
Clinging to the sky like smoke
And it is so bone of my bone
One desert shy, down singing fetter drowning
Singing sinking hands, singing sinking, singing hands
Back to dust, as we have been told
Clinging to the sky like smoke
And it is so bone of my bone
One desert shy, down singing fetter drowning
Singing sinking hands, singing sinking, singing hands
