Archive for May, 2015

5.33

I was a mother now…

They say that when you hold your baby for the first time, your whole world shifts, and your priorities change. But I hadn’t had that yet. Three months later, and my entire world hadn’t imploded on itself and been resigned to just Luca, and diapers, and baby bottles.

I still cringed at changing diapers, and pulled unenthused faces over story time. I dreaded watching kids shows, and felt my temperature rising to the shrill sounds escaping the little devils mouth. And boy, could he scream, and cry, and wail… And some of the god awful sounds that the kid could make, I shudder just at the memory.

Regardless of the time or day, or the exhaustion in my limbs. Sometimes it seemed that Luca was born just to prove how bad at this I truly was. It seemed that he was born just to hate me, and he did. But that was stupid, the kid was three months old, and it wasn’t like the little brat could smell fear…

Right?

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Of course not. That would be stupid.

I watch the swing rocking back and forth while Luca balls his hands into fists, and screeches. The sound pierces my ears, as hot little tears roll down his face. He was clean, fed, warm, dry, everything was perfectly okay and yet the little bugger insisted on screaming. Non stop. All day. Until of course, Cassiel came home to him, to us.

He knew, he already knew… I suppose it was for the best. Panic momentarily coils into the pits of my stomach, Arkin would be back. For me. And where I was going, Cas, and Luca, they couldn’t come with me, and perhaps… Perhaps I wouldn’t be coming back either. No this was for the best, that the kid had chosen Cassiel over me. Because where I failed as a mother, Cas excelled as a father, the second he entered the room, the little brat’s eyes were on him.

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“It’s for the best.” I say to myself, reinforcing that mindset. Somehow I find my hand stroking the warm fabric of Luca’s blanket to silence the anxiety running through my veins. His heart beat was soft, and steady beneath my touch, even despite his sobbing. “Where I’m going, I don’t want you comin, not now, not for a while, not ever.” As I said it, I didn’t imagine Arkin’s fangs, but ice, and darkness, I imagined his tiny face, contorted as his shrill wails echoed through empty forests, I imagined dark shadows stalking his warmth in the night. Luca’s golden eyes flare open, as if to tell me that he understands, but he doesn’t: Because he’s just a baby, and he won’t remember the sound of regret in my voice.

“If I can give you Cas… If I can keep him alive, and safe, promise me that you won’t hate me later on.” I withdraw my hand, and sigh. There was every chance that I was going to survive this, and that there would be a world after it all happened. That like always, the sun would shine, and humanity would rebuild, a brighter, better world. “It’s better this way, because I’m not… I’m not mom material.And he’s…” I can see Cassiel in my mind. “He’s perfect, he’ll love you in all the ways I can’t.” I can’t live like I’m dying, like I’ve got an expiration date because then Cas will know, he’ll know and he won’t let me do what I need to do to protect them both. “And it’s for the best that I don’t. So don’t hate me cause I’m bad at this, I’m tryin’ the best I can. Sometimes though, that’s just not enough.”

 I rock back on my heels, cradling myself in my arms for comfort. My eyes droop as I continue to watch him screeching, and despite it, I want nothing more than to close my eyes and lay down to sleep. For a whole week. My body jolts as I hear the front door click open, followed by heavy slow footsteps to the doorway to the room. My body relaxes and I breathe a sigh of relief at the sound of Cassiel’s warm voice. The sound even stills Luca. “What are my two favourite people doing?”

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I take a moment to gather myself, my body feeling heavy as I stand. I quickly wipe my eyes, and hide the forming tears that had almost begun to fall. “Oh, you know, the usual. Him screaming, and me slowly losing my mind.” The laughter that escapes my lips afterwards sounds fake, and forced, even to my own ears, so I fake an even bigger grin. I throw myself into Cassiel’s arms, burying myself into his neck, savouring the warm scent of sunshine on his skin.

“Hey, are you okay?” Cas whispers as his lips caress my forehead, I melt into his neck for another long moment. It amazes me how well our two bodies fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle. Even if our union was the work of something bigger, I’ve decided that I don’t care. I’ve decided that all of that other shit doesn’t matter when we’re locked into an embrace. This is what matters. As I look up to face him, a wide smile bubbles on my lips, cracked only by exhaustion.

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“It’s just been a long day…” I murmur against him, brushing my hand against his face. I wonder if I’d miss those golden eyes when I was locked in a world of eternal darkness, I was kidding myself if I thought I wouldn’t. Even here, in reality, in the warmth and light, he was the only light I needed. “I’m just glad that you’re home.” This time I laugh for real as Luca screams again, reminding us that he’s still here.

“We’ll finish this off later.” Cas grins, wide and bright, as if the exhaustion of the work day meant nothing when compared to his kid. Releasing me from his hold, he reaches down, scooping up the bundle of blankets into his arms. His eyes crinkle, a warm grin covers his face, serenity. Cas would be okay, in the end he’d be okay.

“When will that be exactly, tonight? Tomorrow? Next week?” I give him a knowing smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.

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*

As I walked into the room, I felt my stomach flip momentarily. It was the second anniversary of my father’s death, and my family was sitting quietly, almost awkwardly in what used to be their living room. One that my father’s laugh would so boisterously fill, or my screaming arrogance would encompass. It seemed a different lifetime ago, like I had died and been reborn a thousand times since then.

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I remember the way my father would sit, shoulders hunched forward, and breathing tense when he thought that no one could see him, when he didn’t have to be strong. I was already forgetting the strength of his voice, and the warm determination in his eyes, time was ravaging my memory of him, stealing pieces of him with every passing month. One day, I was afraid that I would remember him only in photos, and his voice only in recordings.

I watch my mother, sitting lonely and forgotten on the sofa. Swallowed up by the pristine fabric. I couldn’t help but notice that age, and grief had stolen her beauty. Deep lines had formed on her forehead, and cheeks, and the colours she wore hung loosely on her pale, thin frame. I was glad that Sampson had seen to her before I’d arrived, otherwise she’d be in black again, her hair knotted, and face heavy with shadows.

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There wasn’t a lot that we could do for her, I’d found, because she believed that she needed the pain, or it would be an insult to his memory. Only by reliving him, constantly, could she remember him. Only through reopening the wound, could she keep his memory alive. But some ghosts deserve to be buried, I’d found out. Sometimes the only way to respect their life was to move on from it, an act she was incapable of.

As a tribute to mothers lack of attention, Sampson had invited his boy toy, barely under the pretense that they were just friends from the same squad. Sampson wore home guard all over him, from his soft demenour to the shaking in his boots, but somehow the hunk of muscle at his side wore mercenary proudly all over him, even on the uniform that he wore today. In the beginning it was understandable that she hadn’t taken the time to really notice anything about him, but now, two years on..

They’d gotten lazy too with the whole charade. Not that they exactly had to pretend around mother. I was almost sure that they could start a heavy make out session right in front of her and she’d barely process the information, much less act on it. Congratulate him, yell, scream, whatever, anything. I don’t even think Sammy would care if she was disappointed at this point, I think he just wanted a reaction. So he let his eyes linger longer than they would if it was anyone else, and their hands would seek comfort with each other.

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And she never soaked it in. Not today, not two years ago at the hospital when they met, or the funeral, or the dozens of times they’d met between now and then. It bothered me, more than I ever thought it would, because she was our mother, and she always noticed everything. The small things, the cuts on our knees from falling over on the playground, and the meaningless glares that siblings gave. But now she couldn’t look past her own pain, and grief. She couldn’t see what was right in front of her. That her son was begging for her to see him, clearly, as he saw himself, he was desperate for her to accept him.

Somehow though, it was my fault. By changing fate as I had, I had changed my parent’s fate as well. Arkin was meant to kill the cure, my grandfather and Cassiel both. A few months later, my mother was meant to follow, outraged by the loss of the cure, terrorists were going to put a bomb in the cars of politicians sympathetic to our cause. One of them was meant for my mother. But instead, my father had been killed by Arkin before he’d launched a desperate half baked attack against us. We kept the cure, and mother had never left town again, never spoken up again, and would hopefully never be a target again.

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But if dad were here, things would be different. He would have moved on, not to say that my mothers death would have been easy, for anyone. But dad would have done what needed to be done to move forward again. To make this family feel whole. Sammy wouldn’t be dangling his love life in front of anyone, desperately waiting to be noticed. Not that I cared, of course. It was just Sammy…. I didn’t. But I did. And I missed my father. And I loved Cassiel, of those three things I knew way deep down inside of myself.

Waking up again, feeling things again, it sucked.

They don’t tell you that, that when you decide to heal yourself, to feel, that you decide to feel the good and the bad. That you leave yourself vulnerable and open, to the broken pieces of everyone around you. And you collect guilt, and remorse, like honey catches flies. And somehow, it didn’t matter, because you lived with it, and it was worth it. Somehow.

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“Daaaa!” Luca squawks running through the room, before tripping over his own feet. I expect the water works to start as I watch his limbs squirming, and groping the floor awkwardly. When he finally manages to push his face up from the ground he flashes a lopsided grin and giggles again, obviously happy to have all eyes on him. And for a brief moment, everyone in the room smiles, even mom. “Gahh vrmm. Chi bo?” To say that he talked was an overstatement, but he made noise. A lot of it.  “Kah bo ta!”

I reach down, scooping him up into one hand, dangling him by the ankle. Luca squeals again, a train of giggles on his lips as he squirms. “Say hi to everyone, kiddo.” I say, lifting him into my arms properly, so that I can trace my fingers down his neck, tickling the sensitive skin. I hope by doing so, his bubbling energy will continue to fill the room, and everyone will stop being so bleak, and act like normal people again.

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“Gam gam.” He squeals from in my arms, throwing his head back to escape the onslaught. Despite the loud childish giggles, the room remains tense as I knew it would. “Unc niiii! Sha bow too.  Amps.”

“You know, you don’t have to be here.” Mother says quietly, her eyes trained on me like a hawk, not even glancing down at the child in my arms. Her soft voice is almost harsh, and cold. Of course today, of all days, she wanted to wallow in self pity. She didn’t want us to help her, to be here.

“Of course, Miss Vivian.” Sammy’s boy pipes up in a diplomatic voice. I was surprised that even though he wasn’t officially a part of the family, that he spoke as though he already was. That just by being with my brother, he was willing to deal with this… Deal with my mother. “But it’s a very important day. Your husband was a great man, and an excellent father. And Vivian, his kids miss him too. Sam misses him too. What better way to celebrate the man, and his life, than all being here today, as one.”

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She gives him a hard glare, before nodding curtly. “Fine then, be that way, but don’t expect me to go out of my way.” She understood, but she just didn’t care. At least she wasn’t going to make today harder than it already was. “I was going to go down to the grave today after lunch, you can stay til then, but after that, I want to be alone.”

A part of me wants to go to her, and to wrap my arms around her neck. I want to hold her for a moment, and to tell her all the things that dad had told me before he’d moved on from this world. I want to tell her that he looked at her like she was his world, and that all the things he did was for her, and us, his kids. But she would never understand my words, or the ways that I knew them. And I was too weak to go through with it. I wanted to be that type of daughter that could comfort her, but my words always fell short, and my touch was always too cold.

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“You know, I was thinking…” I begin slowly, feeling my cheeks darken with awkwardness, and shy embarrassment. It was a stupid request I was about to ask, and yet I felt compelled to. “That maybe today, we could take a new family photo.” I watch my mother’s reaction carefully, we hadn’t taken one in years, even before dad’s death. I never wanted to be included in them, and everyone was always busy. There were a million reasons that we had all neglected each other, and it was too late to change that, the past, and how we were.

But I wanted a new future, and I wanted Luca to have a better childhood than I had, even despite the world outside of these walls. The book I was editing, and adding onto, the Ravenwood Legacy, it would be decorated with our lives, and faces. I wanted Luca to remember who I was, to remember my face, and know what I was willing to do for him. For us.

“I mean, it’s kinda lame, but-“

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“No, it’s a good idea.” Nick says, his eyes burning with some strange intensity. The look in his eyes made me feel something, like he somehow might be proud of me, like the last two years have actually meant something. The smile on his face, is slow, but steady. “Things are changing, the trials are going well-” Cas pulls a face, like the mere mention of the trials are to be kept under lock and key. “- We’re starting to take back some of the territories that we lost to the war. And lycans aren’t deemed an unnatural species… Yet. So there’s a lot to celebrate. We’re all still here, we’ve got new additions to the family, a baby, and we’ve still got hope.” He turns to my mother, and looks at her softly. “Dad would be proud of how far we’ve all come.”

We can all see what she’s going to say next, that it isn’t right to do without him, because we aren’t a real family without him. Her face twists for a moment, switching from face to face as though she thinks that we’re ganging up on her. And maybe we are; Because we’re sick of seeing her in so much pain.

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“After you get your silly photo out of the way, and we’ve eaten, Larka, would you mind coming to the cemetery with me?” Her request shocks me, because not only is she agreeing to the photo, but she’s never let anyone go with her. Her delicate hand sits atop her cheek as she watches us quietly. With a sigh she takes a step forward. “Lets just get this over with.”

“I guess I’ll take the photo, if you’re all ready.” Sampson’s boy says slightly stiffly. He might feel a part of this family, he might even act like it, but it’s still not official. Sam’s jaw stiffens as he moves over to the fireplace, to stand by mother, but he doesn’t speak up, because now isn’t the time to mention it.

“No.” Nick sighs, as though even he’s sick of it. With a roll of his eyes, he continues. “It’s been two years, you’re basically family now, you too Cas, get over here.” As he sets the camera up, we all stand awkwardly around each other. “I wouldn’t have this photo any other way.” He says thoughtfully, looking up at us. We can’t change the fact that dad isn’t here, but we can live with it.

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“So this is our family now…” I say quietly, looking down at the photo after we take it. It was a mixture of sadness and awe. I was sad that my father wasn’t here, smiling bright, and warm. And I was sad that mother looked so robotic in the photo. But this was us, broken, and fractured, lost, and alive. This was my family. Hot and cold, hard and soft, and full of love.

There was a storm raging outside these walls, but we were brave enough to face the storm and survive it.

We were going to be okay.

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We could heal.

We could move on.

We would survive…

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The Liebster Award

Posted: May 18, 2015 in Generation 1
Tags:

Guys, guys, we did a thing!

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Logging in this morning, I got a wonderful comment from blamsart telling me that they had nominated me for this award! Eeeeep! I don’t think I’ve ever been nominated for anything before, much less anything with a fancy name like this before! *Flails excitedly*

Anyway, in case you didn’t know like me, the Liebster Award, is an award given to bloggers by other bloggers who love their work. It also acts as a chain award that helps blogs with less than 3000 subscribers get more publicity.

These are the official rules for receiving this award:

  1. Post the award on your blog.
  2. Thank the blogger who presented the award and link back to their blog.
  3. Nominate 5-11 bloggers whom you feel deserve this award and have fewer than or equal to 3,000 followers.
  4. Answer 11 questions posted by the nominator, and ask your nominees 11 questions.

My nominees are…. *drum roll*
*I really am surprised these guys don’t all have like a gazzillion followers already*

A Stormborn legacy by undergroundedgar

Firstly, I absolutely adore this legacy, and the author! The legacy follows the Stormborn family, and the subsequent heiress’, in a drama filled world of romance, magic, and danger. What I love about this legacy in particular is that it features some unique ideas and takes on the witch and legacy genre. It’s just… Go and check it out 🙂

My Darling by mosneakers

Beyond the amazing storyline in this bring me to life challenge, I’m absolutely, positively jealous of the photography and scene setting skills. Take one look at the photos and you will understand. Despite the world being full of magic, and ghosts, Mosneakers makes everything that you see, and read seem perfectly natural.

The Suitor by Becki

A historical story, brilliantly showing the difference between class divisions, the price of love, and the choices that we make. I only have positives to say about this story, the photos are wonderful, the scenes must take aaaggggeeesss to get exactly right, including the outfits and poses, and the writing is beautiful too. I can so see this story played out as a movie, or a TV show.

Lost In Wonderland by Thelyricsofhaley

So I’ve been following this rainbowcy since like the beginning, and I’ve loved it since the start. The author is wonderful, and despite going through a few changes over the years, the writing continues to get better with every chapter, and the characters are just as wonderful. Go down the rabbithole and check it out!!

The Danevbie Legacy by sErindeppity

Okay, so this one has probably been done a whole bunch of times already, but somehow I feel like it deserves another mention. This blogs has everything in it, aliens, magic, the supernatural, ghosts, and sErin somehow manages to tie it all together with realistic family ties, romances and the brilliant portrayal of characters behavior/dialogue (that feels relevant to not only their personalities, but also their ages). And despite being incredibly popular, the author still has time to respond to fan messages, and comments.

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Now onto the questions…

1. Do you pull from your personal life experiences when writing out your story?

I feel like every generation and heir has a piece of me, and what I’m going through in each and every story. I feel like I choose a part of my own personality, and a dreams/objective/goal for each generation to make a story out of. With a bit of artistic liberty to shape the world and make it interesting. Elizabeth wanted to run away and start a brilliant, new life. Constance wanted something from a fairy tale to shake up her life and make it whole again. Aleksi wanted what he couldn’t have. Vivian felt that she lacked in control in a toxic relationship, and Larka is the outcome.  Never to the extent of my sims, of course, I am pretty cruel to them, but I can work off of the feelings that I have felt and use it to fuel the writing.

Obviously I’ve never met a vampire, or kissed one, or been tied up by one, but hey, a girl can dream…
Or write.

2. If you answered yes to #1 can you gives us an example? If you answered no this is the place to insert the funniest gif you have.

So I sorta answered it already, but it’s a Monday

3. Who is your favorite among all the characters you have written?

Out of my heirs, probably Larka, because I feel like I can relate to her the most, she drinks to much, is tough and angsty on the outside, but lets face it, we all know she’s a total softie on the inside.
Out of all the characters, probably Balt.

4. Oh boy! You suddenly meet this character! What happens?

Hug the sad out of them, and then apologize profusely for being such a mean writer. And then maybe hug Balt a few more times.

5. Sims 3 suddenly has a global malfunction and dies on every single computer and will never work again, would you still continue writing your story only without pictures?

I think I would, just because I totally want to know how the story is going to play out (I really don’t plan anything out well enough, I’m curious too!), and writing has become cathartic to me. Cheaper than therapy :p

6. Are you the type who can totally write your sims story with a bunch of people looking? Or do you need to wait for everyone to leave the room before you can get comfy and write your sims?

No, I’d get to flustered, I can’t write with anyone looking at me. I become a ninja, everyone needs to leave the room, or better yet, the house, or I’ll be writing in my room at midnight when everyone is in bed.

7. Do you own a cat? This is a serious question. I swear 90% of sims 3 writers own a cat.

I have been called a crazy cat lady just a few times (more like a thousand times)

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As you can tell these two guys are insanely helpful, and supportive.

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*Fights the urge to share all 1000+ photos of my cats and stories*

8. Your thoughts on sims 4? You may cuss as much as you like.

*Pterodactyl screech* Up until sims 4, I feel like each game has been a logical step forward with the franchise. Sims 1, great game, I was a little too young to really be able to enjoy the game when it came out. I always just made a bunch of sims, and crappy houses, kissed everyone in the neighbourhood, and then set them all on fire. Sims 2, better graphics, interactions, neighborhoods. We got the new life states, toddlers, and kids and stuff. People died. I loved the expansions. Then the sims 3, the graphics were slightly better, open world (this feature was mind blowing to me when it first came out), the patterns/create a style (YES PLEASE), these were the two things I desperately wanted in sims 2, and we got them. Sure the game felt a bit empty, but these two features made me feel more connected to my game.

Then the sims 4, one word, why?!?!?! I feel like with all the people saying how much they loved the sims 2, they tried to recreate it, but somehow still made a worse game than we’ve ever had. If they had of included the best features of all the games (Gameplay of sims 2, customization/open world of sims 3, a bit of challenge like in the first game), on a stable game engine, it could have been perfect.

Now because it is so bad, I doubt we’ll get a better, improved sims 5 :/

9. Are you planning on continuing with sims 3 once you’re done with your current story?

If i ever finish this story, which I hope I do, I’d like to keep playing, maybe write another story.

10. Favorite expansion? In amazing detail plz.

I really loved generations, I felt like it rounded up the game and made it feel more whole. Although, it did include the stuff the I felt should have already been in the base game. The interactions, and overall theme, should have already been IN the game, so it can’t really be my favourite… Since it already should have been there.

So maybe Seasons, just because the rain and clouds make the game feel natural and real. I hate the snow though, just because my sims take like three hours to get changed, or they just sit outside and wait for Grim to come and get them, like they have nothing better to do in the house that is probably worth over a million with everything they could possibly want or need inside of it *rolls eyes*

11. Last question! How would you like living in the sims world and being a sim yourself?

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Yup, moving on…

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Now my questions for my nominees, if they choose to participate.

  1. How do you feel that your personality comes across in your writing?
  2. Do you have a routine or anything special that you do for when you write?
  3. Where do you get your inspiration for your stories?
  4. If you get writers block, how do you deal with it?
  5. Is your writing something that you share with people close to you?
  6. If you could recreate the sims 4 base game, what features would you include or change (graphics, seasons, open world, rating etc)?
  7. If you had to choose five sims traits to describe yourself, what would they be?
  8. What is your favourite book, and why?
  9. What’s your favourite quote?
  10. What movie gives you the most feels?
  11. What is a dream of yours?

5.32

Red eyes.

I dreamt of them often. Saw them in my dreams. Felt them on my skin. In my womb… Every time I closed my eyes, and managed to sink into a restless slumber, I saw him, and her, and all the possibility that existed within me. But not as I knew it, not as I would know it. I saw my baby, a mix of Cassiel’s humanity, and my broken fragility, and always those eyes. Red, and Crimson. Dark, and hungry. Hungry for more than I could give to it.

It terrified me beyond any nightmare I’d ever had. This child, and the possibilities of both it’s tormented mind, and my own, clashing together, struggling against each other. Just like I had with my mother. Just like I’d seen in Arkin’s mind. It seemed almost natural to grow to despise those closest to you, who gave you life. It seemed natural to hate all the little things that defined them.

My mother’s sensitive soul for example, broken down after years of abuse and paranoia. When I was younger, and weaker, lost between my world and the next, she’d been so terrified of losing me, that she’d eventually pushed me away. I still remember the way her face would twist and crumple when she thought that I wasn’t looking, and the way her voice would break. Of course I knew the reasons why, she’d lost a child before, and the grief had almost killed her, but it didn’t make it any easier.

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Would this child hate me for all the things that made me, me? The fact that I wasn’t soft, and peaceful, that I didn’t love without fear, or laugh without consequence. I would be cold, and distant, and perhaps my nightmares would tear through the house on dark nights. Perhaps I would avoid watching the news, and seeing the headlines in the newspaper, perhaps like my mother, I would let fear rule our lives.

Or would it hate me because I would bring it into a dying world?

Because I was knowingly sacrificing it’s soul to eternity, just like my own?

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The anxiety inside my heart deepened as days slowly turned to nights, and weeks into months. It grew like a sickness inside of my mind, taunting me at every corner, and stalking me every time I shut my eyes. I waited for Arkin, like I would the morning paper, sick anticipation burning in my muscles. My skin grew pale, and the shadows beneath my eyes heavy and bleak. What if my child became a monster, could I… Could I… Destroy it?

It wasn’t as though my heart was full of love for the thing inside of me. But the pull of my lycanthropy coursed through me, creating a strong desire to protect my pack. My little devil. At least I had that. I might not be  a good mother. I might not be able to do the things that needed to be done, or read bedtime stories, or play dress up, but I would protect it, regardless of the cost to myself.

And perhaps that made me understand my parents just a little bit better. All the things they’d done, the good, the bad, the frantic… Maybe it was their way, their crazy, stupid way of keeping me safe, of keeping me alive…

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I sigh running my hands along the spine of my grandmothers book, the Ravenwood legacy… I don’t know why I’d taken such an interest in it again, or why I’d scoured through the pages making notes, and cutting out old newspaper clippings to place inside of it. Maybe I was curious, or maybe a piece of me felt that this was important. That any tiny scrap of information I could find about my family was impossibly significant, and perhaps it was. To the past, to the future, to eternity. There was a reason that things were happening, there was a reason I was born dead, and I had to know why, and what that reason was. Looking down at the pages, I hear familiar words bubbling in my head.

Yours is not the only family that they’ve taken an interest in…… I don’t know what they want with you, or why they’ve gone to such lengths to keep you and your family…..  It makes me nervous… Be careful..”

Somewhere in my family’s history it was there, the answer to why me, why us. And if it wasn’t in these pages, then it would be in the ones that I would write, or my blood would write. I almost felt stupid cataloging the details of my family’s lives, and fact checking the little details, but it was a nervous compulsion, now that I had started, I couldn’t stop. I had to know what linked us all together. Why me, and not my brother? Why Vivian, and not hers? Of course he had died, but they’d brought me back hadn’t they? He even had a kid before his death. Why had Constance been chosen over her siblings? Someone had to be chosen, but why her, why us?

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I drum my fingers over the curve of my hand, my eyes glassy and distant. Nick had no blood relation to my mother so of course he was never in the running. Sampson on the other hand, he had the right blood, he was alive, and fertile, even though it was unlikely he would ever have children of his own. But if they could bring me back to life, couldn’t they determine a single action he would make, a single choice to affect where his life would take him, and to whom? I suppress a shiver.

I’d found myself tied to Cassiel before I’d even known why, or who he was. I’d somehow survived the attack that had killed my squad, and found myself bleeding on his doorstep. It had been a routine mission that had just so happened to go wrong. It was the middle of no where that I just so happened to stumble upon the cure. Cas had agreed to live amongst his enemies, and love one, and before what was meant to be his untimely demise, he’d knocked me up. It was all to convenient. Too neat. Perhaps we weren’t as free as we thought we were.

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I read over the pages again, adding in notes, and lines to new stories, and new chapters. Filling in the missing years between Constance and now. My hands describe the life that I knew Aleksi had lived, and the suffering he’d survived. I pause when I write my mother’s name, Vivian, who had grown up without a place in the world. Vivian, my mother, who had spoken on behalf of the pureblood Azazel. Vivian, who had her unborn child ripped away from her in front of the world. My mother who was locked up, and tortured and beaten. Who had a daughter who hated her. Who lost the only thing that kept her demons at bay. I pause, my fingers lost between a tremble and clarity.

She had spent her life suffering. We all had. But could you compare Vivian’s pain to Elizabeth’s? Vivian had been held hostage for months, raped, beaten, she had almost lost everyone that she had ever loved, and known. Elizabeth had just been a lonely girl in a lonely world who ran away from home to find peace, and love… Eventually with the guy she ran away from. Those two stories weren’t comparable. You couldn’t compare it to Aleksi’s life either. Just like you couldn’t compare all of my suffering to the life Constance had lived.

But despite that, we’d all lived in pain, and torment, for however briefly. And if suffering was the thing that tied us all together, beyond blood, then who was watching?

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My eyes focus on the point on the top of my palm that had been stabbed in my dream. If I looked at it closely enough, I think I might even see a faint shimmer from the magic. The urge to drive the pen through my hand, to release the magic was almost painful. I wanted someone I could talk about this with, I wanted someone who could understand what it was that waited for me on the other side. And a part of me just wanted to end it.

Of course Arkin wasn’t here.

And there was no demon tightening its grip around my neck.

But knowing that didn’t stop the panic, knowing that didn’t make any difference at all.

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The door clicks open, and Cassiel sighs deeply as he walks through. Slumping down on the couch beside me, I can’t help but notice the darkness under his eyes almost match my own. And the tightness of his muscles is almost identical, until his hands shuffle across the fabric in the space between us, finding my hands awaiting his. His lips curve ever so slightly as he suppresses an exhausted yawn.

“Tough day, huh?” I murmur softly. The brilliant blue of my eyes resting on the gold of his own.

“I just don’t get it…” He says softly, running a hand through his hair, his eyes almost glum. “We’re preparing for an attack on both sides. Vampire, and… And human… They’re on the news all the time, political extremists, going on about how we’re keeping the cure for ourselves, how we don’t really want a cure at all. How can they say that? and the worst thing is… The worst thing is…” He pauses, as though he can’t quite bring himself to say it.

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“The worst thing is, people actually believe it.” I finish the sentence off for him, caressing his cheeks. For a moment his face crumples, and he buries his face into my hands. A twinge of pity runs through me. He didn’t belong anywhere anymore. Cas wasn’t one of us, a supernatural, but he didn’t see himself as the rest of them, he didn’t align himself with the humans anymore, even though he was one, through and through. “People are scared, they just want something to believe in. Something better than the cure might not happen, or might be years, even decades away. Someone’s gotta be the bad guy.”

“Yeah, but we’re not.” His voice is strained as his eyes focus on me intently. There’s a note of fear in the chords he speaks. “Larka, we’re not. How can they threaten war, and extermination, and… I just don’t understand how they can preach justice, and humanity, when everyday, on the news, they talk about invading here, and taking away, or killing everything they don’t understand, or trust, or want.”

“Good thing you’re not a demon then.” I frown at him. They’d been burning and deleting records from the laboratories for a few months now. Anything relating to the cure was being destroyed, apart from the cure itself, there were no records of anything anymore. It was supposed to be a safety precaution, if any extremist groups broke in, or laid siege to the place, they couldn’t just kill everyone and leave with the data. If the worse did happen, Aleksi was trying to make sure that everyone made it through alive. Or the cure would die alongside them.

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“Don’t be silly, Lark.” Cas sighs again, his voice all to serious. “You, our baby… I can’t lose you, and I can’t stand the things that they say about you, the things they’d gladly allow to happen to you.” Slowly he forces a smile, and runs a hand along my fat, swollen stomach. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bombard you with all the heavy stuff the second I get through the door. A “how was your day? I missed you, babe,” would have been a much better start.”

I smirk at him before pressing my lips against his. “It was fine, this little bugger though didn’t really let me get much rest. It’s been practicing it’s kung fu down there all day.” Finally his smile seems genuine, and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he rubs my stomach. “If it keeps it up, I think it might actually break something.”

“I think he’s just eager to come out and meet his mom and dad.” Cas smiles at the thought, relaxing into my body. The thoughts that he had just minutes ago seemed a thousand miles away, either that or he was just good at pretending. But a part of me didn’t believe it, a part of me believed that being here like this made him truly happy.

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He?” I ask raising an eyebrow at him. It was an it. We didn’t know what it was yet. And I hadn’t begun to make guesses, or personalize the thing yet. Was that weird? I brush the thought off.

“Just a hunch, father’s instinct.” He kisses my nose softly with a goofy grin. “By the way, as cute as your nicknames are, we can’t just call him little bugger, and the thing until he’s twenty.”

“If it’s anything like me, little bugger will be all you’ll want to call it.” I shake my head in his direction.

*

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It happened less than a month later.

The pain explodes through me like a bullet through a gun, tearing through me, forcing a strangled groan from my lips. The pain almost knocks me off of my feet. Gritting my teeth together to silence the screech forming on my lips, my hand shakily clutches at my stomach. I could feel it, him, her, ripping through me, tearing me open. After what seems like hours stuck within the labyrinth of torment, it subsides. I can breathe again, think clearly.

“Cas…” I growl in a shuddered breath. Time warps around me, blurring, and merging together as a rush of liquid pools at my feet. Sweat covers my clammy skin in a thin sheath and drips. For another long moment, the only thing that I’m aware of is the ripping pain coursing through me. I groan again, barely able to stop the screams forming on my lips. “Cas… The baby…” I whimper.

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My brain barely registers the short drive to the hospital, or walking through the doors. I barely notice being lowered onto the hospital bed, and carted through the long, identical hallways to my room. People cluster around me dressed in bright colours and brilliant whites, taking my blood pressure, and pulse, asking me stupid idiotic questions. “How do I feel? How far away are the contractions? How far along am I? Do I need to call anyone?

“Shut up!” I screech in between pants. Uncertainty bubbles on my lips, as does anger and regret. It’s too late to turn back now, even if I so desperately want to. I’m not ready. I can’t do this. “Get this thing out of me!” I beg as another contraction bursts through me, splitting me apart. The doctor shouts orders at me, which Cassiel chants with enthusiasm.

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Breathe, push, breathe, push… It’s like the idiot has forgotten how to speak, and Cassiel’s entire vocabulary has been replaced by those two words. What the hell does he think that I’m doing? Just having a nice, relaxing massage from the INSIDE of my god damned body? I groan loudly, sweat covers every inch of my body, as I struggle to get this thing out of me. I always thought woman exaggerated the pain of giving birth, but no. I was mistaken. I was so wrong.

“Breathe, Larka. That’s it.” Cassiel coos softly. But the sound of his voice just sends me into another rage.

“I hate you!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I can’t hold his hand without shattering every single little bone, at this point though, it wouldn’t even compare to what I was going through, not even by a god damned fraction. I grip into the fabric of the bed, thinking up wild punishments and the joy of this all being over. I glare evilly at his stupid smiling face. “I’m going to kill y- Ughh…” I breathe out heavily.

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“Push, baby, push, we’re so close.” He chants, remembering every single stupid phrase and word from the baby books that he had read. I groan again, this time louder, it felt like this kid was ripping through me, and tearing me apart. “Keep going, Lark, push-“

“Shut up!” I screech, in a low warning growl, but the threat barely even registers. He’s to caught up in the experience, that he doesn’t get to feel, but I could make him feel it. I could let him know how much fun I’m having. Before I can continue the thought, another scream tears through me. “This is all your fault-” I growl through gritted teeth. “I hate you-” Breathe... “For knocking-“ Breathe. “Me up…” Breathe… “We’re- Are- Never- Ever- Having- Sex- Again!” I pant, sweat dripping off of my brow.

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“Almost there, one last push.” A nurse says encouragingly, apparently deaf to my idle threats, and promises. As deaf as Cas is who just keeps smiling and chanting like an idiot. This is it, I think, my brain foggy with exhaustion and pain. I scream, loudly, cursing Cassiel one last time. And then the room is a flurry of movement. For a long, agonising moment, all there is is silence.

And then a baby cries.

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My baby cries…

Guys I’m so sorry that I went AWOL :/
Between moving houses, having no internet, and getting caught up in life, I’ve been gone for a lot longer than I intended to. The good news is that I am back, and pretty excited to finally continue the legacy (and of course get caught up with all of yours). 

*

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I’m lost, drifting between worlds I don’t understand…

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Dreaming in memories, twisted with age, and insanity…

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Where am I..?

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Who am I..?

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I’m so thirsty…

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Who..?

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Rosalyn…

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Don’t cry…

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Rosa….

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Rosalyn…

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Elvira, my baby… My baby…

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I couldn’t save you from her…

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You became a monster…

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DON’T

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STOP

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Please…

No.. Give her back.

No…

*

5.31

Slowly, my eyes begin to peal open. Sunlight shatters through the darkness of my mind, burning through the fog, and unhappy memories. My heart beats steady, and still, inside of my chest, reminding me that I’m alive, and to keep fighting. Great trees tower over me, a thousand shades of green leaves litter the sky, and block out the sun that I know that I can feel. Somewhere, a creak bubbles soothingly, and the wind carries the sweet scent of summer on it’s tendrils.

“What do you want with me?” I croak harshly as my eyes fall onto the dark silhouette of a man. Even though I know that I’m dreaming, my throat feels raw, and cracked. His blue, black eyes, as deep as the core of the earth burn into my skull, and I can’t tell the emotion on his old, yet strangely young face. “I did what you asked, I stopped him. Now let me go. Let me wake up.” I plead, the yearning I felt for home was dizzying, and new to me.

“I’m sorry, Larka.” He says softly, his voice thoughtful, and eyes seemingly bleak. My stomach tightens in response, a wave of dizziness attacks my brains, as I tighten my grip onto the soft fabric I lay on. My heart beats just one word. Cassiel.… His name is caught in my throat, and sensing my panic, the man speaks. “The cure is safe. For now.” He paces back and forth, his feet crunching in the thick underbrush beneath us. “I shouldn’t have left such a task for one so young, I wasn’t thinking. Arkin is…”

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“Mad? Strong? Invincible-“

“No, well yes, but no. He’s not your problem.” His image flickers, as does the image of the forest he had created for us. He pauses in his stride, and sighs deeply. “We are old, Larka, very, very old. And we have been cursed for a very  long time. Those of us who were forsaken by our creators, we deserved it, but Arkin was merely collateral damage, he was just a baby, a whelp. This curse was never his fault. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“So you think he’s your problem, then?” I ask, studying him closely. All at once, he did seem old, talking of curses, and being forsaken, things that could have seemed impossible to anyone else. Azazel had mentioned it of course, yet he merely danced around the details with vague feather light footsteps. “So he’s your problem, and yet you told me it was my job? You’ve sacrificed thousands, no, hundreds of thousands of lives, you’ve let this war go on, let me sacrifice everything it’s meant to be human, and for what? For a suicide mission that you knew I’d wake up from? Why? Why me?”

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“You’ve a right to this anger, I… I’ve let my own pride, my own… Emotions cloud my judgement.” He sighs, dipping his head down low, with whispers in a foreign language under his breath. I tremble in anger, feeling it coil around my throat to the point I can barely breath. It’s in my stomach, on my skin. And then he looks at me, and I see something barely human scratching at the surface. Something dancing over what is meant to be human, but couldn’t quite touch it. “You must understand though, I take no pride, no joy in what it means to end his existence, if I can even raise my blade against him. Out of all of us, he is the only one to have, even for a short reprieve, found salvation for his curse. A fact that I’m sure, does not even escape your attention, and as you can quite clearly tell, I have fine tuned my own, but to what extent. I also don’t think I can. Beyond affection, and admiration, and pure curiosity. I’m not sure they’ll let me.”

They’ll?” I ask with a croak, barely hanging onto the details he was mindlessly spilling. Within the solace of the picture perfect woods, I was with a being that was beyond human, in the way that reminded me of looking through a frosted glass window, at a silhouette that only resembled a man. And I was stuck in a god damned fairy tale.

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“The forsakers, Larka, gods, witches, devils…” As he steps towards me, the forest flickers with him. I’m almost sure he grimaces with the effort of holding the image in place. “Regardless, if I interfere, I do not know what will happen to me. It is not my fight to involve myself in, for I have remained at the fringes of humanity for over a thousand years. The others, Asmodeus, Morrigan, they fight each other over greed, and envy, but I’ve seen the future, I’ve tasted that loss, and smoke, and I can’t let that happen. If I fight, if I intervene, more than I have: If I forsake the future that they’ve chosen… More than that, if they decide I’m a threat before I can strike, then… Well… I’m sure you can understand the predicament.”

“So what then?” I ask quietly. Trying to decode the details he had told was difficult, he spoke as though he was speaking to someone who already understood the finer details of his existence. Instead of dumbing it down for my simple, ignorant ears. Perhaps he just didn’t have the time to explain to me what he was so afraid of, what he feared would come for him. “You want to fight him, right? You want to end this?” He cocks his head to the side with a gleam burning in his eyes. “But you can’t. Because of them, because they’ll… Sense? You. Trying to defy them. And they’ll stop you.”

“You’re a fast learner.” He states in a quiet breath.

“But who?” I whisper, my voice sounding weak to my own ears. I felt like I was standing on a broken precipice, and was about to fall the long way to the bottom.

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His shadow flickers, til he’s nose to nose with me. His eyes a seemingly never ending labyrinth burn with determination, and uncertainty. “You know who, Larka. You’ve known who for a long time. The immortals are not the only forsaken who walk this earth.” He breath is warm against my skin, almost dizzying as I see images flash before my eyes. “And you, Larka, are not alone.” The words send a shiver down my spine, til I feel goosebumps form on my legs, and arms. His lips press against my ear. “Yours is not the only family that they’ve taken an interest in.”

Slowly his face pries away from my artic white hair, and he watches me turn frozen still. We’re running out of time and I know it. There’s too much I need to know, and too little he can soothe me with. The forest flickers, the shadows turning menacing and cold. The warmth of the sun he had designed and placed in the sky was diminishing by the second, as did the smooth lines upon his face,

“I can’t keep bringing you here, or they’ll figure out what I have planned.” His voice is strained as he speaks. “What you did, to arkin, by summoning his own worst and best enemy, has unsettled the future. I can’t follow what his plans are, they flicker much to quickly to follow. But, I know he will be back. For you. Regardless of anything else. You can give him the one thing he has spent a thousand years mourning. Already you are his most prized possession, and whatever fate he decides, he will not lose you.”

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“So what am I supposed to do? If he…” My voice cracks. By saving Cassiel, and my grandfather, I had scorned myself, painted a giant target right over my own head. I’d brought them time, but it was my own existence that would lead him back to them. More than that, I couldn’t face him again. I couldn’t turn my blade against the being that I had spent what seemed like eternity in their consciousness, their memories. “You can’t expect me to-“

And then there’s burning hot pain in my palm, like a hot iron has been imbued into my flesh. I shriek for a second, until I see a flash of silver searing through my skin. Painting Symbols my mind can’t grasp in Crimson blood, and torn flesh. Then without uttering a single word, the wound shimmers with some dark magic, binding together, and fusing with a spell. The stranger withdraws his dagger, his face grim and dark and bleak.

“When he does return, and only then, break the seal and I will come to you.” He states quietly, gritting his teeth as he does so. Slowly I move my hand in the dying light, looking for any sign of the scars in my flesh. The only thing that existed had laid there before, my life on the battlefield written in specks of silver, and crescent puncture marks. “Larka…” His breath is ragged, and I can see the sweat on his brow. “I don’t know what they want with you, or why they’ve gone to such lengths to keep you and your family, or the others. Things are changing, something is happening.” My heart flutters in my chest, I can feel myself slipping from this world. Falling away. His words should terrify me, but instead his voice is hypnotic, sending me further and further into the darkness. “It makes me nervous… I don’t like it… What you’ve done, it’s changed things…. They won’t like it… Be careful.”

*

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When I finally awake to my own world, I can feel the heat of betrayal in my skin, and in my veins. A firm lump had lodged itself into my throat, making it hard to breathe, hard to bite back the tears. I knew that it was wrong, beyond any belief of a doubt, I knew that it was sick, but the weight of Arkin’s life had sunk deep down into my heart and frozen it with aching, bitter loss. The burden of his life was a colossal weight on my shoulders, that only I could ever understand.

My skin is cold and damp with sweat, and as I look around the small hospital room, I notice that for once, my mother is not here. The realization sinks into my brain like a harsh slap across the face with reality. She’d always been here, regardless of how cruel I was, or how dismissive, if I didn’t acknowledge her, or only regarded her harshly, it didn’t matter, she was always there. I didn’t think, I never thought, that even in the haze of loss she’d found herself in that she would give up on me. God knows I deserved it, at times even wished, but now, I only felt the weight on my decisions.

The rawness in my stomach makes me feel ill, and numb. Just incredibly numb. I’d thrown myself at the monster that had killed my father, and had survived, how was that fair? No wonder she couldn’t be here. I grip my hands together tightly, as though it was the only thing tethering me in the room. And I think to myself, so desperately that it hurts, I ask myself, how can you destroy a monster without becoming one yourself?

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That would mean denying him, denying Arkin, the Arkin that had been a slave his entire life, that had been tortured and broken. Irrevocably. Shattered into so many tiny pieces, and put back together so many times, that he wasn’t even himself anymore, wouldn’t even recognize it. Before he’d had a chance to grow, to decide for himself the path he would take, it was stripped from him and taken away. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Arkin that existed now was nothing more than an instrument of fate, a slave to his thirst, and a slave to his mother’s will.

And no one had ever once mourned the Arkin that could have existed.

Had anyone ever mourned the me that I could have been without the dark presence inside of my heart, on my skin, from the other side?

I feel eyes on me, as I brood, and grieve the possibility of futures, and pasts that could have been. Worlds and possibilities that could have existed without this war, without this curse on humanity. And when I finally meet the gaze at my door, a part of me trembles. Cassiel’s eyes are dark, and lined with deep shadows that dug beneath the surface. His jaw tensed, and the skin pulled tight against his face in anger, and sorrow, and sleepless nights.

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“Larka…” His voice comes out as a low growl as he steps into the room. Despite the stress, and exhaustion, he was still the Cassiel I remembered, a golden sun, only now marred by a dark eclipse in his eyes. He was alive. But seeing the anger clearly written across his face, I had to wonder why. And when was the last time I’d seen him? It didn’t matter when I did it all to save his life. “I told your mother to go home, that you’d wake up when you were good and ready. Just like with everything that you do. On your terms.”

I want to find the strength to be angry with him; To yell at him, to demand to know why he’d send her away, to understand why he could possibly be mad at me for saving his life. I shoot him a devastating glare that falls short as he takes another step forward. A silver crescent shaped scar shimmers across his neck in the glare of the light. I flinch, imagining Arkin tearing at his throat, and find my breath trapped in my throat at the image of him flailing, trying to escape. I try to speak, I open my mouth and my eyes flare as only a strangled sound passes my lips.

“Your irresponsible.” He says finally, his eyes burning into mine. “How dare you even think that my life is worth more than yours, than our baby?” Cassiel growls taking a seat on the edge of the bed, and I react, finally finding an ounce of strength in my distant body. I swing my hand at him, trying to push him away, all I can think about is the image of Arkin on top of him, his fangs ripping, and tearing at his throat, and it’s too much. Cas easily catches my frantic hands, and he holds them in place. “Do you even want me, Larka?” The sun in his eyes shatters into blackness, the pupil swallowing it whole. The toll of my absence, and of choosing to fight for him in the shadows, but never with him was written as clear as day. “If it gives you the tiniest shred of happiness then I’ll do it. I’ll leave. If it’s what you want…”

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“Cas…” I breathe out, not completely sure that I’ve even made a sound. I tremble in his hands, biting into my lip desperately to stop the tears from falling. I was coming undone. My father. Arkin. My mother. Him. I had been fighting for so long that I didn’t know how to stop. “What was I supposed to do, when you were going to die?” I croak out in a strangled voice.  “You know, you’ve never once asked what I see when I go away… No one has.” Of course I was glad that I never had to explain, but if he had seen the things I had, he’d understand, if he felt the god awful memories I’d lived through. “And what I see is horrible. Cas. I only seen the people that I… My only power is seeing people die.”

He pulls my hands to his face, and kisses my fingertips softly. And even though his eyes held the same bleak hollowness as before, it was like him being able to touch me, and to hold me was the most important job in the world at the time. And maybe, perhaps, being here with me was the only thing he would ever need.

We sit in silence for the longest while. His hands stroking my hair, running trails down my stomach, caressing my cheeks. He didn’t need words to bring my body back to life, or to thaw out my bones, only the look in his eyes, and the warmth of his skin. I wondered what he was thinking about, maybe about what I had seen in the week I’d been in the coma, if anything at all. Did he pity me? Did he still wonder if I wanted him to leave, if that would somehow make me any happier? Because it wouldn’t.

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Before him I’d only found joy in senseless violence, and the haze of alcohol. Perhaps I still did. But I was a wreck before him. I didn’t want to see the world around me, or take notice of it, I only wanted to hide behind the drugs, and sex, and insecurities. And now, I thought if I closed my eyes any longer I’d miss it, the world, and something to find hope in. Maybe the sun glinting on his hair, and the way it reflected in his eyes. And soldiers died, following orders without hesitation because that’s what we did, but now, I’d sooner die finding something worthy of dying for, a someone.

And as I watched him, and the sickening scar on his throat, I knew I was learning what it meant to need someone. Even if my entire being was fighting against it. I needed it, and I needed him. Especially here, right now, when I was sinking into oblivion and needed someone to pull me back out.

Tell me something beautiful….” I ask quietly. Cassiel’s eyes soften over mine, and then he responds with my name, and nothing else. Like it was an undisputed fact that everyone knew and understood. I frown. “I’m a demon Cas, even you’ve said so yourself.” I argue defensively. That, right there, was the only undisputed fact that I knew at the moment. “And there’s nothing beautiful about that.”

“Even Lucifer was an angel once. And he was the most beautiful of them all.” He states thoughtfully, running a hand down my arm to my hand. I pull away quickly, and don an arrogant tone, pulling the mask back on that hid this side of me, weak, and sappy, and entirely dependent on him.

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 “Guess you missed the part where he fell, and was banished-“

Cassiel captures my chin, and lifts it up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His breath is warm on my face, only inches from his own. “Then I guess the only difference between the two of you is that you’re going to win your holy war.”