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She wonders sometimes if she would ever return to the world where she once belonged.
Her father's parting words to her had infuriated her originally but looking back, it seemed as if he was attempting to convey a message to her. A message she's yet to understand.

Bo wonders on wistful evenings such as this if he thinks about her at all, wonders if he looks in to check on her even if she cannot feel his gaze, can no longer recall what it was like to look him in the eyes.

Did he even care?

She likes to think that he does, that his heart weeps with regret when he thinks about her on Earth, surrounded by people who were not worthy to be by her side. There are moments where she allows herself to dream. She spent the first few weeks on Earth doing nothing but dreaming.

In her dreams, he would rush down to Earth to carry her back to Olympus, apologising to her all the while as he begged her forgiveness for his moment of insanity. She would forgive him of course, but only after requesting exuberant gifts as payment for the horrors he had subjected her to. But the problem with dreams is that reality often collides, shattering the flimsy world she had created in her mind.

He never came.
Not once in the six years she had been on Earth.
It had taken her months for her to realise that he had truly abandoned her. She had been angry then and she desired the flames of anger now to engulf the bitter sadness that threatened to overcome her.

Was this it? Had he truly left her to her own devices, to suffer amidst mortals while she alone shouldered their burdens?

She wants to hope, to believe that he would never do such a thing to her and that it was only matter of time before he would come for her.

She wants to hope but even she knows it's futile.

Her deception was necessary.
The Empire was not ready for a female leader and it would be years before the traditionalists would accept such an outrageous notion. The throne had been given to her out of necessity and to placate the people, she had ridded herself of her femininity.

She would be the man they needed her to be.
If she looked and sounded the part then maybe, they would finally accept that she could play it too. And in the years to come, they would forget that she was ever anything but a man. Their faith in her would solidify.

But for now, their need was more important than hers. She was but one person but they... they represented a legacy. An empire was nothing without its people and she could not afford to lose them now.

She would be what they needed her to be.
That was her father's final gift and burden to her.

The first time it happened, Cimyta dismissed it as a simple case of nightmares, no doubt induced by his lack of sleep. The images had been vivid but no more so than the usual and if the unsettling feelings had lingered throughout the day, then that too was normal.

Or so he had told himself.

But when it happened again for a second and a third time, logic prompted him to uncover the mystery. It couldn't simply be a coincidence, there was something deeper, and he feared more sinister, behind it all. The dreams had all differed but the sickening pattern had been the same.

It didn't matter that the women were different, or that their scars and reactions were not the same. He could not deny the underlying feeling of familiarity he felt as he watched the scenes unfold and it terrified him.

It was almost as if he had been there, in that dim steel covered room, as if those words had been uttered by his own lips before.

But he couldn't have and it couldn't be.
He had never seen that room before in any place other than his dreams. He didn't know those women and he certainly wouldn't have done such a horrifying thing to them.

It's not me. It's not me. It's not me. It's not me.

He repeated the thought like a mantra in his mind, praying that it would keep the dreams away, hoping against all odds that the images would stop and he would be left in peace again.

Cimyta wanted nothing more than to continue to live in ignorance once more.

So often, he had thought of ripping out his eyes until there was nothing left, nothing left to force him to acknowledge the darkness of the world. It was a stupid desire and he knew it but in times like this, where the world was painted red and no other colour seemed to exist, only insanity prevented him from doing so. From rendering himself blind just as they had rendered his heart deaf.

The world was more red than black and it killed him to discover it so.
He wished for an end as much as he desired a beginning.

Sleep came in fitful bouts, tearing itself away from him without remorse. Not for the first time that night, 3Z found himself awake and in pain, fighting a losing battle against the tickle in his throat that threatened to make itself known.

It was getting worse and he knew it. Had to be an idiot not to.
The relatively mild cough had transformed into a full-fledged, chest hacking cough that had gained him more than a few worried looks from his companions. They were slowing themselves down for him and it frustrated him to know that he was becoming a burden. He never mentioned it but 3Z knew that CPR was turning down vital missions because of him.

It had to stop.
He couldn't continue to let them down.

With feverous need, 3Z stumbled out of bed, all but dashing into the bathroom. He waited, precious seconds that had him straining to keep himself silent, before flushing the toilet and smothering himself in the towel that muffled the terrible sound of his coughs.

The relief was fleeting and he knew it would only be a matter of time before the pressure built up again. He had managed to hide it for the past few weeks, smiling and pretending that he was getting better, that it no longer bothered him. But he could only hide it for so long. It was only a matter of time before they figured it out.

He would do what he had to and then leave.
3Z would rather die than slow them down in such a critical situation.

But he had time. A few weeks, months if he was lucky. Plenty of time for him to immerse himself in them and create some final memories.

He made his way back, feet following the same path he had so often taken that it was imprinted in his mind. In the complete darkness, he allowed himself to relax and think about nothing else but the steps that would take him back to the room that would be filled with a mixture of sounds – N's deep steady breathing, Spike's quiet snore, Qol's endless shifting as he battled inner demons in his dreams.

Their harmony was something he had become used to hearing, a comforting lullaby that he would listen to during those nights where sleep was but a fanciful dream. But something was missing tonight. Something was amiss and it didn't take him long to realize just who it was that was lying awake, awoken by his movements.

Swearing at himself internally, he continued, hoping that she wouldn't notice his slight pause.

Luck was never on his side though and this was no different.
He had barely settled back in when he heard her quiet whisper.
  "Are you alright?"  

He froze. She heard. Even with everything he had done, she knew. He was grateful for the dark for she would know straightaway had she been able to see him.

  "Of course! I just needed the bathroom is all. I didn't mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep N."  
Silence hung in the air as he waited anxiously for her response. He wondered if his lies sounded as false to her ears as they did his. The truth was not an option but she had always been able to see through his lies.

  "Alright. Night"  

He waited tensely in the dark until the soothing rhythm of her breathing filled the air once more. And only then did he allow himself to sigh in relief.

He would never see the silver liquid that slid down her face, would never know that she had been awake the entire time, just as she had been awake during those other times.

Just as he wouldn't let her worry, she would never let him see her fears.

They led a life as full of danger as deceit.

Arrow, they named her so for she was as swift as the deadly weapon and just as dangerous. Upon her back she had carried many into victory and many more to their demise. They had emerged from the Hundred Year War as victors but sometimes, in times like these, she wondered if they had truly won. So much had been sacrificed, so many lives lost and many more broken.

Was it worth it?
Things would never return to the way they once were. It was too late for that.

Faerieland may be greener than it ever was but a different atmosphere hanged in the air now. It was almost as if the land remembered. As if the grass bowed in remembrance of the blood red burden they had once bore and the winds howled just a little more silently for it.

The restoration of the land had been just as difficult as the battle itself. She had stayed until she could bear it no longer. To see the damage that had been caused, to note all that they had lost and see the pain of those left behind… it was too much.

She couldn't endure it.

Ashamed, she had run into the gardens of her past, scampering away from the grief and memories that lingered in the heavy air. It was too much, too soon. She wasn't ready. Would never be ready to face the future.

And there Arrow had stayed until she came. With deceivingly gentle hands, she had led the trembling steed back to the worst of the damage and showed her the world as she saw it.

 "Look at the determination on their face. They grief but even so, they won't give up. They won't stop here because they can't. Too many lives have been sacrificed for this moment, to stop would be an insult to those we've lost. So we'll rebuild and we'll make Faerieland the glorious land it once was. So that one day, when the children of those who died see this land, they will remember it for its splendour rather than the darkness of yesterday."  

Her wise words shattered Arrow's hardened shields and for the first time in a very long time, the uni allowed herself to simply live and feel.

Her words rang true.
She had no right to sit and cry when they had given her a gift and allowed them all to survive. They had all fought so hard just to see the light of another day. How could she have tried to throw that all away?

Without shame, the tears ran down her muzzle, a symbol of renewal rather than sorrow.

  "We have always been strong and we will continue to be strong. The war may have damaged us but we have not been broken. Remember that."  

And with that, she was gone, leaving the uni to her thoughts.

Two broken ribs, likely more cracked, a black eye, three broken fingers, a split lip, twenty four scars that Demi could see and that was on his hands alone, swelling on the forehead, multiple bruises along the upper arm…
The mental inventory goes on like this as Demi painstakingly categorizes every injury on his friend's body until he could bear it no more. And even then he forces himself to look, to take in everything Leo was and had been. He forces himself to look because it hurts and the pain made the emotions churning within him all the more bearable to hold.

He looks because he has to.
Because someone has to take responsibility, because someone has to witness this, because… just because darn it!

If he turned away from his friend now, how could he ever look into another person's eyes?

So he continues to stand there and stare, wishing that rain would fall to disguise the liquid trail forming on his face. Hoping that something, anything would fix the choking lump in his throat that made each breath an agony and every moment alive a living hell.

There's a word lodged beneath it all, one he aches to say but can't because he isn't strong enough and the weight is too much for any to withstand. He fears that it would shatter him because he's just one step away from breaking and he can't take it anymore.

Three letters, two syllables but it would remain unspoken now.

Because he can't. Because someone has to continue.
Because he's him and that's all he can ever be.

She was the sound of the wind floating through the forest trees, the quiet whispers, moans and sighs that filled the air as it was meant to be. The forest was hers and she was its and one day, they would realise that.

They sought to find her as separate entities – the good and the bad, the kind and the evil and in thinking so, doomed themselves to forever fail. She was a complexity they had not dreamt of, a darkness they were too blind to see. She was a mystery and she liked that.

She liked it very much indeed.

There was half an hour before his next patient was scheduled to arrive. Thirty minutes of wasted time in his mind. But there was no helping it now. His newest secretary thought it would be a good idea for him to have a break between patients. As if he needed such a thing!

Law may be old but he certainly wasn't incapable. He would take a break if and when he needed one. Not because some youngen thought him fragile and ready to croak at any moment.

It seemed someone needed a talking to…

She was dying.
She could feel her life flickering out, fading with every breath she took. Death would be upon her soon but strangely enough, she had no regrets. No remorse washed over her in these final moments, she felt only blissful acceptance for what was sure to come.

She had led a wonderful life filled with more happiness than misery, more laughter than tears and for her, it was enough. Her list of accomplishments had not been fulfilled and she distinctly recalled the many more things she had wanted to complete.

But fate had not allowed her to and perhaps, that was for the best. The old always know that they would never have enough time after all. Her life had been better than most and that was all she had ever wanted.

And as life abandoned her in the hands of Death, her eyes faded, monochrome blue that no longer echoed the vibrancy of the summer sky. She could never be sure but for an instant, she could have sworn that she had seen a steed standing by her side, vivid red eyes transfixed upon her...

But before she could confirm the existence of the bandaged horse, strength escaped her and her head fell silently down.

Rain fell with a silent grace, mimicking the liquid that flowed from his eyes. What he had done years ago was petty, the foolish act of a boy proving himself. And for what purpose? The boastful challenger was a mere mortal. He had not the years to compete with Axeyl's wisdom.

With his whimsical choice the rain spirit had condemned the people of Earth to drought and hardships. Many had died, he would not deny it now. But still, he was glad he was able to rectify the damage.

Taking in the stunned expressions of the villagers around him, Axeyl's lips curved in a smile that reached his eyes as it hadn't in years.

Perhaps things won't be so bad after all.

He didn't believe in the unbreakable. Everything shattered at some point. Vindex was not a mathematician of any sorts but he considered the amount of time it took to first crack and then destroy the soul to be near the equivalent of that person's strength of will. That was how he gauged his victims.

Even as he applied the tools of his trade, he watched and waited for the signs – the small quiver of their lips, the slightest hitch in their breath, the quiet muttering as if anyone but him could hear them now. And always, it would be followed by the deadening of their eyes as they offered their soul to stifle the pain.

It was almost pitiable how predictable they were.

Always, they had looked down on him, seeing him as no more than the weakest link. The number 731 had dictated his entire life and it seemed that nothing would ever change that. Sometimes, Merc wondered if there was a point to it all. Being a comet has brought nothing but misery into his life but he had accepted that. It was part of the job, part of his life.

But still, when the darkness settles in, devouring his soul and leaving him with only bleak emptiness, Merc finds himself thinking more than he should. Desolation leads in times like these, invading his every thought until there is nothing left. The light blinds him and he knows he does not belong but the shadows, they swallowed him. With their greedy hands, they grab and cling, making each second a struggle as he battles to escape and breathe.

Breathe.
One breath then the next, a desperate gasp for the air his body needs; the body's automatic response. He didn't have to think, didn't have to do. All he needed was to live.

Then why does he feel like he's suffocating?
Why was every breath so difficult to take? Always, the stifling air was closing in, encaging him in misery.

There would be no escape.
There could be no escape.

It was his job and he would do it.
Even if it would be the death of him.

They were the foundations that kept her sane and she loved them. Her family mattered to her but times like this, she couldn't help but resent their existence. They were the ground that kept her tethered but also the chain that weighed her down.

Sometimes, Crystal wanted nothing more than to flee and take to the sky, restlessness escalating to the point where she felt caged in. Her home and everything she had worked so hard for seemed incredibly insignificant then, no more than a mere burden that tore at her wings.

Crystal was born to fly. She was born to be free. It may have taken her time to realize it but the wings were always meant to be hers. She would never have been satisfied as a mere land dweller, she realized that now.

She needed to go and so she would.
But no matter where she went, her heart would always be with them.

His was a role that had to be played.
Information was a priceless commodity. They could not afford to have it hidden beneath sealed lips. People could always be persuaded to talk, that was something Vindex had learnt a long time before he picked up his trade. Interrogation was simply a matter of finding the right buttons to push because deep down, everyone wanted to share their secrets. It was human nature to tell after all. All they required was a little incentive for them to part their lips and allow the trickle of information to flow.

It was a good thing he had always been intuitive when it came to discovering one's strengths and weaknesses.

Vindex was no more sadistic than the average person. Interrogation was not a simple matter of beating the information out of someone. They were wrong about that. He took no pleasure in afflicting pain upon others. It was merely part of the job. He would be as merciless as they required him to be or as gentle as the situation demanded.

One way or another, the information must be retrieved.
All that he needed was to do.
He brought the blade down, unflinchingly allowing the ruthless steel to part the soft flesh beneath. And he would repeat the action however long it took to get the prisoner to talk.

Because that was his job and one someone had to do.

Her rejection had come as a surprise. It was simply not something Lythenn was used to. Women threw themselves at him, not the other way round. Scarcely a day went by without someone professing their undying love for the king-to-be. It was a routine he had become used to and one he rather enjoyed.

So it had come as a shock to hear her say no, the one word he was not accustomed to hearing. Disbelief had transformed his usually composed face and that in itself had been shameful. The anger that had overcome him did not help matters either. He would need to control himself far better in the future.

But he had calmed down now and upon reconsideration of the situation at hand, it had perhaps been best that she had rejected him. He was incapable of love after all. He wasn't the type to settle down, it just wasn't right for him. A relationship with Niuthe would no doubt complicate matters between their kingdoms. With her, there could be no casual fling, their position made sure of that.

So yes, perhaps her rejection was a good thing after all…

Or so he told himself anyway.

They knew.
He could see it in their eyes, those hate filled eyes that despised his being even while their lips said differently. They smiled and encouraged him, pretending that everything was as it used to be. But he knew that restraint was the only thing preventing their hands from clenching his throat in anger and saying those words that they all thought but feared to voice. He could almost hear it sometimes, those quiet whispers when he is not around, a simple question that even he could not answer.

Why did it have to be Jay?

Jay was the one they liked, the compassionate twin who listened and had a smile for everyone. Jay was the one who was supposed to live, not him. Dom was but the carbon copy, the one who would forever disappoint because no matter how much they wanted him to, he could not be him.

Dom could not be anyone but Dom.
He could smile and pretend all he wants but they all knew he was lying.
His smile would never reach his eyes the way Jay's did. He could never brighten up a room and give the people a glimmer of hope like his twin.

He wasn't Jay and he could never be.
But he would pretend, even if it kills him.
Because everyone likes Jay best, even him.

I do not want to be me.
Being me means being ugly, being taunted and laughed at all day.
They pull my hair and run away.
They trip me up and say they're sorry.

But I know they're not sorry.
I've heard them laugh about it all day.

I don't like being me.
I don't like that I'm different.
Momma says it's okay to be different.
But they don't seem to think so.

They make songs about me, happy songs by the sounds of it.
But they're not happy and they don't fool me.

I don't like my freckles.
The other kids tease me about them all day.
They call it a disease and run to stay away from me.
Momma says they're an angel's gift.
I wish the angel would just take them away.
Perhaps then things would be better for me.

I hate that I'm so round.
They seem to think it's funny.
They make jokes about me rolling away.
I wonder if I could really roll off the planet this way.

I hate how I make Momma cry.
When I tell her what happened, she gets so angry.
But later, when she thinks I'm asleep, I watch her cry.
I wish she'll understand when I say I'm sorry.

They say Papa left because I was too ugly.
Momma won't say a thing.
She looked like she was going to cry.
I don't mention it anymore but I wonder if Papa truly did think I was ugly.

I don't want to be me.
It hurts too much.
When they say those mean things, it makes me cry.
It feels like something inside is breaking.
It makes me want to die.

I don't want to be me.
I want to be you.
I want to be you with your pretty blonde hair and unfreckled skin.
You never get teased or laughed at.
You never cry yourself to sleep.

I want to be you.
Oh please let me be you.
If I die, could I somehow become you?
Perhaps then Papa will return and maybe, Momma won't cry anymore.

Oh please, won't you let me be you?

Darkness danced to a tune unseen, lurking, always lurking. In the midst of its deepest shadows, death lies awaiting. Crouched down beside it, a man waits, grinning slightly when he hears footsteps approaching.

Daggerfall, the voices whisper, their wails unrelenting.
Shut up! He yearns to scream but patience has him stilling.
His target was near, so close he could see the faint mist formed by the contrast of their warm breath on the bitter cold wind. The quiet sound of hands chafing against each other in a pitiful attempt to keep the cold at bay grew louder with each passing second. Any moment now his target would come round the corner and then the show would begin.

His heart jumped a little at the thought, anticipation rising.
Already he could feel the blood that would soon decorate the streets with its crimson splatter singing for him.
Soon he whispered quietly, a sinister promise in return for patience.

Soon everything will be fulfilled.

83. Heal
They pulled at her subconscious mind, unravelling pieces of her that she had not the strength to hold. Here lay the dead souls of those who had been slain by her hands. Here, in the land of dreams, they dwelled, tearing at her existence, peeling layers and layers off with their undecipherable screams. Undecipherable perhaps die to her mind's determination to protect herself, or itself for self preservation had forsaken her long ago. Yet it was not difficult to know what it is they spent their death conveying.

They hated her, blamed her for their demise. And so they should for truly, she was to blame. If she could not forgive herself, how could they?

She welcomed their accusatory glares, their biting words and haunting eyes. This was what she deserved. It was not atonement for her sins but acceptance. Her soul would forever be stained with their blood. It was only fair that they would torment her for the rest of eternity.

After all, salt heals all wounds but even it can't remove scars.

19. Grey
The world was grey of varying shades. There were no colours, just the desire for them. The people wished for the simplicity of black and white, disguising its inability to exist with their rigid beliefs and so called morality. But even the darkest grey is not black.

She knew that but she can't help but wish for another way. Such is the foolishness of human nature, to covet that it can never have.

She could not save him from himself and perhaps, no one ever would. But it was not salvation that he required for that was something he had to obtain alone. What he needed was something no one could give. Salt heals wounds but even it could not remove scars.

Nonetheless, she would not give up. She gave him all that she had without constraint but even that was insufficient against his endless pit of misery. Time and time again, she tried and time and time again, she failed. Success was not for her to have but still, she could not stop.

One day, she would.

The brief but powerful life of the mayflies

Born and died they did in but the mere span of a day. But they paid no heed to that which was inevitable, choosing instead to throw themselves wholeheartedly into that within their control. They lived each moment with no regard for the next, understanding that what they had was a gift, no matter how brief.

Because the kiss of life, no matter how short, is all that matters and every moment is what you make of it. So they lived life to its fullest, living always in the everlasting now with no fear and no regrets. They let nothing stop them from living and enjoying and in that, they live a life much longer than ours.

Come tomorrow their fragile bodies will lie dead and forgotten on the ground. But for now, they're alive and that's all that matters.

Let us live in the everlasting now.

Heat, blistering heat, waves upon waves engulfing him whole. It was too much, too much for one like him to hold. No human could possibly withstand this.

He was going to die.
This was where he would end.

He had been travelling for longer than he cared to remember and no warning could've prepared him for the ruthlessness of the desert. Already, his water bag was empty, drained in a moment of weakness when the heat and solitude combined had gotten to him. He regretted it now for the small amount remaining may have kept him going for just another day. Another day and maybe then he would find a small water hole that would last him 'til help arrived.

But there was no use regretting it now.
What's gone is gone. No amount of wishing would bring it back.
The cool liquid would've soothed his parched throat and cracked lips but even then, he was unlikely to live. He knew that. It was pointless to pretend.

His days on earth had been numbered once he had been attacked and his guide killed. The desert was relentless, brutal to even those who knew it well. He had no chance of surviving, not on his own. It was time to face the facts. No one would be coming for him. Doubtlessly they had already given up, believing him dead once his arrival had been delayed.

He sank down now. Unable to continue any longer on his weaken legs.
No point. Going to die.
He had no profound last words, no whispered regrets or significant moments flashing by. For him, there was only weary silence remaining.

Get up. Don't stop.
A quiet whisper in the wind, so faint he barely heard it.
Lifting his head up weakly, he looked around for the source but found only sand and nothing more.

Get up. Don't stop. Water nearby.
There it was again, a sigh so soft he could've imagined it.
He probably did. It wouldn't be the first hallucination the desert would cause.

Get up!
The same cry, more urgent now.
She sounds angry he thought feebly.
Almost surreally, he felt himself rise to his feet and trudge onwards_ unsure of just where he was going or what he was doing. Somehow, he knew he should trust the voice.

A step, then another, each taking him further and further into the unknown.
Come, the voice chanted.
Come, he repeated mindlessly as he staggered towards the source.

He could almost feel her pleasure washing over him with each step he took, her voice encouraging him to go on where he would've otherwise given up and failed. She was naggingly persistence and many a times he had felt like simply lashing out. But something about her had silenced his frustration.

But it was all worth it.
Every gruelling step, every broken groan and staggered movements. It had all been worth it. For there, in front of him lay an oasis he had not thought possible. A sanctuary amidst the callous nature of the wilderness. Flowers bloomed in more shades than he had ever seen and in the middle of it all, lay a vast body of water that sparkled beneath the blazing sun.

Welcome

Life blossomed here.
That much was clear. Never had she seen a place as alive as this island with its plentiful fishes and lush forest. Strangely enough, she did not miss her homeland. The island's beat matches her own heart and somehow, she just knows that this is where she's meant to be.

Memories of a time that was once familiar but had long been forgotten sometimes drifted through her mind, a faint wisp and nothing more. She chased after them as a puppy might a butterfly, forgetting it soon after it disappeared. She didn't long for her life of old as some may, choosing instead to put it all behind.

She was where she belonged now and that was all that mattered.

For years they've acted without regard for the rest of the community, never once caring about the repercussions of their actions. None had dared to challenge them for the scientists had long become a force to be reckoned with. Those who dared to defy them received only agony for their deed.

So the scientists had continued, becoming increasingly arrogant in their unchallenged reign. They dared to dream, constantly aspiring for more, creating bigger and better things. And the people had cheered them on, basking in the benefits of the scientists' glory. For them, life became easier, almost effortless and the people revelled in its simplicity.

But power is a heady drug and it wasn't long before their ambitions escalated.
They believed nothing to be beyond their reach. The entire world was theirs for the taking if only they could reach it. Nothing was out of bounds, nothing was impossible. Everything would soon be accomplished.

They ignored those who doubted their abilities, ignored everyone for they had not the knowledge the scientists possessed.
They had a plan and nothing was going to stop them now.

For months they worked with an almost feverous intensity, neglecting all but their creation. None of it mattered; nothing else would ever matter when they succeed. They were going to accomplish that which none could, achieve that which countless before them had failed.
They would conquer nature.

From the imperfect bodies they would mold a creature of pure perfection. A creature all would fear and yet, revere. He alone would possess all the abilities of others and more. He would be flawless. He would be amazing.

All would bow down at his feet and together, they would chant his unearthly name.
Leox.

In the midst of a clearing long forgotten, a statue stood, body entwined with creeping vines and foliage. The place was far from silent, resonating with life and energy. Here, away from the sounds of the city, everything seemed so surreal, like another world.

The statue was the only sign of a manmade object in the peaceful field but even that seemed to fit the serene surrounding. The details carved were exquisite, hours upon hours of hard work. But for its face it would've been perfect. His beauty was marred only by the absolute fear that twisted his lips and widened his eyes to a frightening level. And yet, despite this, it was breathtaking.

But the statue had a darker past, one known to few around. Had they known, perhaps they would've taken more care before approaching. For the statue was not manmade, had not been painstakingly carved by idle hands.

It was alive.
But for its lack of mobility, the statue lives like any other.
But of course, he wouldn't agree.

This wasn't a life. Not to him.
Life was about living, experiencing, enjoying all that the world had to give. What he had wasn't a life, it was agony.

To stand motionless, able to see, think and feel but not react; he could not think of anything worst. He was a body entrapped in stone, his life sustained only by unearthly magic. Some wished for eternal life but not he. He doesn't want it. Doesn't want anything more than for it to end.

So much time had passed. So many generations had lived and gone but still, his prison showed no signs of weakening. He could never voice it but he was afraid. His body ached beneath the burden that was not his to carry and he could not help but fear the end. Not that it would come but rather, that it would forever escape him, forever elude his reach.

He feared the possibility of eternity.

They were toys, nothing more than toys.
Or so they said, a million times if not more.
But who decided that? Who said it had to be so?
They could not help the way they had been created, could not control that any more than one could control time and fate. And yet, they lived each day condemned by the choice that had not been theirs to make.

Those around her may be willing to live life as dictated by others but not her, not Etto. Blood may not run through her veins but she was made of tougher stuffing than they believed. She would not sit back and worry about what tomorrow may bring. She would much rather be out there making tomorrow what she wanted it to be.

It was time they did something more than being toys.

Freedom had been theirs for three years now.
It's amazing how quickly time could pass in lurches of minutes, hours, days. Without regret they had ran at the first chance of escape, left behind the meaningless scraps that had once been their life.

And what a pitiful life it had been.
Day in, day out, they had been examined by the same old people with the same old tests. They had been poked and prodded, shocked and thrown on heated coals. Again and again the people had forced them to do the same thing, merciless despite their wounded cries. There they had been kept prisoner for more years than they could remember, trapped so long they had forgotten the days that had once been.

Fleeing was the only escape so flee they did.
They had left the Lab in a flurry of chaos and confusion, leaving pain and bitter memories in their wake. Not all of them had made it. They would regret that always. There hadn't been the time to save the others then. Perhaps one day they would return but for now, there was just the four of them in this strange dysfunctional family.

Circumstances may have made them so but opportunity had given them hope.


Her half for Roguish:
Perhaps it was the stones that were soon thrown at him, or the realisation that he didn't fit in at all, but whatever the reason, Roguish decided that he best find himself some clothes if he wanted to blend in more. The dark clouds above seemed to moving in, too, and he was in for a rough night. Having no experience whatsoever in the human realm was only the first problem. But, as usual, nothing seemed to phase him even in the slightest way, and so he set off down the street casually. Soon enough the streets were abandoned; everyone was inside, huddled around the warmth of their blazing fires, sipping soup quietly. Everyone except for Roguish, of course, for he had stopped outside a small little shop on the corner of the street, and was simply staring in through the foggy -blocked- Nobody could tell that, inside his complicated mind, he was plotting something: something evil.

They would never understand her. To them, she would be nothing more than a wild and undisciplined girl who strove to tame that beyond her. They were land lovers. They preferred the steady ground and took comfort in its stability. They would never understand just what it was about the ocean that intrigued her, could never comprehend the beauty in its danger.

They had never ventured out to a place so far from shore where the sea is peaceful with nothing save the smallest ripples disturbing its peace. They had never ridden a wave, felt its power as it surged towards the shore, merciless to all in its way. They would never understand the adrenaline that pumped through her body as she stands on her board, body crouched, ready for anything nature had to throw at her. They would never experience the sheer triumph that flowed when nature and one became a single individual.

No, instead they would call her names. Tell her she was stupid, insane and reckless for risking her life on something so frivolous. They would berate her with their disapproving stares and sharp tongue, telling her time and time again that it was time she did something meaningful with her life. All because they didn't understand, because they were too afraid to try and allowed the fear to dictate their life.

She wouldn't be like that.
She wouldn't give up all that she enjoyed for the mere sake of propriety.
She wouldn't abide to their old fashioned ways and mannerism.
She wouldn't cower behind fear, choosing boring safety time and time again.

No, she wouldn't.
She was Latansa and she was born to surf.

Draigh clutched desperately at her cloak, cursing at the treacherous winds that threatened to dash her off her feet. Gireld at winter was not a place she enjoyed for it turned the already cold kingdom colder with its bitter winds and never ending rain. She had hoped to escape the harsh winter, had planned on being well on her way back towards sunny Afgaen before the storms began to brew. But circumstances had delayed her departure and whilst King Arcseni's invitation to wait out the storm in the comfort of his home had been tempting, she knew she could not. She was already late in her return to her Queen and could not afford to be delayed any longer. Besides, everyone knew that Gireld's storms came one after the other during the months of winter with each worst than the one before. If Draigh stayed, who knew when she could next escape?

Steeling herself, Draigh trudged onwards, eyes searching for the small cave she had sheltered in on the way here. The sky was beginning to darken and while she knew that it could be no more than five o'clock, the young messenger had no desire to travel at nightfall. As the Queen's messenger, Draigh knew many lands well enough to navigate but in conditions like this, she did not trust her knowledge of the terrain to guide her. The hours of daylight by which she could travel was short and would prevent a swift return but even that was preferable to the death she would likely suffer should she continue.

Keen eyes spotting the barely noticeable shelter, Draigh rushed quickly into its welcoming dryness. The cave was small and no more than 3 feet deep but it was dry and blocked out majority of the swirling wind and beyond that, she could ask of no more.

Sighing gratefully, Draigh spread her drenched cloak out but had no illusion that it would dry come dawn. She yearned to light a fire to chase away the bone chilling cold but feared drawing unwanted attention to her location. Draigh was not stupid. She had not become a Queen's messenger by being foolish and she had no intention of being so now. Afgaen and Gireld may be at peace but that did not mean that her life was safe here.

Should her death be beneficial to Gireld, they would not hesitate to take it. Here, she was out of her Queen's protection and had only herself to guard her. Away from Arcseni's palace, it would be easy for her death to be staged as a case of mere misfortune. Sighing as she ate the meager and unappealing meal she had packed, Draigh resigned herself to yet another night of light sleep.

She could not wait to return to the warmth of Afgaen.

Friends were nothing but a fleeting relationship, a sharing of affection when it benefited someone. Friends were treacherous, people who could not be trusted. Regardless of all the laughter you had shared, they would not hesitate to stab you in the back when your existence ceases to be profitable.

He should know.
After all, had he not been stabbed and starved of all companionship as soon as he had lost the Queen's affection? Had they not turned their backs on him as soon as they could, pretending that they had never known him, never associated with one like him?

No, friends weren't real. They didn't really care. To your existence they never gave more than a passing thought.

All those times he had spent with them, pouring his heart out, sharing everything he had to give and more… it had meant nothing to them. He had been nothing more than a bargaining chip for them, a mere tool they used without regard.

Silver liquid wavered in his eyes but pride refused to let them fall.
He would not weep for them. He would not shed a single tear.
He didn't need them, no not him.
Lord Rinashio did not need any friends.

She was Kouna the Great, the founder of the Legion of Kougra Explorers. Sure, they may be a small group now but soon, kougras all around the world would beg to join their ranks. Especially when they brought back the lost sceptre of Konlos.

Or so she imagined. But as Kouna was starting to realise, not everything turned out the way she wanted. They had set out on their journey almost a week ago and they were still no closer to finding the sceptre. In fact, Kouna had a sinking feeling that they were lost. They've been trekking since dawn and already, the light was dimming. They had but a few hours left before the sun would be swallowed completely by the approaching darkness and they had yet to pass by an appropriate shelter for the night.

Despite her worries, Kouna continued on, unwilling to show her fear. She was their leader after all. It wouldn't do for them to doubt her. Already she could hear them whispering behind her, words murmured too softly for her to hear.

Regardless, the seeds of doubt had been planted and there would be no going back now.

In the distance, the unmistakable sound of thunder could be heard. She had known that a storm was approaching but she didn't expect it to hit so soon. They would have to find shelter soon or risk being stuck in the storm. And with the decreasing temperature, the latter would not be wise.

Either way, something had to be done soon.

She was strong, independent and capable. She didn't need a man to swoop in and save her. No, Glam was not that kind of girl and anyone who thought that of her deserves a fist to their face.

She wasn't the type to shirk at blood and violence or scream in fear at the sight of spiders. Indeed, she was probably the one behind the blood and violence and more likely, it was the spider who shrieked in fear at the sight of her.

Not that she was ugly of course. Glam was, as her name suggests, glamourous. Ayze would attest to that. Not in the polished princess way that one might first think of but rather, in a boot stomping, get-out-of-my-way style that had Ayze sliding sideway glances at her whenever the two was near.

But Glam didn't need a man. Or so she said every time Ayze or another guy approached her. She could fight her own battles, without anyone's help. Even with her dress stained red with blood and her vision blurring from exhaustion. Even when her world was swaying, verging on the edge of collapsing as it was now. She could do it.
She would do it, even if it meant dying.

Because she didn't want a certain white haired guy to come and save her. She didn't want him to kill her target, hold her close and promise that everything would be alright. She didn't want to see that look of utter devotion lined with fear as he strokes her hair and gazed into her eyes.

She didn't want it.
She doesn't need it or him.

Or so she said.
But even she knows she's lying.

Sunlight filtered down, offering peace and solace to the broken. Somewhere out there, people were laughing, crying, existing. But for him there was only comforting silence and the endless regret for words unspoken.

He was dying; had come close enough to it previously to know the difference between death and a near death experience. But strangely enough, he was not afraid. He had lived life dancing to the tune of Death, almost partnering him a few times before narrowly escaping before the music ceased and he, deceased.

He had resigned himself to death early on, accepted that he would meet his eventual end at some point in time. But he always thought that it would be in the midst of battle; defending one's beliefs at the cost of anything and everything. He had envisioned it so many times. A mistake step, a stupid bluff, realization a second too slow, then an icy plunge as life drains in a fountain of red.

He had never predicted it to be like this; in a peaceful field of green, cleansed of blood and empty of all human souls. He had never believed they would achieve the peace they had fought so long and hard for. Not in his lifetime anyway.

And most of all, he had never believed that he would find happiness. Contentment perhaps, but not this mind blowing feeling that made him realize just how empty his life was before him.

He had spent his entire life fighting, alongside friends and, at times, enemies, for a just cause. He had celebrated victories with people that had become family rather than just allies and had mourned the loss of a many great souls beside them. And now, he had found happiness too. In a place where he had least expect it, in a time where such a delicate thing could not possibly have grown.

He had not lived long in this glorious aftermath but he had no doubt that the world he had helped forge would thrive beneath the hands of the future, be he there to see it or not. He had achieved all that he had wanted and more. He had done all that he possibly could and for him, that was enough.

And so, beneath the warmth of the sun he never had the chance to enjoy, Donov slept the eternal sleep with a smile upon his face.

Because hell, a man was entitled to be happy at last.