tragedy, tragedy [G.I X READER]

第一章

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓.
don't be too coy now.

ACT ONE, ACTION.

Have the gods cursed you? You were given another chance in life, yet that isn't what you wanted. Death came to you at such a young age (your life felt like a long, treacherous one even so), but you felt blessed, for the first time. Life in the Port mafia came with tragedies and betrayals, and all you wanted was an escape. All those memories, fresh in your mind, kept repeating themselves in the most vulnerable moments. You were alone, alone-- that word felt fresh on your tongue, foreign, even. How could you be alone when you were prominent to those against your organization? You were popular among them, being their target and a source of power. Surely, they would have laughed at your death, it would only be fair to consider it a victory, after all. Did the gods loathe you that much to give you a curse of immortality, one with all your past memories and abilities intact? Did the gods loathe you so? They have. In the beginning, all they wanted was human approval, yet you spoke words interlaced with spite and resentment.

You were alone. A wandering outlander; one who is reminiscent of the past. Many people have looked at you but not in the eyes, terrified at what you had to hide. You were silent, intimidating by nature. They were afraid of you, however, they couldn't keep their mouths shut. Whispers and mentions of your name were heard throughout the most prominent nations, some even reached the ears of the divine, yet they paid no attention to such trivial matters, especially coming from mortals. Who would want to listen to such musings when they have earned the power to control this world, if you were a threat, you would be eradicated in an instant, no? You were but a mere mortal. Oh, how they wished they knew better. A wandering outlander-- dead in their own world and an outcast in the current one, should be deemed as a threat. Your power and your ability surpassed that of gods, and even though it was a curse, it was a blessing to those who utilized it well.

You were only noticed due to your somehow sinister and unnerving aura, being quickly feared by many. The cycle begins again, however, minus the tragic backstories. You were-- free. You haven't felt free in a very, very long time. Death was an escape, a ticket to freedom, but at what cost? Freedom was obtained using sacrifices. Why would you have to live another life with freedom only to be stripped away from it once again? The gods have made decisions for mortals whose desires are not theirs to have, and if some were cursed, why should some be praised? Those sculpted by the gods gained approval and prowess of any kind, yet you-- you were cursed. You were designed intricately, beautifully by the king of gods himself, only to send you to a realm where none of them existed? Was this a cruel joke to you? Or was it retribution due to your unjust acts?

You didn't care, though. You just want to go home. Do you even have a home? Somewhere to stay, to pour all your memories in? You don't, do you? You're dead. You don't belong there anymore. You belong here, that is the punishment given to you. How ironic, a wandering immortal whose title does not fit themself has no one to turn to. No immortals do, anyway. As the gods have longed for human approval yet were prevented from speaking to such beings, immortals long for peace, tranquility while knowing even a second of that wouldn't be enough for a long, long life filled with dread.

The phrase "I want to go home," lands on your tongue quite often, yet you know, even though you hate to admit it, you do not have any. This world-- whatever this was, is not your home, nor will it ever be. Yet, why did you feel a sense of familiarity during your first meeting with the supposed "Outlander turned Honorary Knight of Mondstadt"? During the decades you have walked this earth, you have not seen an impact from a fellow outlander such as them. In different circumstances, where you actually cared for their crises, would you be in their place? It should be quite obvious. You were from the Port Mafia. Their executives were arrogant, powerful, and terrifying. Narcissistic, would be used to describe them as a whole. They weren't entirely wrong, per se, however, deep in that never-ending, dark, hollow abyss of one, a blooming garden of emotions would be revealed. Under the seemingly unattractive shell you present yourself as, in the rarest of moments, you would be vulnerable.

You resort to repeating the actions you have done in the past. Gaining a negative reputation was what made you climb to the ranks of the Port Mafia, and even if there was no Port Mafia, no comrades insight, you would try to better yourself for the sake of the freedom you were generously given with your punishment. An immortal who is alone will never be remembered. Perhaps this journey would help you reminisce about the past in a positive manner rather than what you long for, no? You won't replace them, no, never, you know it's time to move on. And if the gods commend you for that, then, you will receive judgment. You were intelligent, a huge contribution to the Port Mafia as one of their most excellent members-- both in strategy and in combat. Decades of isolation have led you to be a one-person army, if you were as strong as a god then, you were as strong as the gods aspire to be.

A bird, specifically a Bohemian Waxwing, has landed on your shoulder. It was quiet, and it seemed like they did it willingly. Its most prominent feature was a highlighted orange streak across its head, reminding you of a very, very close, old friend. Its eyes held a familiar glimmer, as well. Thinking that your assumptions were far from reality, you decide to let it go, yet it remains persistent. Then, you decide to keep it, bringing him on your escapades. (you named him Nakahara, because of how much it reminded you of him. You were utterly speechless when you sensed content from its small figure.) needless to say, maybe your new biography wouldn't be so boring.

word count. 1100 / the overcoat; act one / tragedy, tragedy

author's notes.
hi

ACT ONE, END.

汚染された悲しみのために
action.