Brelione//DruigxOC

the explorers

He doesnt know how to handle this, i dont think he realised what he was dragging himself into when he said yes to ajaks request. And i know how he is, that when someone isnt what he expects, he'll get disappointed and leave. I know that, and i know well that im not that happy, ditzy little flower girl that he thought i was. I have parts of me that he hasnt seen, parts of me that im ashamed of, the part that sits outside, eyes locked far into the treeline as charcoal drags along parchment over and over. I dont know what my hand is drawing, i dont know where im looking, only that its blurred by the layer of gold that is instructing me.

Your job, your job, your job. It repeats over and over as if i havent heard it before, im stuck here. My memories are being recolored like a painting, faces swapped in and out, voices messed around and distorted so many times that they dont even sound real anymore. As the voices flood my ears, i can see them, even through this controlling force, that brilliant blue still shines through. The blue that seems to show up everywhere, reminding me that i havent heard him speak in years. I can almost forget what it looks like, i almost forgot the way he speaks, the pause between words, the drag in his tone.

How his voice was like hills, going up and down in volume, teasing as he would stand with his hands in the most obscure of positions. Behind his back or in front of his chest, sometimes, i remember, how when i would catch him, raising my brows, he'd grin as he lifted his hands into the sign of a butterfly. It made me smile, how flustered he got when he was caught doing something he swore he did not do. My hands move, flipping through the parchment as scribbles fill the pages, who knows whats on it. From behind me, i hear the opening of the door, soft thud as the knob rests against the wall.

The scent of coffee hits my nose, its a delightful scent. But i cant tear myself from this state, i can hear him, as he moves to the opposite side of the platform, two taps of cups against the wood. It rolls beneath the cups, coming towards me as the wood bends and curls in unnatural ways. The poor earth spirits, they arent enough to help me from this. But i am just glad that i am not violent, ikaris' split skin still has not healed. I dont know why, but i have an upsetting feeling that that kind of damage is only something i can fix. by the time i finally come back, the charcoal has stained my fingers, my face, run to the very last bit that the last chunk is nearly embedded into my finger.

i fall forward as that demonic presence leaves my body, my hands against the wood, the vines twisting to my grip as they help me to steady myself. his hands come right near me, making sure that there's no blood this time, no remaining daze that needs to be washed away. "do you know where you are?"he asks. i don't want to say it, i don't want to give into this. but i can't help it, the hand that comes to his wrist so tightly, making him wince. "brelione,"he says, i cant ever get used to this. how it takes forever to reach my ears like he's screaming down a tunnel, how the red manifests before my eyes. traitor, torn to his knees by golden threads. arishem is showing it to me, it's a future, it's inescapable.

he's gonna kill me, he's going to kill us all. my existence, every bit of it. did it matter, all for nothing as it will be cut so quick? and he knows it, he must. he's plotting against me, those letters, they must tell my weaknesses, how he'll be the one to put an end to my reign of terror. i want him to, for some reason. to be put to death at his hands, it would be easier for them all. it would be a better ending than to die at my own hands, they'd all heal so much better. and just like the vision, he comes to his knees. how is he so careless of his safety? was he never told, when face to face with a dangerous creature, to always be above it? my grip doesn't loosen, he's trapped in my grip as i am trapped in his.

"1524,"he says, his other hand comes to the one that holds him so hard that his skin flushes a plum color, a loss of blood in his hand. "i'm sorry, darling, druigs not here."he says. i don't know why he says it, have i requested him? his hand is careful as he takes my grip away, though it's not without immense struggle. "he hasn't been here in three years, i've been here. my name is ikaris, you know me. my room is right near yours, this is your house. you were the genesis, you created most of this world, you know that? you are the blossom, you brought the seasons and the food when the famine came.