"No shit, there I was..." writing yet another story. Original and fanfic writings and musings of yet another Storyteller
Waiting (OC, DA:I)
It's always green, he muses. Too green and foggy. Wrists cinched tight and heavy, piercing cold straight to the bone and making them ache.
His hands are always too heavy to hold up, laid at his side. Fingers plunged in the chilly water below, soaked and pruned until they crack like the glass of the mirror.
The mirror that stares him down as he lays there and waits for torment, for what he knows comes next. The mirror that is etched with lines like his fingers, each break falling over his reflection like the bars of a prismic cage. Holding him down in the damp, green, cold, mist. Giving him such a perfect view of himself, eyes dull with knowing as white breaths cling to his nose and mouth.
And then the clouds come in, still green and cold. But they come darker, consuming the light and his hope for "not this time". The storm rides in behind the clouds, loud thunder and sharp lighting. The taste of it on his tongue, pulling a whimper that aches just as much as his body.
Because he knows, knows this is the last time for him to be himself. For him to breath from his chest, to know his thoughts, and taste his fear.
Then it starts, so soft and yet can be heard above the raging wind. A whisper in the air, so light and quiet as if niggling from the back of his mind. It steps closer and closer, as he sinks further and further away. Or tries too, half submerged and tethered. Easy prey.
It whispers about things he wants, thing he doesn't but should, things he needs, and how to get them. It speaks of beauty, power, fame, love, anything it thinks will sway him to them. And like always nothing works, not until it presses closer. Still whispering, but so much closer. In an ear, instead of a mind.
Letting a callous finger trace like a breeze of wind across the branches on his face, mythal's promise only dripping in venom. From face to ear, feathered as it grazes the elven tip with love and calls him by name. The voice so sweet and wanting, a voice not its own. But what does it care for its own, when this is the one He Wants?
He trembles beneath the voice, the touch, and the warmth over him. It pulling him with trained muscle and careful measure from his cold, watery grave. Keeping him tucked close and offering so much care, what He Wants
And nothing ever stops him, from that first peek and the fall from it. The flutter of loss, just to stare into pure silverite surrender. The grey eyes gleaming above him with concern, but hiding amusement and victory on the surface within reach.
All that is left then is the prize, caring words and loving caresses that do nothing to hide the claws at his back. The power that seeps inside him and tangles, twists, consumes and takes over. The It before him fading away to puppet him from inside, to take his eyes and ears and tongue for its own little whims.
A man possessed. Every. Time.
And he feels those callous fingers, through the mist. Pressed against his face, light caresses of the thumbs tracing at his marks. The warmth spreading out, burning like real heat and not that created by the Fade.
He gasps, eyes flitter and slam shut again. A whimper in his throat, stuck behind the fear and surprise.
He feels it though, the velvet against his skin and the true warmth of another. Of an intimate care than no Veiled creature could imitate. He comes within himself and hears his name, the soft hushing of a familiar voice. Grounded back, away from dreams and the vast Green.
He relaxes, eyes carefully opening. The silver glow in the dark watching, worried and knowing. He sighs, never wanting to look away from silverite-colored eyes before him. Because he knows they are real and afraid any moment he'll be proven wrong.
And then he sobs, eyes tearing up as it crashes down upon him. Arm thrown over his face as he let's out his fear, trembling from toes to fingers and his chest so tight. Remembering and remembering and remembering each night.
Left only to the arms of his weakness, wrapped tight around and holding him close. Left to his lover's words of softness and worried care.
Left as himself and the eternal fear that demons will take that from him yet again, if not for his cavalier.
"Thank you for coming for me. Thank you."



