blessed be the damned [sparrow, (M) ]

Life was loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill gaiety of parties with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces that all sought to wear through the common day to day basis. And when at last one would find another whom they felt they could pour their soul out to, they would stop in shock at the words they would utter. The words, they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble, having been kept within the cramped darkness within for so long. Yes, there existed joy, fulfilment and companionship in the world, the proof being what he felt when alongside the feminine, but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness was horrible and overpowering. The kind of helpless feeling in which everything once known had been ripped away, as if there was no more gravity within existence, and he had been suspended within space with no hope of regaining what was lost. The truth was, the realization that she was gone dawned as if he had awoken with no teeth; he didn't need to rush to the mirror to know that they were gone, just as he didn't need proof to know that her presence was lacking. That initial anger he bore had simply disintegrated into a strange, numbing sadness, and now it had developed into something unexplainable, almost a dullness of sorts; an obscure, lifeless sense, within which he had begun to question his own purpose. Even though he was constantly in motion, it seemed simply as though nothing was right anymore. Each day seemed exactly as the last, so much so that he had trouble differentiating between them.

He hadn't been himself, not in the slightest, since he'd left. Some strange portion of himself had died, alongside his faith in what she had told him, his trust in her. Trust could never be classed as an obsession, though merely an extension of love. When one was truly in love, they relinquished their heart, paired with the ultimate trust. And when such a proclaimed futile emotion was returned, that very trust had the capability to become the very balm of those souls. The way of trust was a movement into a complex obscurity, into the undefined, into ambiguity, not into some predetermined, clearly delineated plan for the future. As such, he had placed the upmost of his trust into her, placed undeniable faith in the possibility of contentment. Why was it that each time he sought to trust another being, they taught him exactly why he shouldn't? Nothing in life was permanent, as they said, and that he understood; he'd always known it. The only thing he wished was that life would stop proving him right. No, fuck the world, he wished Eponine hadn't been the one to do it. His mind had long since run rampant, shrouding each thought with thoughts to how it could have been, how it should have gone. It's a shame you left without a word, you know, his thoughts piped up once more, only driving further regret into his heart. She was just beginning to trust you before that. Before you got angry. Before you ran off. Regret; he had long since discarded such an emotion, an appalling waste of energy, only good for wallowing in. He hadn't experienced it in years, he had saved himself the trouble of despairing in remorse... And yet, all those years of dismissing it somehow came crushing back down. Lusting after her, full of sweet words, then just walking away. Leaving her alone. Pale blue irises blankly searched the sidewalk, jaw clenched in effort to halt the estranged voice in the back of his mind, to no avail. It's a wonder how she isn't used to it by now. How long's she put up with you? God knows how she copes...

An irritated growl left the man's throat as he ventured through the streets, gaze relentlessly searching the terrain below his feet, destination in mind faltering as thoughts of the griffin shifter plagued him. He remembered everything about her, and yet each time he recollected the feminine's features, they became more faded from his mind. The further he delved into his memory of her, the further it became. The delicate nature of her skin, her dainty frame, blonde locks, those gorgeous blue eyes so delicately entwined light and dark shades alike. His singular operational iris clenched shut in effort to dismiss the mental image, though he found it sticking, just as it had done for the month following the brief argument. The truth of the situation was that despite all his built up defences, all his walls were crashing down. How ever much he tried to deny it, to bury the truth, the pain was impossible to deny, lingering just beneath the surface. He needed her so much more than she could ever know, so much more than he ever dared to show her, in the way that a heart needed a beat, like the earth needed the sun to see another day.

Limbs carried him on the continual walk from the stable, caring not for the mechanical devices humans often rode around in; he had no use for quick transport, operational eye blankly surveying the concrete below his feet, ignoring the few civilians that roamed the area. Despite the fact that Rover was doing well in the ring, exceptionally so, the equine having racked up a remarkable quantity of winnings, he found no joy in such a fact as of current, far too wrapped up in contemplating the emotions welling in his chest when faced with the absence of the feminine. However, his thoughts were interrupted as a familiar scent pierced his dulled senses, clear as ever. Reluctantly twisting his gaze upwards, the sight of her residence peeled into view, of which he had the misfortune of passing each time he made his way to the stable. Though, unlike every other day, something deeply lodged within his chest attempted to prevent him from passing the structure. "... Don't turn around..." he mumbled to himself, finding himself slowing regardless. "Don't turn around..." He'd fully halted, staring ahead. His gaze faltered in uncertainty, perhaps even in pain. "Don't-..." And there it was. His frame fully whipped round, unable to prevent himself from striding towards that door, though reluctance plagued each step. The door's still broken, he mentally noted, releasing a disgruntled huff. But, what kind of icebreaker would that be? A soft, though half-hearted snort left him at such a notion, and clenching his jaw, he edged the broken door open wide enough for him to fit inside, his gaze switching to the hallway, surveying the darkness intently, though unable to bring himself to call. The faint, bitter tinge of blood hung in the air, and despite seeming of a small source, it was enough to strike worry into his heart, brow furrowing. The subtle glint of a metallic blade upon the floor drew his attention, and lo and behold, there she was. The man's singular operational eye widened as it set upon the feminine, mumbling a gentle, "Holy shit... Eppie?" Why was she so thin? Why did she carry the smell of blood?

Seconds felt rivalled only by hours as he stood there, surveying her in silence, swallowing against the lump formed within his throat, and for the first time in years, guilt swept through his chest, welling in his throat. "I-... Jesus..." What the fuck was he supposed to say? Many incoherent emotions raced through his heart, plaguing his mind, rendering him silenced, condemned to witness the damage of his actions on the one being in the world he never wanted harm to come to... Was this why she didn't want him to come over when responding to his texts? His heart fragmented within his chest, until wordlessly, the man shakily strode forward, wrapping his arms round her unhealthily slim frame, releasing a shuddered breath. For the first time in many years, wetness clouded his singular eye. "Fuck... I'm sorry-... I'm s-sorry..."

W O R D S
1340

T A G
Eponine Graves played by RENDEZVOUS.

N O T E S
... HOLD UP. Mene gets emotional? DAFAQ IS DIS!? WHY MENE NO STAHP IT'S NOT NORMAL Dx

M U S E
Love The Way You Lie, Shouldn't Come Back, Faceless, What Hurts The Most, May I.

The most discouraging element of what swelled within his chest upon a day to day basis was his apparent inability to understand it, shrouded seemingly permanently in the disembodying emotion. He'd never before felt quite so barren, so empty; never had he known the simplicity of the passing days to become his enemy. Adversity and a hopeless grief had taken away his very taste for life, becoming nothing more than an unfortunate man, formerly strong of soul and more indignant about his fate than despondent or dejected, now wishing for death and yet preserving his life without loving it, if only for the sake of her. Not from inclination, self-preservation or fear, but from duty, from the promises he made to her, long since having become the only thing that wielded the capability to fuel him with enough motivation to drag himself through the day. The days and the light felt akin only to brief moments of torture, placed upon the earth to remind him simply of what once was, what could have existed. He knew only what he knew of himself, restless and longing and sick, certainly not unlike a bird in a cage, struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing his throat, yearning for colours, for the voices of birds, thirsting for words of kindness, trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation, tossing in expectation of great events, powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance, weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, faint and ready to say farewell to it all.

Depression was a disorder of mood, so mysteriously painful and elusive in the way it became known to its host, to the mediating intellect, as to verge close to being beyond description. It thus remained nearly incomprehensible to those who had not experienced within its extremes, although the gloom, the blues, which people went through occasionally and associated with the general hassle of everyday existence are of such prevalence that they do give many individuals a hint of the illness in its catastrophic form. The agony of the sleepless, tortured hours spent watching the world get smaller and uglier were bearable, or they had been prior, though everything had so abruptly come crashing down. He was selfish, to the very core of who he was, and he could do no more than think about himself and how to escape the strange emotions. His body was brutalized by his mind. It hurt to breathe, eat, walk, think. The gross manoeuvrings of his limbs were so overwhelming, so wearying, that the fine muscle movements or quickness of wit necessary to speak, to actually say something, was completely out of the question. Could he had plummeted so deeply into such an illness in a matter of a month? Apparently so, for the sheer absence of the feminine brought pain rivalled by no other. Though, had he expressed any of it to another living soul? Of course not.

Instinctively loosening his grip in order to enable her to shift round to face him, the unexplainable pain within his chest amplified by the state of which the feminine was in, trying to ignore the faint tinge of blood in the air that was emitted from the smallest of wounds. His faltering iris settled upon her facials, clenching his jaw in effort to prevent the emotions from sweeping across his face, despite his heart screaming from within, begging, if only to feel once again. Feeling her gentle touch settle upon his cheek, the man's head tipped slightly, leaning into the delicate caress with a slow huff, singular operation iris briefly closing, relishing in the faded warmth of her skin. However, as the feminine's harsh sobs rung out, his eye reopened in a panicked urgency, gaze searching her contorting facials and her pained eyes, the doorway to her heart. Fuck, don't cry. He tentatively listened to the stuttered fragments of his name, forcing himself into unhindered patience of which he would offer no other living being, his heart throbbing violently within his chest in response to her obvious pain, refusing to allow her frame to slip from his grasp as he had done that month ago.

"Shh, it's okay... It's okay, Eppie... I'm not going anywhere..." his words came a hushed mumble, grip tightening upon her dainty frame, hastily attempting to abandon his own pain in the hopes that he was able to remedy hers. No, he wouldn't tell her that everything would be okay, because truth be told, he didn't know whether it would or not, how exactly the future would play out. However, one thing was plain within his mind; if she wasn't within his future, then he saw no use in living it. "There's... There's nothing for you apologise for... I overreacted, I was the one who abandoned you when you needed me-... Fuck, Eppie, I'm sorry. I-... I failed you." His singular iris knotted to the kitchen tiles below their feet, swallowing against the painful lump in his throat. "The truth is I'm afraid of giving up, giving in and letting go. I'm afraid of the ticking clock passing time, all the missed opportunities. I'm afraid of my own emotions, as unstable as I might be. I'm afraid of lost control, of lost sanity, of lost life. But... All through it, not once did I question my love for you. All I want is you. No, all I need is you." In the end, perhaps two people simply had to fall apart to realize how much they relied upon each other.

W O R D S
926

T A G
Eponine Graves played by RENDEZVOUS.

N O T E S
THIS IS UNNATURAL. MENE STAHP IT. You're meant to be a friggin psycho, not Lotso 2.0

M U S E
Love The Way You Lie, Shouldn't Come Back, Faceless, What Hurts The Most, May I, Hold Back The River.