3rd Swan's Flight || Accidental Video
No... I will... I will not...
[Yet it did not seem that he had a choice. His golden eyes swum with spots of physical blackness as he trailed a feverish gaze over the city. This place had become his home, but it was still a prison. Now it was empty; desolate- But hadn't it been before? Only one person mattered. Even now, if he could have seen her, he would have smiled, but as it was, longing sent throbs of pain through his heart. Purely metaphorical pain, but that was only fitting, because he was still ink and paper more than blood and flesh. Such an easy existence to smudge, to rip. He was conscious of efforts to do just that, a prickling that shifted against his skin, scratching against his surface. He was still gold and silk on the outside, but his nails running over his skin betrayed what was in his veins, neither ink nor blood, but a cloying poison. Soon, each step he took sent a shadowy feathers drifting in his wake. Though he managed a word through gritted teeth, it merely fell behind him, too; a rough, tainted whisper.]
Rue...
[His call was useless, and far more desperate than he would have thought possible of a true prince. Perhaps he was no longer a true prince, perhaps he was nothing more than a crow-
His scream was strangled as feathers leaped from his neck, from his arms and chest, and what human sound he could make was twisted into torn cawing by the beak that stabbed out from his face. Plumes of feathers swirled around him as scraped at his chest with stinging wingtips. But it was a simpler pain that forced him to his knees, the burning that pulsed from the base of each feather where perfect porcelain skin had been shattered. He knew it was his own doubt, his own belief that he was disgraceful that allowed his skin to be shredded. His own fault, his own failed duty. His own feathers, stained dark by this blood in him.
Was he truly so weak in her absence? His love should have lent him more strength than this, more power against this, and yet he now wasted her sacrifice so cruelly. His chest heaving, feathers protruding like knives from the fabric of a fine satin shirt, he tried to call out for her again, and failed. His breath would still shape only a ragged cawing...]
And it was his own harsh cries that stirred him into reality, his forehead laced with cold sweat and his eyes fearfully wide. He clutched at his shoulders, shivering and paradoxically exhausted by sleep. A nightmare, despite the merciless insistence of his heart that it was more. Only a nightmare, and what kind of prince is afraid of the dark?
Again, he murmurs, as if speaking his princess's name aloud will balance him in reality, or perhaps, to give voice to the quiet fear of a strong heart doused in that darkness.]
Rue, where are you...?
(ooc: Sooo things did not go as planned and I will be hiatusing officially. But I typed this in advance because I am a nerd like that, so I am posting it and will tag as soon as possible!)
[Yet it did not seem that he had a choice. His golden eyes swum with spots of physical blackness as he trailed a feverish gaze over the city. This place had become his home, but it was still a prison. Now it was empty; desolate- But hadn't it been before? Only one person mattered. Even now, if he could have seen her, he would have smiled, but as it was, longing sent throbs of pain through his heart. Purely metaphorical pain, but that was only fitting, because he was still ink and paper more than blood and flesh. Such an easy existence to smudge, to rip. He was conscious of efforts to do just that, a prickling that shifted against his skin, scratching against his surface. He was still gold and silk on the outside, but his nails running over his skin betrayed what was in his veins, neither ink nor blood, but a cloying poison. Soon, each step he took sent a shadowy feathers drifting in his wake. Though he managed a word through gritted teeth, it merely fell behind him, too; a rough, tainted whisper.]
Rue...
[His call was useless, and far more desperate than he would have thought possible of a true prince. Perhaps he was no longer a true prince, perhaps he was nothing more than a crow-
His scream was strangled as feathers leaped from his neck, from his arms and chest, and what human sound he could make was twisted into torn cawing by the beak that stabbed out from his face. Plumes of feathers swirled around him as scraped at his chest with stinging wingtips. But it was a simpler pain that forced him to his knees, the burning that pulsed from the base of each feather where perfect porcelain skin had been shattered. He knew it was his own doubt, his own belief that he was disgraceful that allowed his skin to be shredded. His own fault, his own failed duty. His own feathers, stained dark by this blood in him.
Was he truly so weak in her absence? His love should have lent him more strength than this, more power against this, and yet he now wasted her sacrifice so cruelly. His chest heaving, feathers protruding like knives from the fabric of a fine satin shirt, he tried to call out for her again, and failed. His breath would still shape only a ragged cawing...]
And it was his own harsh cries that stirred him into reality, his forehead laced with cold sweat and his eyes fearfully wide. He clutched at his shoulders, shivering and paradoxically exhausted by sleep. A nightmare, despite the merciless insistence of his heart that it was more. Only a nightmare, and what kind of prince is afraid of the dark?
Again, he murmurs, as if speaking his princess's name aloud will balance him in reality, or perhaps, to give voice to the quiet fear of a strong heart doused in that darkness.]
Rue, where are you...?
(ooc: Sooo things did not go as planned and I will be hiatusing officially. But I typed this in advance because I am a nerd like that, so I am posting it and will tag as soon as possible!)