Title: Fallen
By: Her Valentine ()
Peering through the keyhole, my eyes fixed upon that dazzling figure. A single star fallen from grace, an inhabitant of the chaotic room within. A choir of breaking glass filled the tense atmosphere as the final lamp was extinguished, swept from its position on the bedside table and sent to shatter against the adjacent wall. Water from a tipped glass was left to soak in to the carpet and the furniture lay upturned in disarray. It was truly a resplendent rage.
A sweat broke out upon the fair brow of the sky's wayward child. That celestial son gripped the heavy tangle of his silver locks, knuckles white with the strain of refraining from pulling his hair out by the roots. The earth bound spirit cried bitter tears, screaming his confusion and frustration to his apparently audience-less surroundings as he sank to his knees. What a truly beautiful boy.
Balancing precariously on my heels, my joints moan as I right myself and stand, tip toeing backwards, towards the stairs. I had to be careful about these things. The fury's soul was at his lips with every cry and scream, streaming from his fingertips with every toss and swing. These tantrums were the expression of a deeply seated pain, and they were private. The angry soul fills the house with the sound of his rage. Destruction is oh so terribly pleasing on the ears.
The breath I hadn't been aware of holding escaped past my lips the moment I crossed the threshold leading towards the outside world. What a truly laughable cliché - I was honestly stricken breathless. It's a bitter day, I decide as I rub my bare hands together, hunching over to shield myself from the bite of the December air.
The lights hanging overhead were reflected within the glassy surface of street. My hair was deftly swept up by nature's ire as I paused for a moment of reflection. Just a few more minutes, I decide.
It's safe to say I'm obsessed, but that's still a bit of an understatement. I love the boy as much as I idolize him, I know the man enough to understand that he needs to be seen through the eyes of an admirer and any of his weakness witnessed could shatter the prestige of being the worshipped hero. The truth is he's lost without me; the fact of the matter is I that don't need him anymore.
But I do want him. Probably more than he wants me, but about as much as he needs me. And, oh, does he need me. Without me he's vulnerable, without me he's easy prey for the Darkness.
And he knows it.
In retrospect it's kind of pathetic to think that the one series of events - that one unfortunate, undeniably traumatic turn of events- would become the point in which the entirety of the rest of his life was magnetized towards.
I know. Oh believe me, I know that sometimes he hears voices, disembodied voices that he felt he should have known if not for the fact that their identities were lost alongside their forms.
"It really is sad, I remember him being such a handsome youth", they murmur to him, their words possessing an element of buoyancy as they choke back their tears. "No use reminiscing, it would have affected even the best of us," spills forth as response.
And it was all truly terrifying to him.