I wrote this on my phone. It's past midnight at the moment so this is just a mind blurb from late night insomnia, angst, and other things my mind catches on at night. I don't know if it makes sense and my auto correct sometimes goes crazy so who knows how it is.

it's short, I know, but I'm really tired so it's more of an unfiltered raw mind dump instead of thought out material.

If Ethos ever smiled, it was because he allowed himself to. His anger rarely escaped the filters of his mind to bubble to the top and peek its head out from where it welled in the depths of his mind. He did not think he had much anger or happiness in him. Not that he noticed, anyway.

If he ever felt happy, it was because he allowed himself to.

In the midst of the the emotional suppression of the faeries, he was adept at keeping a straight face, his expressions often watered down and kind to blend in with his surroundings. Pretty was average and he was content with mediocrity, as the burning passion of true beauty and life never reached his inner recesses. It met his skin, seeping underneath where it met barriers of blood and vessels and cells that quickly extinguished the fire. From a distance, he admired beauty, never letting it touch his skin for too long in fear his internal defense would one day lose.

Roses had thorns, as the Seelie had theirs as well. He pricked his fingers on them, his eyes two-dimensional always. His posture poised always. Content to always be someone's shadow.

sometimes when he sank his sword into skin in the midst of a battle he wondered if that was what real life was like maybe it was good and that was what faeries were supposed to be like - ruthless and strong and he was quick with a sword to defend; it was all in defense of his home the seelie what haven it gave to him! to defend and fight they were better than their opponent always to protect the queen she is good and what good sure brings him - she is good he would kill for her! he would kill for her! he would kill?

If he ever felt life, it was because he allowed himself to. It was a strange feeling, a lonely feeling, and it was hardly welcome. It came in the form of the flowers, their scent sweet and petals delicate as he pressed his thumb against it to bruise the surface. It came in the form of music, whose noise would be nothing but sound if it were not for the story unfolded in the notes. It came in the form of tears, his face pressed into the bloody chest of an opponent to hide his shame of taking life.

He was good, not because he allowed himself to be, but because it was all he could be. Malicious intent tainted the spit in his mouth, finding it hard to swallow. He did anyway in mute acceptance, training his eyes to the sun to burn it away.

After a few moments, he was careful to close his eyes, filtering out the taste and blocking out the sunspots that speckled his vision. Then it was gone and he allowed a neutral smile, wondering if he felt absolutely anything at all.

"Aspen, baby, you'll come back soon, won't you?"

Mmhm maybe.

"Why only maybe?"

Maybe I won't be allowed to come back.

"By who?"

None of your business sweetheart. I don't live by that information-to-people-I-just-meet policy.

"Didn't you have a good time?"

...

"C'mon, baby-"

I'm not a baby.

"Whatever. Don't you want to come back? I can make you feel all sorts of things."

I don't think you can make me feel anything.

"Aww, don't be like that. We had a good time."

We? I don't think so.

"Well, shit. You aren't about to tell me that big ol' grand performance was all fake. I'd have to call you a liar."

That'd be ironic. I'm pure - you know that. And I meant what I said.

"Aspen-...Hah. You're a real piece of work, aren't you? I bet I can give you what you need."

I doubt it. Besides I forgot to mention it but I'm taken. And he's real pretty and can kick your ass definitely.

"He know that we're out here screwing without him?"

He doesn't know where I am. I don't plan on telling him about you. Actually I plan on forgetting you. Quickly.

"Aspen, wait-"

Where's my cloak?

"Aspen-"

I have to go.

"Wait, what about-"

Goodnight.

it recently occurred to cole that no one really knew his favourite colour

nor did they know that he liked his coffee best with cream (no sugar), he liked the smell of new books, he liked the look of 5:30 am in the summer, the way mist smelled, barn owls, and silence