Post by Ralin O'Faerlun on Sept 19, 2011 4:18:42 GMT -5
Why can't you catch me? Faster Ralin, faster... Ralin chased a shadowy figure in the midst of a Quidditch match. Was he going after the Quaffle, or the player holding it? Why was he moving so slowly?
I can't...wait for me! Ralin urged his broomstick faster, but he kept falling behind more and more, until he felt like he was flying through mud. Another figure to his left watched silently. More people, their faces blurred beyond recognition stood silently. Ralin was in the middle of a round room, sitting in a chair he recognized as the judgement hall of the Wizengamot. The icy iron chains bit into his wrists. A small boy pointed an accusing finger.
You broke your promise.
Broken...broken...broken... The words echoed in Ralin's mind, damning words that bit into him like the iron chains. Broken... Until all he could hear were those words, a chorus of shadowed voices all around him.
Ralin's eyes shot open, air whistling hoarsely through his raw throat in a silent scream of denial. The dream faded, but hovered around him like a morning mist clinging to trees and grass. He was breathing hard, sweat prickling his forehead and neck. "No..." he whispered, panic and guilt stinging his heart. His hands clenched, but as sleep seeped out of his body, it was replaced by reality. Dull agony spread through his entire torso, arm and leg.
His head sank back against the pillows that propped him up. Ralin's eyes found the ceiling, as if some measure of peace could be found there among the white tiles. The endless patterns did nothing to ease the chaos in his mind.
He was back in the hospital. He had been dying. And that close brush with death left a scar on his heart. No one could drift close to that dark abyss of death's gateway without coming back changed. Ralin felt older in his soul and immensely weary. What he wanted most in the world was a hug from his brother, that circle of his strong arms to protect him, his calm voice telling Ralin that everything was going to be okay. For a moment Ralin was a young boy again, an orphan just moving into Harkness House with low expectations. But within those walls he'd found a family.
The war was over. Yet that thought didn't bring any joy to his heart. Faces swam into his vision. Max's tear-streaked face. Theo's broken, lost expression. Jack's distant eyes. Reckony's hardened glare. Ralin felt each weighing heavily on his heart, felt it was hard to breathe.
"I'm sorry..." his whisper fell into a silent room, where shadows huddled in every corner. His single bed in the small room felt too much like that room in his dream, surrounded by the accusing faces of loved ones.
It felt as though his heart were a mirror, cracked all over, the pieces slowly falling away from each other. The physical pain of his wounds was nothing compared to the wrenching, fear-laden agony of failure, guilt, and loss.
"Max." Ralin's whisper to the boy was heard by no one, but judged in his own heart. What could he do now? Max had been rescued, but Ralin felt that he had failed him still, that he should have done more. Yet he had been dying, trapped in a world where pain sucked at his soul, tugging him down a dark road, trapped in a weak, crippled body.
And Theo...where had he gone to? He was never there anymore; hadn't been there to visit him in the hospital the first time, had left when they arrived yesterday without even a word to Ralin. He recalled the battle, and Theo's suspicious face, thinking that the young man was just a ghoul to distract him, a ghost of his younger brother. Where was he? Had Ralin failed him somehow? Were they even brothers anymore? The questions spiraled into panic, attacking his thoughts.
But the doubts remained. Brothers...Theo protected Jack. They were true family. Was Ralin just an orphan again, had he somehow lost Theo, driven him off? But these were selfish thoughts; Jack mattered very much to Ralin as well. He knew the truth about the man, of the curse that turned him into a puppet. He wanted badly to free him from that slavery.
I can't...wait for me! Ralin urged his broomstick faster, but he kept falling behind more and more, until he felt like he was flying through mud. Another figure to his left watched silently. More people, their faces blurred beyond recognition stood silently. Ralin was in the middle of a round room, sitting in a chair he recognized as the judgement hall of the Wizengamot. The icy iron chains bit into his wrists. A small boy pointed an accusing finger.
You broke your promise.
Broken...broken...broken... The words echoed in Ralin's mind, damning words that bit into him like the iron chains. Broken... Until all he could hear were those words, a chorus of shadowed voices all around him.
Ralin's eyes shot open, air whistling hoarsely through his raw throat in a silent scream of denial. The dream faded, but hovered around him like a morning mist clinging to trees and grass. He was breathing hard, sweat prickling his forehead and neck. "No..." he whispered, panic and guilt stinging his heart. His hands clenched, but as sleep seeped out of his body, it was replaced by reality. Dull agony spread through his entire torso, arm and leg.
His head sank back against the pillows that propped him up. Ralin's eyes found the ceiling, as if some measure of peace could be found there among the white tiles. The endless patterns did nothing to ease the chaos in his mind.
He was back in the hospital. He had been dying. And that close brush with death left a scar on his heart. No one could drift close to that dark abyss of death's gateway without coming back changed. Ralin felt older in his soul and immensely weary. What he wanted most in the world was a hug from his brother, that circle of his strong arms to protect him, his calm voice telling Ralin that everything was going to be okay. For a moment Ralin was a young boy again, an orphan just moving into Harkness House with low expectations. But within those walls he'd found a family.
The war was over. Yet that thought didn't bring any joy to his heart. Faces swam into his vision. Max's tear-streaked face. Theo's broken, lost expression. Jack's distant eyes. Reckony's hardened glare. Ralin felt each weighing heavily on his heart, felt it was hard to breathe.
"I'm sorry..." his whisper fell into a silent room, where shadows huddled in every corner. His single bed in the small room felt too much like that room in his dream, surrounded by the accusing faces of loved ones.
It felt as though his heart were a mirror, cracked all over, the pieces slowly falling away from each other. The physical pain of his wounds was nothing compared to the wrenching, fear-laden agony of failure, guilt, and loss.
"Max." Ralin's whisper to the boy was heard by no one, but judged in his own heart. What could he do now? Max had been rescued, but Ralin felt that he had failed him still, that he should have done more. Yet he had been dying, trapped in a world where pain sucked at his soul, tugging him down a dark road, trapped in a weak, crippled body.
And Theo...where had he gone to? He was never there anymore; hadn't been there to visit him in the hospital the first time, had left when they arrived yesterday without even a word to Ralin. He recalled the battle, and Theo's suspicious face, thinking that the young man was just a ghoul to distract him, a ghost of his younger brother. Where was he? Had Ralin failed him somehow? Were they even brothers anymore? The questions spiraled into panic, attacking his thoughts.
But the doubts remained. Brothers...Theo protected Jack. They were true family. Was Ralin just an orphan again, had he somehow lost Theo, driven him off? But these were selfish thoughts; Jack mattered very much to Ralin as well. He knew the truth about the man, of the curse that turned him into a puppet. He wanted badly to free him from that slavery.