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aetherialslumber) wrote2019-11-26 07:22 pm
aetherialslumber) wrote2019-11-26 07:22 pm
twitter drabble - depression days
Urianger woke up. Usually, when he woke up, he was used to weight on his bed - breathing, reminders that he was alive and that he hadn't slipped back to the abyss. Those fears had only begun to bloom again recently, though he couldn't pinpoint when or how. The weight was at the bottom of his bed, as it had been the last few days. Not the weight next to him, the love knitted together, the heartbeat which sped up a little as he shifted.
No, it was his pet (his son?) Voidsent, curled up like a cat. Pressed across his legs, closer then when he shared his bed. Slowly, he got up - he had to keep moving, else his fears would consume. The warmth from his dream, the promise of Lord Zodiark, was all that helped him stand. (He could make them happy. He would make them all happy.) Slipping into robes, Urianger didn't bother moving far - just to his study, just to the one book he'd been studying.
It had to hold answers. Preparing himself a drink as he began to open it, he barely noticed how much he was shaking. Mhach - the Voidsent - woke with a yawn and crawled after Urianger. Not talking, but curling up by his seat. The house had been a lot quieter, save the few pixies who entered or when a guest came over.
But it was different. The flowers lining some walls had begun to turn dull, frayed. Urianger had stopped maintaining any area which wasn't for guests. As he finished creating himself a cup of tea, magic flickered and fragments of dark crystal fell to the ground - the remnants of unfocused magic. What purpose was there in focusing? People wouldn't see it there. He could have rested in the master bedroom, but, again - why would he?
Minutes turned to hours, more study. Creating food the same he did his drink. He had this power. He had so much power, so why couldn't he solve these problems? Why couldn't he just open the gates home? The Exarch had better ways to study it. Closer connections to others of the First - and to Hades as well. If anybody could solve it, it wasn't him. It was never him.
He had to focus on something. He had to find his purpose alone. For he had thought his purpose had been fufilled - his place had been found. The retired mage, with his dear love, living together and seeking answers however they could, without the burden of titles nor duty.
If not for the Winter Court. But these others powers had allowed him to save Thancred and Ryne both - he couldn't give that up, either. His queen - no, the Queen had left, with her consort. And he was left behind. Just like before, like the Waking Sands. To care for it. To protect dusty knowledge, to do what he could to help. He helped, right?
...no matter how much things changed, they stayed the same. Urianger did not think about this, though. Even as the flowers began to fray, even as the vines began to grow thicker. Perhaps he shouldn't have connected himself so deeply to this place. He had begun to do similar earlier. He had grown flowers at his previous home, but not like this. They were likely dead now. Unless somebody cared enough to cherish them - oh, right. He'd forced Moenbryda into that role.
After those few hours, he moved to clean. To clean, to make the guest areas feel acceptable. Comfortable for those who might come asking for aid. For him. (Or just for what he represented - to them.) His focused waned, but he worked without words. Without stopping. He did linger over some spots, mind you - places he had made sure were comfortable for foxes to run though, places he had modified the house for animals. Though he acted distant when they wandered in like that, he loved it.
Without thinking, his hand moved, and his mask slipped on. The windows shut, the curtains drawn. Darkness descended...
...and Urianger continued to work. After cleaning? Back to research. Back to translation and questions he couldn't ask anybody, he couldn't bounce off of anybody. For he was alone again. No guests had come today. (Why would they? They didn't act like him. They didn't break like him.)
Eventually exhaustion claimed him - who knew what bell it had hit, and he returned to bed. To the dreams where he no longer existed. To the dreams where they had what they deserved... Loghrif and Pan, not the mess of anxiety and fear and trauma he was, the clingy mess he'd become over time. What there was now would be gone, or so his Lord showed him. And it would be for the best. For everybodys' best. He would vanish now, but they'd act upset now.
It was just like his days at the Waking Sands, back when he had remained there alone, thoughts consuming him. But somehow, it hurt more. For he had given his all to make things better, but this was fate. Fate he could never deny.
His duty was to be forgotten, until they needed his magic. So he would learn more. So he would give more. Perhaps then, he could finally retire or die.
No, it was his pet (his son?) Voidsent, curled up like a cat. Pressed across his legs, closer then when he shared his bed. Slowly, he got up - he had to keep moving, else his fears would consume. The warmth from his dream, the promise of Lord Zodiark, was all that helped him stand. (He could make them happy. He would make them all happy.) Slipping into robes, Urianger didn't bother moving far - just to his study, just to the one book he'd been studying.
It had to hold answers. Preparing himself a drink as he began to open it, he barely noticed how much he was shaking. Mhach - the Voidsent - woke with a yawn and crawled after Urianger. Not talking, but curling up by his seat. The house had been a lot quieter, save the few pixies who entered or when a guest came over.
But it was different. The flowers lining some walls had begun to turn dull, frayed. Urianger had stopped maintaining any area which wasn't for guests. As he finished creating himself a cup of tea, magic flickered and fragments of dark crystal fell to the ground - the remnants of unfocused magic. What purpose was there in focusing? People wouldn't see it there. He could have rested in the master bedroom, but, again - why would he?
Minutes turned to hours, more study. Creating food the same he did his drink. He had this power. He had so much power, so why couldn't he solve these problems? Why couldn't he just open the gates home? The Exarch had better ways to study it. Closer connections to others of the First - and to Hades as well. If anybody could solve it, it wasn't him. It was never him.
He had to focus on something. He had to find his purpose alone. For he had thought his purpose had been fufilled - his place had been found. The retired mage, with his dear love, living together and seeking answers however they could, without the burden of titles nor duty.
If not for the Winter Court. But these others powers had allowed him to save Thancred and Ryne both - he couldn't give that up, either. His queen - no, the Queen had left, with her consort. And he was left behind. Just like before, like the Waking Sands. To care for it. To protect dusty knowledge, to do what he could to help. He helped, right?
...no matter how much things changed, they stayed the same. Urianger did not think about this, though. Even as the flowers began to fray, even as the vines began to grow thicker. Perhaps he shouldn't have connected himself so deeply to this place. He had begun to do similar earlier. He had grown flowers at his previous home, but not like this. They were likely dead now. Unless somebody cared enough to cherish them - oh, right. He'd forced Moenbryda into that role.
After those few hours, he moved to clean. To clean, to make the guest areas feel acceptable. Comfortable for those who might come asking for aid. For him. (Or just for what he represented - to them.) His focused waned, but he worked without words. Without stopping. He did linger over some spots, mind you - places he had made sure were comfortable for foxes to run though, places he had modified the house for animals. Though he acted distant when they wandered in like that, he loved it.
Without thinking, his hand moved, and his mask slipped on. The windows shut, the curtains drawn. Darkness descended...
...and Urianger continued to work. After cleaning? Back to research. Back to translation and questions he couldn't ask anybody, he couldn't bounce off of anybody. For he was alone again. No guests had come today. (Why would they? They didn't act like him. They didn't break like him.)
Eventually exhaustion claimed him - who knew what bell it had hit, and he returned to bed. To the dreams where he no longer existed. To the dreams where they had what they deserved... Loghrif and Pan, not the mess of anxiety and fear and trauma he was, the clingy mess he'd become over time. What there was now would be gone, or so his Lord showed him. And it would be for the best. For everybodys' best. He would vanish now, but they'd act upset now.
It was just like his days at the Waking Sands, back when he had remained there alone, thoughts consuming him. But somehow, it hurt more. For he had given his all to make things better, but this was fate. Fate he could never deny.
His duty was to be forgotten, until they needed his magic. So he would learn more. So he would give more. Perhaps then, he could finally retire or die.