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 Sägan--A Letter Written of Guilt

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Xaeldrenil
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Join date : 2011-07-15
Age : 27
Location : Casterly Rock, Westeros

PostSubject: Sägan--A Letter Written of Guilt   Tue Nov 22, 2011 6:49 pm

Tülay, I fear the loss of you. I'm honest, but the things I withhold run deep in me, and everyday I have to fight the urge to sprint away in absolute terror. Some day, you will read this and regret the time you've spent with me, and realize that there is a part of me you don't know at all. Or perhaps you do know and are looking for an escape from me. My doubts about anything romantic are endless, and where as you confess love, I can't rightly hear them without feeling out of place and unworthy. I adore you with every inch of myself, but where do the words live? Somewhere between my phobias and my false dignities. I can't loose you.

This is a confession; this is a manifesto of my nightmares. A compendium of the pieces that pile until there is something so razor-sharp and hostile wishing to push others away from me.

My brother. . .

His eyes, so amber and lack luster mirroring my reflection. My oblivion was centered in that place, searching deep inside; clawing at the pieces of him that I could never put back together. They did not wander; they would never as much as flit back and forth between places in the room. After my interference, everything he did was direct, though it lacked lucidity. Reverberation was lost in him, but the way his arms wrapped around my body so precise and slow. . . I could not resist, although I knew my love was lost to him forever.

When we were young, I was fascinated with the ultimate end. The violence to cease all things was intoxicating. But he was a child so wrapped up in his misery while alone; I could’ve convinced him to do anything for me. I could see the horror in his face at my request, no - my command. My cause was important, as I only wanted to linger beyond the veil and have a look at the place between myself and the next. Somehow grasp the person there who would fade so quickly between the two, you know what I mean; the face that seems to dissolve every time we die.

His digits, cold, long, precise. Each one wrapped softly, thumbs pressing in with no confident force. My annoyance flared, I yelled in his face. He cried then, protesting softly, and I was fond of it. I watched them stream down his face in dramatics, as I shouted over and over again, eventually straining out soft pleas, “harder.” He would let out loud protesting whines, eventually wrenching his eyes shut and squeezing as hard as he possibly could. My natural reaction was to panic, but I had warned him. Told him that if he
had let go, I would leave him all alone and he would wither without me. I threatened not his flesh, but his soul.

I could not see his face as he held me there, thrashing and kicking against the dirty forest floor. The vision blurs with such force crushing down on a creature. My other senses flared, and I remember the erratic noise of his wailing when I choked; the musky scent of the heavy wood and feeling of my swallows being rejected back up my throat. I didn’t tell him to stop, only kicked against him as he sobbed. I slipped and tumbled into light, then heavy, then light again.

To this day I don’t remember what I saw, and I don’t know what he observed me doing. I’m told that when we Amon die, we seize, let out cries or scrunch in on ourselves like spiders. It’s possible something like that had happened, causing my brother to surrender his ego.

When I opened my eyes, he was buried in my chest, heaving in nervous tension, incapable of stopping his tears. I spoke his name, softly, gently, humbly. All noise, moment and memorandum ceased, like he had tagged someone else in to handle the situation. He rose his face and connected with my gaze, somber and still, like his face was not then glistening from his previous tears. All focused on me, nothing else as my eyes fluttered for a moment. In the brief time I had slipped away, had my beautiful Kaïden had withered to death? The demon inside of my brother’s heart had spread its form, filling in all of the cracks I had caused, boring into me with an exuberant stare, radiant in its aggressive atmosphere. Kaïden had broken free of his bashful self suddenly, and for once he was the vivid of the two of us.

But I didn't care, he was direct and fearless. It aroused me.

I don’t know where my memory of that place I went has gone, or what kind of happiness I had with my brother. My very last memory of him before that third presence was the flinch in him when I shouted at him to do it again, and to do it right, he didn’t cry or whine, simply nodded and followed my direction with superb attention to all detail. I calculated, manipulated and destroyed him over the span of years we spent together; yet he returned with a darkened smile and an instinctual longing to be near me. The fact that I had forced his hand into familiarity; the fact that I had taught him the action of death did not detour him from me at all. Where had I enclosed my brother? Where had his nature been buried inside of his new found beast-like existence? Swallowed by my use of him no doubt, ripped away by my demands. After that we used it as a joke, even as an intimate gesture. We used to lay in the bed together for hours, lines from the sun striped over us, warm and lonesome. He would climb on top of me and put his hands around my throat, so enamored with my lack of struggle, and I was taken aback with myself, electrified by the danger I had baited from him. He stole everything from me, and had I realized that he was the one in control of us, I may not have had to do the sick things I did. He suffered what he had failed to do for me, because I am the one who finally pushed past the limit.

And all for fear of death in some other fashion.

I have to ask you, although it’s likely that I never will, if I had stopped him or never even posed the idea, would he have kept his happiness? Am I responsible for the hollow exoskeleton that became him?

Did I. . .

Was it my right to stop him from draining my life from me?

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Draxscanas
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PostSubject: Re: Sägan--A Letter Written of Guilt   Mon Mar 19, 2012 4:33 pm

Brb, sobbing.

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