#.* ✲ 『 a puppet meant to serve unfailingly┊❛ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐧 ❜ 』

[alealueur]

@soaringly * ✲ 『 plotted starter 』

Something did not feel right. Battle was supposed to be a place to release the emotions he was not allowed to feel. It was what allowed him to keep himself in control. Seeing his enemies as nothing more than inanimate obstacles was key to get through each fight. Cutting them down without a second thought was supposed to be simple, and yet that girl—Veyle, her name was—she... disrupted this thinking. The people by her side too, he could not grasp their ways.

However, the last battle was... won (was it? Surely it was due to the fact he left alive in the end; if had failed, he should have not moved again). The exchange of his blade and his foes were fuzzy in his mind if even present. Why could that be?

The intense throbbing in his head might be the answer. The sharp burn that accompanied each one felt horrendous. An echo of a different voice screamed from within, and the fell dragon could not make sense of its cries outside of giving something back to it. His head felt as though it was splitting in two. He could not think of anything or even get a sense of where he was now, but at least it seemed he was well within safe territory, the castle that acted as their main operating chambers.

How had the scenery changed so much since the last time he recalled anything? There was no clear memory since the last time he had met with that girl alone out in some field of sorts. He had parted ways with her and then what? As much as he wanted to understand, the coursing pain running through his skull prevented it—a hand reaching to press at his temple to ease the pain. He must... see to this, but only Zephia would know why this was happening (why was he hesitant?).

Without any other choice, Alear sought out the mage dragon's quarters. Keeping close to and pressing a hand against the wall for support, he dragged himself along, hoping the woman would have a cure for this confusing mess of sensations. The burning sensation was even traveling to his chest now and causing his pulse to spike; his breath was quickening as if oxygen was being stolen quicker than he could take it in. If he didn't hurry, he could only feel bad things happening.

Upon finally locating her, Alear finally found it in himself to speak. Straining his voice to force out something to garner her attention, he called out to her as he fought for an inch of breath, ❝ Zephia. ❞ It hurts.

[alealueur]

By the time he had processed the fact he was standing face-to-face with Zephia, it was obvious that whatever had been afflicting him as of late was suppressing his ability to stay awake and conscious, active and attentive. There had been barely any flow of time between the time he reached her door and to stand here in the midst of conversation with her, and yet his brain felt like it was running on its last legs. Exhaustion, intense pain preventing him from thinking, the need to sleep...

❝ It burns, it's hard to see and think... more than before, ❞ he slowly explained as he fought to keep his eyes open, attempting to keep himself present enough to take the medicine as she directed. Would it be wrong to... stay here in her presence? While he rested? The visual stimulation as it was was overwhelming right now, and as much as he could feel himself drifting even while standing, something was telling him he shouldn't succumb to it here (but who else could he turn to?).

The colors swimming into his sight—the way the edges of mage dragon in front of him and their surroundings blurred to the point of being unable to make out details and shapes—made it hard to properly look into Zephia's eyes. Even though it had been so long ago since the thought occurred to him, part of him wished to find comfort in her touch, to return to the days where he found solace in the image of her running a hand through his hair or the simple act of keeping him steady by holding onto his hand (he sought these things and yet they had not ever happened once, not even back then).

By now, he no longer expected such a thing—as that was only something a child would ever wish to receive—and yet he felt... no, he could not allow these feelings to surface. Zephia would not be the same as the mother he lost, and she never would fulfill that role. He could never expect her to indulge in the wishes that still threatened to showcase his weakness: that he possessed a heart that craved such things like comfort and warmth.

Despite knowing better, Alear reached a hand out towards her, hoping she'd at least attempt to give him something to hold onto before he gave into the darkness. He knew that showing such vulnerability would not go in his favor, but the manakete had no way to hide it in his current condition, ❝ Please hurry. It hurts. ❞ And he didn't want to lose himself again to the owner of that chilling voice.

When Lord Sombron provided her with the horned circlet, she'd been weary of it. It was an unnatural and risky endeavour to tamper with memories; even more so, if it aimed to suppress a particular facet of personality. Playing around with age-old magic as such could lead to devastating consequences, not only for the magic-user, but also the host.

She swears on her very life: she desires the same as Sombron; hopes for nothing more than to have the mild-mannered, temperate young man from her memories back at her side and steadfast in their cause. Yet, the slim risk of the makeshift crown robbing her of him entirely draws forth a rare frission of panic - an odd emotion to parse within her icy, old soul.

As such, she finds herself staring out from the balcony of her chambers, eyes bright and sleepless staring out into wintery desolation, when he comes to her. He doesn't seek her company often, even rarer so nowadays, as the tension of his new ideals loom over them, a nameless chasm that widens the distance between their closeness; closeness that she never truly appreciated, nor felt. It's a silver lining, how the pains caused by the circlet are driving him back to her.

She tries for a wan smile, but it dims slightly as she takes in his haggard appearance. It is evident that the treatment assigned by Lord Sombron is tolling on his body; she has been forewarned that he may exhibit signs of worsening before his current persona stabilizes. She sighs, a crease at her brow. Though it is entirely of her doing, it is not a sin to confess that she doesn't like seeing the young man in any unnecessary pain.

"Oh, dear me. Is it more of the same? Do you feel any worse, or has the discomfort plateaued of late?" She asks, making a show of inspecting him. She'd prepared a potent headache medicine beforehand in case his condition took a turn for the worse. In an attempt of easing the timbre of her voice into something kind, she does her best to soften, "allow me help you with the tincture, so that we can both sleep easy."

[alealueur]

"You were hiding this from me?" (from Zephia!)

MEME ┊accepting.

Hiding, she accused him of—yet he didn't think of it as hiding. Rather, Alear did not quite understand exactly what she was upset about. What had he hidden? Was there something amiss that he was not aware of? Zephia was not one to become angry unless he had truly made a mistake or failed her expectations, neither of which the manakete recalled doing.

❝ I don't understand, ❞ his monotone voice replied, hinting confusion. His eyes shifted to take in the mage dragon's furrowed brows, subtle glare, and down turned lips. Ah, she wasn't pleased. Shaking his head, he denied her accusation, ❝ I have not hidden anything from you. ❞ What he stated was truth. He had not concealed a thing as far as he knew... but the other? He could not speak for that person, the one that kept getting in the way.

Then he followed the elder dragon's gaze toward his feet. Pausing at his ankle, he caught sight of a white cloth tied around it. Was this... where had this come from? Such a color did not belong on his clothing. Assuming this was what Zephia was referring to, Alear crouched down and untied the out of place cloth, holding it in hand as it revealed the presence of a relatively fresh wound trickling droplets of blood down his leg.

But he had not recalled stepping into battle to obtain such a minor injury (why was Zephia so perturbed by this insignificant wound?). Paying no mind to the stinging sensation along the cut and the fact the wound was susceptible to infection now that the bandage had been removed, Alear stood up and straightened out his legs, preparing to head off as he saw no other pressing inquiry from her to address.

Clutching the cloth in his hand, he spoke to relieve what he assumed were her concerns, ❝ I will go treat this. You need not worry about such a trivial injury. ❞ Surely Mauvier could quickly mend this wound with a staff, and then Zephia would no longer worry for him.

[alealueur]

.* ✲ ─ tag 』

muse name┊multimuse url in antrophobia font ✲ * (tagging specific characters)

.* ✲ 『 little blurb here┊❛ 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫 ✖ muse name ❜ 』 (relationship tag)

@.url * ✲ 『 cont. from here┊☓』 (continuing from ask)

MEME/UNPROMPTED ┊always accepting. (answering ask)

❝ … ❞

CHARACTER RELATED

.* ✲ ─ in character 』

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VERSES

.* ✲ 『 a puppet meant to serve unfailingly┊❛ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐧 ❜ 』

.* ✲ 『 rejecting divinity & embracing the fell┊❛ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫 ❜ 』

.* ✲ 『 revived by heroes & given new life┊❛ 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦 ❜ 』

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.* ✲ ─ saved 』

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.* ✲ ─ open 』