#oh i really fucked up my huss huss is depruss pruss

[thesickbcy]

Idle fingers brush together as he stands on a very small mound of whithered yellow overlooking a wide circular expanse of vibrant green. Colors fade from bright to dark, but the center-most point is the brightest and liveliest in color. The unchecked grass sways in the wind, long and slender, waving at him tenderly from where it grew. Fae’s glamoured fingers rub together once more, feeling the sensation of warmth from fake flesh and the cold of metal rings coiled around his fingers. The other hand of his, held tight to his clothed chest, tightened slightly around a boquet of three white tulips, several purple hyacinth, and three black roses. The plastic crinkled around them as he made his way towards the center of the Eye, finally feeling brave enough to pry himself from the endless pine trees that surrounded the sacred grounds he stepped upon.

In the center of the massive faerie circle (the Eye of the forest, as it were) sat three pillars of stone. The one to the left was the smallest, the roundest and smoothest (almost worn down into a ball rather than a pillar), and sat slightly tilted. The one on the right was a bit taller than the first, with a pointed head and several flattened sides, almost as if it were a pencil made of stone. Bits and pieces of it had been chipped out by the world. The center pillar was the tallest, reaching up to about Fae’s height, and it remained a simple cylinder with a round ball sitting atop it. The ball itself had seven prongs sticking out of it, all connected by a single halo; a simple sun statuette.

At the bottom of each pillar was a plaque. The first plaque read the name KEATON “PARCE” BISHOP, with a date that lasted only eight years beneath it. The second plaque was for a woman named MICHIKO “HAGRAVEN” BEAU, and her date indicated she had died when she was only foury-two years old. The third and final plaque read KAIROS “FAE” BISHOP. He had died when he was only twenty-one.

He stands before the three pillars - specifically, before his mother’s gravestone - and looks them over. The years trapped within the Eye had kept them safe, although the typical wear ‘n’ tear nature caused were beginning to show. Fae’s own grave seemed to suffer the most damage, which didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have. He really only comes here once in a while to tend to the grounds, bring some flowers, mend the stones. Though, his job’s getting more and more persistent, meaning he has less and less time to come by.

“Heh... sorry, Ma. Didn’t mean t’make ya wait. Life’s gettin’ real busy now that ol�� Asswipe’s makin’ me his real heir.”

Fingers pick at the plastic wrap around the flowers, rubbing it between newfound nerves and sinew to get a feel for it. Everything felt so different when glamoured. Like it was... number. Duller. Life wasn’t as technicolor for humans and monsters as it was for the Fae. He kind of misses it.

“I know how it is with the fae ‘n’ witchy kind, but I think you’d really like it down there. It’s beautiful, vibrant. Bright. You were never really one for much color, but I think you could get behind the pretty yellow flowers ‘n’ the glowin’ pink drinks we serve. They remind me’a you every time I see ‘em.”

He stops fiddling with the plastic for now, breathing in deep and holding a lungful of air. Something he hasn’t done in so long. What else is there to say to her? He can’t really excitedly tell her about his day job, and his night one isn’t much better. There’s really not much to do here anymore, is there? Except for the promise.

“I can’t remember if this was ever a real thing ya said or if it’s just my imagination, but. I think it was real. ‘Least... it helps me thinkin’ it was real. So, lemmie be selfish for one last time and continue on believin’, yea?”

He always asks so much of her. Let him be selfish. Let him go fight. Let him take care of the household. A whole lot of good that got him, huh? Fae’s aware he’s a selfish, greedy little man. Didn’t matter his intentions. Good, bad, in the end it all turned out the same: he ruined their lives by being selfish. By trying too hard to be the good guy, the hero. Maybe that’s why he can’t stand Iret and his goody two-shoes friends.

Fae squats in front of the pillar before him, getting comfortable on his feet while resting his arms on his knees. There’s a rustling in the forest on the other side of him, but he doesn’t pay it mind. The wind’s stopped blowing, as if to listen in on his private conversation.

“I remember you an’ I makin’ a promise. You forced me to, actually. The week before we all died, you said I had to promise you somethin’. Wouldn’t tell me what it was ‘til I agreed. Then... you said...”

As he recites the words, he can hear them in her voice almost as clear as night.

“ My son, listen here. There’ll be a time when I’m gone. A time when I won’t wake up the next day, and you and little Kea will be all alone in this world. When they bury me beneath that damp soil, I want you to promise me never to hold on too tight to anything but your brother and your soul. I want you to promise me that you’ll let me go whenever you’re ready to, and you’ll finally start letting yourself live the life you deserve. Promise me, my son, that you’ll keep yourself and your brother safe no matter what you must do. ”

Tears well up in false eyes as Fae exhales. The faerie’s free hand lifts and rubs against his eyes, trying to rid him of the painful reminder of just how human he had stayed all these years. You can take the man out of Humanity, but you can’t take the Humanity out of a man. That’s what she used to say to him whenever he feared the Faeries howling at night. It means, no matter what happens, you will always still be you. Remember that, my darling dear. They can catch you, but they can’t kill you- the real you lies deeper inside than you could ever reach.

Yeah, right.

“I think you know why I came here t’day, then.” He stares at the base of the pillar, taking note of all the little vines and flowers that had woven themselves around it. “I came to finally say goodbye, ‘n’ t’keep that promise I made to you all those years ago.”

He broke every other promise he’d ever made to her, but at least now he could say he kept the most important one. Letting go was never easy, and he’s sure he’d never really let go of her or her memory, but maybe.. maybe if he tried, they both could find some kind of peace. She in her afterlife, and he in his hell.

“I’ll never forget you, and I’ll always... a-always love you, Mama. But I think it’s time we both parted ways. Parch is fine. I’m as... okay as I.” He stops to clear his throat, looking skyward to keep more tears from pouring down his tattooed cheeks, “I’ll be okay. You just rest now, okay? You did the best damn thing ya could for us boys. ... You... y-ya gave us hope. No matter... who we are. Ya always told us we’d be loved.”

The flowers crinkle quietly as if out of respect for the heavy emotions Fae laid out in front of him. He set them atop her name plaque gently, making sure they rested safely atop her grave. The stark contrast between the white and black flowers really shone among the grey and the green surrounding them.

Three black roses, one for each of them. A symbol of death and end for each relationship he held, and for his old life he could no longer live. A symbol of hope that in this death, something new would blossom. Three white tulips - again, one for each - prayed for purity and innocence to come after their death, and symbolized his own forgiveness of what had come to be. And the purple hyacinth which made up most of the bouquet... a plea. Forgive me, I am sorry, I am filled with sorrow. They were all for her, primarily, in hopes that she would grant him a mercy he did not deserve.

“Goodbye, Mama. May your sleep be Dust free and your wings bring you high.”

Just as he’s about to get up, something shifts to his left and catches his eye. On the plaque of his brother’s grave rested a single blue hyacinth, a symbol of begging forgiveness for one’s own lie. Fae reached out to pick it up before noticing something else peculiar. All around the base of his brother’s grave, a flower he’d never seen before bloomed. Fresh, natural, as if they had been planted there or had grown through the ground on their own. Only when he plucked one from the ground did he hear their name whispered on the wind.

Spring crocus. Penitence roses. Flowers bloom with forgiveness from one’s loved ones.

Standing upright and tucking the single plucked flower into his shirt, Fae adjusted his jacket and once more wiped his face free of tears and snot. It’s nasty, but weren’t all emotions as such? He took a deep breath of the fresh air around him, glancing outward towards the forest in an attempt to recover his composure. It wasn’t until he locked eyes with something stirring in the forest that he felt truly vulnerable.

Watching him with steady red eyes was none other than a forest harpy. He couldn’t see her bodice entirely well; her brown mottled feathers kept her pretty well blended among the trees and the dark shadows of the endless forest. But he could see her. Her long hair, her glowing eyes, her sharp and gaunt face almost hidden among the shadows like her bodice was.

He stepped around the graves and began making his way towards her as quick as he could without coming across as threatening. Unfortunately for him, by the time he made it around the graves, she was gone, fleeing off into the forest like a frightened doe from a hunter. Fae would run after her, but stepping outside the Eye meant he’d leave the graves for good, and he just wasn’t ready to leave yet. Whoever she was, she was gone now. How’d she even find the Eye? Non-fae weren’t supposed to be able to see into it...

He’d been caught - and there’s no telling who might catch him next if he wasn’t careful. Fae’s time has run out, which meant he needed to return back to the Mountain. Trudging back to the front of the graves, Fae wanted to get one last look at the pillars before leaving them for good. When he turned to stare at them, he covered his mouth with his hand, keeping whatever emotions he felt from overwhelming his expression. Tears welled up in his eyes once more, spilling over his hand as he stared at the beautiful sight before him.

The flower from before - the one he couldn’t recognize. The spring crocus? Whatever it was, it had begun blooming not only over his little brother’s grave, but his mother’s and his own as well. Several new bulbs just waiting to open had grown thick enough to cover and unite each of the name plaques, making it so anyone who’d come through - if they’d come through - could no longer read the names or dates written there. Forgiveness. Mercy. Grace. Protection. To top it all off, a single vine coiled around the flowers resting on his mother’s grave, holding them tight to the plaque he could no longer see.

One final embrace for his final goodbye.