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changehistoryFor a long time I was in love
Not only in love, I was obsessed
It chased him across centuries, always there in the back of his mind. Through wives and lovers and times alone, it lingered. He named it once in a moment of weakness, drunk in a tavern in some port town, spilling out his secrets to the whore on his lap. Named it with a curse, a lash of fury that put fear in her eyes. Perhaps if he'd aged like other men, caught in one time like he was supposed to be, he would have let it go with a bitter regret for a chance lost, a moment betrayed. He tried, with Helene, to build a life, to move on, to be part of the world like anyone else. But the face in the mirror did not change and when it occurred to him that he was not aging, through the fear and the horror came one small thought.
He could see him again.
It flooded back then, bile in his throat, ache in his heart, hatred that could only come when it was the other side of love. Betrayal only scars when the betrayer was beloved, and it was a lesson he learned well as the years pass and the scar deepened with the knowledge that with every breath he was drawing nearer to the time of reckoning. It haunted his dreams. Oh, there were times it would lie dormant, quieted. When he held his sons, when he laughed with his wife. For nearly 70 years, held in Angelica's arms, he barely thought of him at all except as a passing memory. Love healed some wounds, the surface edges.
But the scar remained.
The time drew nearer, years passing by. The man who called him friend, he was sure, was the man who would bring forth the boy who had done the same. And when the father followed in the son's footsteps, he was not truly surprised. Fury flared again, though, wounds reopening and bleeding fresh blood as the circle drew to its close, the completion, the fulfillment of a promise snarled in anger in a burning tent.
Yet, when it came, somehow it still surprised him. Blood on his hands, flooding a street. Shattered eyes, a sword on the floor, a boy in his way, saddened, broken. Past and future collided and crushed the centuries in between. Love and hatred battled fiercely, and he was left bereft, staring, and not knowing if one would ever truly win or if he would ever truly be free.
Not only in love, I was obsessed
It chased him across centuries, always there in the back of his mind. Through wives and lovers and times alone, it lingered. He named it once in a moment of weakness, drunk in a tavern in some port town, spilling out his secrets to the whore on his lap. Named it with a curse, a lash of fury that put fear in her eyes. Perhaps if he'd aged like other men, caught in one time like he was supposed to be, he would have let it go with a bitter regret for a chance lost, a moment betrayed. He tried, with Helene, to build a life, to move on, to be part of the world like anyone else. But the face in the mirror did not change and when it occurred to him that he was not aging, through the fear and the horror came one small thought.
He could see him again.
It flooded back then, bile in his throat, ache in his heart, hatred that could only come when it was the other side of love. Betrayal only scars when the betrayer was beloved, and it was a lesson he learned well as the years pass and the scar deepened with the knowledge that with every breath he was drawing nearer to the time of reckoning. It haunted his dreams. Oh, there were times it would lie dormant, quieted. When he held his sons, when he laughed with his wife. For nearly 70 years, held in Angelica's arms, he barely thought of him at all except as a passing memory. Love healed some wounds, the surface edges.
But the scar remained.
The time drew nearer, years passing by. The man who called him friend, he was sure, was the man who would bring forth the boy who had done the same. And when the father followed in the son's footsteps, he was not truly surprised. Fury flared again, though, wounds reopening and bleeding fresh blood as the circle drew to its close, the completion, the fulfillment of a promise snarled in anger in a burning tent.
Yet, when it came, somehow it still surprised him. Blood on his hands, flooding a street. Shattered eyes, a sword on the floor, a boy in his way, saddened, broken. Past and future collided and crushed the centuries in between. Love and hatred battled fiercely, and he was left bereft, staring, and not knowing if one would ever truly win or if he would ever truly be free.
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Date: 2008-04-12 03:50 am (UTC)OOC
Date: 2008-04-12 10:28 am (UTC)Re: OOC
Date: 2008-04-12 02:50 pm (UTC)