From Suppression to Savagery

Wheels of Fate, carousels of time; past lives and karmic ties. Buy the ticket, take the ride.

Moderators: Wheeler Scion, Josette Wheeler

Post Reply
User avatar
Wheeler Scion
Posts: 60
Joined: Sun Apr 28, 2019 2:04 pm

From Suppression to Savagery

Post by Wheeler Scion » Mon May 25, 2020 3:49 am

Fitful sleep came in restless stabs as Isaac struggled for respite. Body shook and shuddered, spasms wracking that lithe frame as repressed and forcibly forgotten memories drifted by like flotsam…swirled and hurried along by Lethean currents. Eyelids flickered and twitched, the darkness within kindled by stygian flame as it suffused through vein and artery, seeped deep into tissue, and soaked into rich marrow. It was only after Isaac imbibed from the river’s waters and purged himself, only after whatever that was Isaac Wheeler had succumbed to the web of growing malevolence, did stillness settle over him.

”Isaac…Isaac…” Josie’s calls heralded her running approach.

Isaac turned over his shoulder from where he and his brother were readying to launch a canoe into the lake’s cool waters. It was early evening…years ago when he was just an adolescent…when several families from his father’s law firm had gathered at lake house for a summer celebration. He and his brother had been set to paddle out to the distant island to prove their courage to one another.
A shrewd squint of thunderstorm colored eyes noted the hot flush of Josie’s cheeks and wet stains of too many tears. Isaac immediately dropped his end of the canoe and came forward to meet his sister.

“They’re…they’re…” Josie gulped for air and pointed back towards the edge of the trees which lined one side of the verdant and well-manicured lawn that stretched out from the back porch like a perfectly placed carpet…rolling all the way to the water’s edge. “They’re catching and killing fireflies…pulling their ends off to make themselves a glowing ring…” Josie speaking while wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “I told them they were being cruel, and Wyatt pushed me into the rocks…” Her hand coming away from her head to show him the blood.

Isaac was already stalking up from the water’s edge, his brother’s protestations ignored as he left him and the canoe behind. Something in Isaac had snapped at hearing that distressing note in his sister’s voice, that one of the other boys had spilled her blood, that they were using nature for their own entertainments. The scuffle…when it came…was as violent as it was swift. Isaac had ambushed Wyatt just inside the line of tall Georgia pines. He’d be determined to deliver a similar pain, just a sliver of pulling torment that they had been doling out all evening. The pop of Wyatt’s shoulder as the bone was torn free of the socket audibly sounded in the humid stillness of that summer evening. Wyatt’s howls far exceeded the sound of the initial injury. The boy screamed before tearing free of Isaac to stumble and stagger towards the lake house. Wyatt’s mother’s shrill cry following afterwards, “That Wheeler boy is a monster.”

Screams pierced through the fugue of subjugated subconsciousness, tore back the obsidian curtain that divided past from present, that divided good from evil, to reveal a dark path flanked by the silent, serene sentinels of forest trees. How did he get here? When did he get here? He knew, with quick judgment, that they were not the same Georgia pines where Wyatt had learned to write with his other hand. He’d lost time again. What had he done? What was he going to do? Another scream cleaved through the darkness and turned him about. It wasn’t Wyatt’s scream either…it was high pitched…feminine…and quickly muffled and choked off. It was easy to get turned around in the wilds, the forests did no such favors as kindly directing one from here to there. Isaac turned again, anchoring his bearings when he suddenly spied a cloud of fireflies winking on and off, drifting like living motes of light on the slightest of breezes…


He’d held Ethan’s head underwater while fireflies floated on the breaths of plantation ghosts till his hands were soaked through, his father’s words echoing in the background, “you could have killed that boy, Isaac.”
He’d soaked his hands in the blood of those who had abused Rufus…returned to the carnival to wash them clean.

It ain’t my blood.

He’d come upon them…savage predators…wild beasts…monsters…not unlike himself…surrounded and toying with their prey…the shrieking woman. They’d come with evil intent but found themselves unprepared for evil incarnate. What lay dormant for too long within the wayward Wheeler scion unleashed itself upon those before him…pent up and shackled for too long. Eyes had glowed a polished platinum as if some mighty god had plunged a thunderstorm into a pool of mercury, the calescent crimson creeping from the edges a furnace providing a hellishly wicked mirror to witness one’s own devastating demise. The release, when it came, shown through in all its hideous and baleful ecstasy.

It ain’t my blood.

The sound of drops falling on dead leaves stirred him from the darkness. They continued gently falling like the last drops from a passing tempest, the rhythmic pat upon a macabre metronome that comforted the man. Eyes opened and revealed their benign color of slate. They glanced down to find hands coated and sticky. Blood. Ain’t his blood. The coppery tang of sanguine fluid hung in the air and pooled upon the tongue. The bright red of arterial spray a scintillating shimmer of glistening oil in the uneven silvery moonlight as Isaac lay in a knotted tangle of exposed tree roots.

Of the woman there was no sign. A positive given what lay opposite where Isaac now found himself.

How many there had been would be impossible to tell. Entrails and viscera lay strewn about, the ribbon like tissue woven into and through torn and rended tissue. Abundant avulsions allowed for exposed meat and sinew while broken and shattered bones reduced what was left to unrecognizable offal meant only for carrion crows. The blows had been delivered with cruel precision meant to inflict maximum pain and suffering before death. Mercy had abandoned this place, had abandoned those who attacked the woman…had abandoned Isaac himself. In its place lay a miasmatic echo, a corrupted altar of wrath.

"I have to wonder... You keep your nature on such a tight leash, I wouldn't be surprised if this is a result of your trying to keep it locked up the way you do. Monsters aren't meant to be caged, bien-aimé." The Cajun’s words surfacing through the blackness. Bloody fingerprints smeared across the blue glow of a phone screen as Isaac tapped out a series of texts to Cane. They marked the time…they marked the man in an attempt to anchor himself in the real and now before guilt and fear took hold and he blacked out completely.

Cane 10:28

"You’ll write that verse until your hands bleed…"

Isaac’s subsequent texts made even less sense as he felt his focus fade, his concentration beginning to wane.



He made a move to call but winced as he tried to lift the phone…the sudden spike of pain sending the phone tumbling from his grasp as he gripped at his side and felt the cold steel which protruded from between his ribs. He sat back within the uncomfortable prison of twisted roots and exhaled till the pressure of his chest cavity reduced and dulled the pain from the deeply stuck blade. Blood…his blood…continued to flow…every breath forcing steel to saw deeper into lung.

His sister’s voice a whisper upon the wind, “Emerge and see,” as the shadows claimed him.
User avatar
Posts: 104
Joined: Mon Jun 23, 2014 2:14 pm

Re: From Suppression to Savagery

Post by Canaan » Thu May 28, 2020 1:01 am


The loud rap of Cane’s knuckles against the door echoed in the narrow hall. He’d come to the man’s room at the Golden Perch after first searching for him at the gym, knowing Isaac preferred its quiet, empty corridors to the hustle and bustle of the busy inn. But when the hunt failed to produce his quarry for a second time, a prickle of worry crept its way beneath his skin.

He pressed his palm flat against the pockmarked door and closed his eyes, gathering the well of energy within himself, a portion of which he then sent into the room with an effort of Will. The ripple of power rushed into and throughout the hollow space, and just as quickly returned to its master, confirming that, indeed, there was no one within. But more than that, Cane was unable to discern when last Isaac had even been there. Empty. Barren. Missing.

"I been havin' these…blackouts."

Pieces of a recent conversation came floating to the surface of his mind, memories that had Cane frowning severely where he stood, alone, outside Isaac’s room.

“It happens mostly at night. I've lost entire nights and can't remember a thing.”

Cane was not often given over to alarm, but there were too many unknowns in this equation for him to leave well enough alone. What had those texts meant? And why hadn’t he responded? There were a thousand places Isaac could be, who knew what the man got up to when he wasn’t around? He and Isaac were still in the process of learning one another’s habits, all the in’s and out’s of who the other was at their core.

But there was still the niggling suspicion that something was… off. Was this an episode of lost time in the making?

"Thought it was just in my head till I started waking up with blood all over my clothes, knuckles busted all over the floor and in my hair. No clue how the fuck it all got there."

With a sharp jerk of the head, Cane cleared his mind so he could focus. He needed to work quickly.

A tongue of white hot flame burst to life at the Cajun’s feet, eating a circular path in the wooden floorboards around his wide stance. While the circle drew itself, Cane calmly untied a length of twine from around his wrist -- a gift that had been given to him with specific intention that, until this moment, he’d planned to keep as a reminder of what had been a most enjoyable night. Now it would serve as the main component in a spell. He crouched down within the confines of the circle to set the bit of rope on the floor between his boots, then pricked his finger with a switchblade he pulled out of thin air. After adding three drops of his blood to the makeshift bracelet, he touched his bloodied fingertip to the circle and closed it with an effort of will.

Cane drew in a deep breath, focusing the whole of his energy on fueling the spell, suffusing it with every last bit of his care and concern for Isaac, as well as the growing tumult of unease that steadily filled him at the thought of what he might find. The force of the spell swelled and stretched, the pressure of it filling the circle and trying to crawl inside him. As he whispered a few words of instruction in Chthonian, the impact of the spell barreled into him. Its power funneled into and gathered behind his breast, and when Cane rose to stand, breaking the magic of the circle with a swipe of his boot, he felt a literal *tug* inside his chest.

Fire consumed the components of Cane’s spell, turning them to ash as he stalked down the length of the hall to the stairs, guided by the thaumaturgic link he’d created between himself and Isaac, leaving behind the vacant tomb that was his wayward scion’s room.

The channel of energy led Cane away from the city to wilds beyond its borders, along a dark path through an old forest that creaked and groaned as the wind whistled through its collection of stands. The stronger the pull, the more malevolent the darkness became. There was a heaviness to the black, a taint to the otherwise stale air that filled his nostrils. And there was more, too. A sickly sweet, cloying scent that flirted with his senses, carried on the breeze from deeper still.

Panic tore through Cane like a bullet, a hot, searing pain that seized the air in his lungs. Instantly alert, he reached into the well of power belonging to his newly anointed mantle and as he drew from it, the Cajun’s eyes slid from the green of a shaded fern to the blood saturated color of dark copper without a blink in between.

It ain’t his blood.

Cane moved silently through the underbrush, drawn by the tang of destruction; death and rot and the stench of ichor beckoned.

"I ain't a monster," Isaac insisted, that drawl sounding as if he were trying to convince himself more than Cane of that truth. "I'm just a man." But the blood dripping from his thumb would tell another tale.

Cane reached over to catch Isaac's hand with his own, brushing the knife out of the way to get at the crimson swell of blood. "Now that is where you're wrong," he asserted. "You are more."

"More than what? More than a man?" There was a hunger in Isaac for more clarity.

The Cajun smeared his thumb across the wound, and as he did the tiny cut knit itself back together. He brought the blood to his mouth and leveled the Showman with a heady stare. "I can taste it." A beat of silence passed between them, after which Cane canted his head curiously. "Do you really not know?"

"You live with a see a lot of things o'er the a lot of things too." Isaac spoke while watching him relish the taste of his blood. "Kind of numbs ya to what you are yourself too. But repressing it is exhausting though and I don't want to lose anymore time to these blackouts...its what scares me the most...the not remembering. I'll own what I do, but I want to remember."

"You remember all the nights you spend with me," Cane replied smugly, grinning around his thumb in the most self-congratulatory way.

Isaac's pupils dilated with the memories of those nights. There was a flash of darkness in the thunderstorms of his hungered. "I remember every moment of those nights."

"You've not had any nightmares as far as I'm aware, none that wake you up anyway. I don't pretend to know what you get up to when I'm not around, but something tells me you're not, ah..." he trailed off, quirking a crooked smile. "Well. I think you need another creative outlet. Or more of me," Cane tossed in casually. "One of the two."

"I have a feeling I have outlets...destructive more than creative..." Isaac shook his head. "I just feel I fuckin block em out." That slow southern smile forming for the first time in awhile in response to that casually crooked Cajun one. It simultaneously made the Showman want to punch him and kiss him. "But I won't say no to spending more time with you."

"Really, though -- I don't know what you are, that would take some digging and some time to figure out, but I don't think suppression is doing you any favors."

"I'm struggling with these gaps...don't know if its better to go diggin or just leave em be." Isaac looked up at Cane, imploring silently.

"That's a question only you can answer. But for myself?" The Cajun’s hands slid away, down Isaac’s chest to come to a rest on either of his thighs. "Not knowing would feel too much like a lie, and I hate lies. I'd want to know if it was me. If it's something you do want, we can try to figure it out together. That is, if you want my help." He offered it freely, along with a kiss.

Isaac met him with equal intensity, succoring his hunger, that insistent energy in turn feeding the surging darkness within even as the taste of blood inflamed those needs like a white hot afterburner. It guided Isaac's hand upwards to clamp around Cane's throat, the knife thrower feeling rather than hearing the whispers urging him on like the crepitation of beetle black black wings beneath the skin.

Fingers tightened as temptation beckoned to not only squeeze...not only choke...but to rip, rend...and savor. His other hand dropped the blades in that moment...steel wasn't was too...inanimate. Once he had that taste of blood Isaac would only want more; a bite to the Cajun's lip insured just that, and then his mouth was moving for a brief share of words. The heated growl sounded against the man's cheek, lips brushing against the curve of his ear. Fingers fisted in Cane’s shirt to hold him close, fingertips like claws scratching against flesh beneath the fabric as he returned the kiss for several moments before it was broken and he was forced to suck in a breath...and then remember to allow Cane one as he released his throat.

"I've had enough of lies...and I do want your help."

And here it was. The aftermath of Isaac’s darkness in all its gruesome, nightmarish glory. Cane stepped onto the edge of the blood-soaked battlefield in a state of awe. Where others might have turned their face from the gore, the Cajun reveled in its sight. This was so much more than the games they played together behind closed doors, the comfort and release they found in the violence of their tumbles. This was babel, it was chaos, it was pandemonium. And it was beautiful.

If it was indeed an altar to wrath, then it was an altar to Cane himself, and he’d never been more welcome in a place in all his life.

It ain’t his blood.

The pull within Cane’s chest grew all the more insistent. It drew him through the refuse of blood and bone to a place just beyond the carnage where he found Isaac’s seemingly lifeless body laid out over the gnarled fingers of a massive tree’s unearthed roots, bathed in moonlight like some dark renaissance painting. At first he thought the man was simply unconscious, lost to the torpor of whatever dark fugue consumed him in these episodes, but as the dappled light of the moons shifted through the canopy overhead, a glint of silver caught the Cajun’s keen eye and his heart plummeted clear out of his chest.

It was his blood.

A fulmination of elan fury rippled through the fallout of destruction with Cane at its epicenter, hot enough to scorch and peel the bark away from the nearest trees in its urgency. Adrenaline pounding through his veins, Cane moved to crouch at Isaac’s side where he checked for a pulse before gently shifting his body to get a look at the wound.

“You son of a bitch” Cane snarled. “I swear to fucking God…” Anger was a much more comfortable and tolerable emotion than fear. He couldn’t think about the what ifs or the might bes, only what was. Right here, right now. It was the only way he knew, the only one he could trust.

He pressed a hand around the wound and deftly removed the blade from Isaac’s side. A feeble gurgle of blood spilled through his fingers, but with a bit of concentration he was able to staunch the flow, and as a glimmer of light passed through his eyes, the icy power of Autumn’s mantle passed through him into Isaac, undoing just enough damage to allow Cane to take him from this place. He spat another string of threatening expletives at the Showman in French this time while hefting his lithe frame from the ground, swearing he’d kill the man himself if he had the audacity to die before Cane could take a better look at him.

He swept the knife up from the ground, certain he’d never seen it before, deciding to take that home with him, too. If it belonged to the attackers, it would give him all the answers he sought and more.

As Cane carried Isaac through the waste of bodies, more light slithered through his irises and little vined tendrils, cold as ice, pushed up through the struggle-churned earth in his wake. Slithering and multiplying, the vein-like network crept outward, hungrily seeking offal and refuse alike, lashing itself onto each discovery and coiling like a constrictor to ruin its prey.

Flesh and blood and bone all gave way to the rot and decay of Autumn’s frigid bite, each turning into so much dust as the creeping blight consumed everything in its path until there was nothing left.
User avatar
Wheeler Scion
Posts: 60
Joined: Sun Apr 28, 2019 2:04 pm

Re: From Suppression to Savagery

Post by Wheeler Scion » Sat May 30, 2020 1:07 am

The twitch of a hand that draped off the bed was the first thing to indicate that the wayward Wheeler Scion was finally awake. There was a moment of disorientation as slate colored eyes squinted against the light pouring through the windows of his room at The Golden Perch. His other scarred hand reached out from beneath the pillow, instinctively gliding over the sheets beside him for a mere moment as he turned. That slow, sleepy drawl absent of any trace of twang poured like honey into the sunlit room and broke the silence. Even now, the sound of Isaac’s voice seemed so out of place in the modern world. Nothing could shake the resonance and echoes of Old Savannah gentility from his tongue, even long after he’d lost the taste for that life.

He was unsure how long it had been since the Cajun departed, but there were still the remnants of his warmth there; that unique heat signature spoke volumes of the man’s presence. It radiated up into long, pianist fingers which stretched and swept across the expanse of the bed, a soft sigh of resignation escaped his lips, though it was absent of true expectation.

Still, that lingering warmth beckoned, and Isaac answered as he slowly rolled his into the empty space. Isaac hissed at the sharp bite pain which blossomed in his ribs and reminded the knife thrower it was way too soon to move just that way.

“Fuck.” Even profanity had a refined ring when uttered with that dogwood drawl. The expletive spoken even though the worst of his wounds were thankfully healed by Cane.

Cane. The heady scent of sugar cane, candle wax and burnt sage that filled his senses left the Scion with an unfamiliar ache within his chest that he was not quite sure he could name just yet. The foreign territory of such a feeling caused his gaze to shift restlessly about the room. He took in various apothecary bottles and the special blend of tea left for him on the nightstand next to the bed. The corner of his mouth pulled upwards in that slow southern smile for the tender gesture. Cane had mentioned it was one of Aoife’s blends that helped to stave off nightmares.

The knife thrower remembered the way the girl’s name fell from the Cajun’s mouth like a song. Ever the quiet observer, Isaac had come to study and, ultimately treasure, the way his lover’s mouth had a unique way of speaking the names of the people he held dear. The same way that Cajun’s spiced French spilled from his mouth in murmured intimacies or growled expletives that seemed to stitch its way into Isaac’s skin like its own composition that played in his very veins in various moments of the day.

The past few days spent recovering had been a welcome and stark contrast to the events in the woods. Savagery gave way to rare moments of tenderness between the two when Isaac had essentially braced himself for the man to walk after it all went down.

He stayed. After all of it. The man’s voice...his touch had been a lifeline that Isaac hadn’t known he’d needed. The sound of the Cajun’s breathing bringing him peace after so much carnage. He still had lingering questions for Cane, but there would be time enough for that. Even if he could put all the pieces together with what Cane had so generously offered to recall every moment of the blackout, he’d not risk further draining the Cajun for a moment.

What was uncharted territory for Isaac had been the unfolding manifestation of the man not only somehow finding him in the woods that night, but the revelation of the unconditional acceptance without judgment. Such had thing had never been experienced. The room in the Perch was silent. Sleep would come for him again and it would be difficult to resist with his body still healing and the room empty. There was nothing to see, yet everything to feel that lingered in its essence—to miss.

His mind drifted to his sister. He had to tell her if she had not already sensed it. He knew she loved him, but she had never seen him. Not the real him. Not like this. The thought of it terrified him. She’d never look at him the same way. He knew she sensed the shift. After her last seizure, he’d kept his distance and stayed away. Now he knew his instincts had been accurate, but it still pained him as he hesitantly scrolled through his phone to see all the missed calls from her before tossing it on the bed.

Later. It could wait till later.

The soothing, somniferous sensation of the white noise about the room eventually settled Isaac into sleep and the dreamscape overtook him without cognizant realization. One moment he had been there…in the Perch with the bustle of sounds and activities all about…and now he was here, walking along an arcadian riverbank—one he recognized well. The halcyon setting assuaged the spike of fear that such a place might be the product of another episode, however Isaac found peace within the tranquility of the walk towards the bridge where he might find his sister. The connection was one Isaac easily recognized and had since they had been children. There was so much to tell her…but that thought caused his stomach to plummet. No. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t let her see. Not only that, he’d have to keep her away from that corrupted tree.

On the other side of the bridge in Josie’s Dreamscape bare feet waded in cool puddles of fresh rainwater. They revealed magnificent upside-down skies in dimensions that took her breath away once the ripples of the cool water stilled. Such things inspired the ballerina’s imagination and wonder as she watched the magnificent and unusual creatures peacefully graze on the other side of the reflection. One such winged wonder came up to take a long, cool drink of crystal-clear water before it raised its head to stare right back at the Josie with an equally curious tip of its head.

The ballerina beamed a smile of pure delight and settled ever so slowly on her knees to stare a bit closer into the puddle as her mind tried to place whether she had seen such a creature in Rhydin before. There was a crack of abrupt thunder which startled her from her wonder and the winged beauty suddenly vanished in the rush of a wing—the clear pool running red with blood. A flash of lightning cut through the ribs of the night sky and tore a sudden opening through the shared connection between the two siblings.


Something was so very wrong. Blood suddenly spilled from her mouth and she raised her hand to catch it and she found she was struggling to breathe.

No. Not my dream.

Her pulse accelerated like the heartbeat of a frightened bird as she forced herself to get to her feet. Josie reminded herself to not lose herself here, to keep her mind focused before panic set in as she ran towards the waiting bridge. She knew it would be there since Isaac had consciously reached out to her. It was how they had always connected since they were children no matter how far apart they were. But as always—she had to be invited.

As she ran, broken glass, shattered bone and blackened tree roots melded together with ichor and sinew to form a macabre version of a yellow brick road that stretched with charred stones further and further towards the dark bridge where a lone, lithe figure stood in shadow.

“Isaac!?” Her shout was swallowed by a powerful gust of wind that seemed to shackle around her delicate throat to choke her. The silver ribbon tied around her narrow waist and held delicately between her fingers like a tether was rubbed like a worry stone as she saw Isaac’s back was to her.

The black tree roots beneath her feet began to twist and wind around her ankles, wrapping themselves around her legs. This tree was no sanctuary and it held no feeling of safety within its roots that were soaked in blood and malevolence. Josie brought her hand up towards the roots. A symbol not unlike sign language formed between slender fingers and a powerful burst of star infused energy blasted the roots away which recoiled from the frequency like snakes as they rose up to hiss at her.

“Stay....Seeeeee. He’s finally free.”

“Isaac!” Her shout louder now as she got control of her emotions and harnessed her abilities so she could mentally block any other intrusions or interlopers.

But it was not to be. It was not to last. Terrible things had been done, things which the caliginous shade sought to lionize and display for it had journeyed here alongside him…within him. Things which would shock and taint the purity of Josie and, especially in this place, sicken her very soul. A hushed disquiet settled about Isaac as the forest went silent, the placid waters began to foam and swirl as if mirroring his own internal struggle. The second bolt of lightning from darkening clouds the first sign of overt discord, the surging wind carrying his sister’s scream and he knew he had to reach the bridge first…he couldn’t allow her to join him.

Not this time.

He ran for the bridge ahead as blood began to rain. Isaac stood at the railing, his lithe frame cloaked and surrounded by shadows which glissaded about like liquified onyx. A crown of black flame wreathed his head, the flicking fire tinged with indigo threw no light, gave no comforting heat. Eyes stared with the threatening menace of obsidian nimbus as dark met light upon the bridge.

“Come see…stay.” A sable claw extended to invite and welcome all that glorious star infused power, the deep timbre vibrating with an ancient hunger as the river shaded red beneath them.

“No.” Isaac’s voice sounded from within the shadowy vestments. “You can’t come here…you have to go…now.” Isaac warning his sister away as he fought within himself for control. He winced as a golden tear of light ripped itself open along his side where the knife had plunged, the wound opening again to reveal a mass of eyes shifting and pulsating, each fighting with the other to peer out, to gaze upon the light standing on the opposite end of the bridge.

“It will trap you here. It will try to use what you are…siphon from you like a Goddamn generator. I will trap you here.” Isaac confessing the truth as he clutched at the wound, hand covering to blind the monster within. “You have to go. Now!” Repeating himself with more insistence as he felt the darkness welling. He kept eyes on the silver ribbon around her waist—that shimmering glow of starlight quite suddenly wrapped itself around her chest and rib-cage like makeshift armor.

He reached his own hand towards the ribbon…towards her…even as tendrils of malignant darkness bleed down his arm to consume whatever he might touch. Isaac just barely diverting his hand before yanking it away. “I love you.” His voice was raw. “Please understand. You need to stay away from me just now. Go!”

“Isaac, please just let me.... Tell me what’s happening. I don’t understand....” Josie’s voice frantic as she came forward to attempt to cross the bridge and take his hand.

His hand was violently thrown out at the last second; a wave of gentle force shoved her out of his reach before fingers made a similar sign as she had at the roots and summoned an aureate portcullis between them. Shadow wrapped fingers wrapped round the golden, glowing bars; his own darkness metastasizing and consuming the light…her light. It was in that moment which Isaac revealed the terrible truth…revealed what would happen to her should she tarry.

“I’ll always protect what we...” Isaac’s voice caught in the hollow of his throat. He couldn’t get the rest of words out. It would utterly break him. Instead, he channeled the emotion into pure force and used that focus alongside the rest of his will to destroy the bridge between them. A part of him died in that moment hearing his sister’s sobs as the bridge collapsed, but he’d be damned if he’d run the risk of hurting before he had full control of what he was. Before he knew what he was.

When he woke, hot tears stained the Scion’s face. His hands clutching his head as his sister’s sobs echoed in his mind. His phone lay dark and silent on the bed. It was necessary. It was necessary. He repeated to himself like it was a mantra till he forced himself up. Move Wheeler This time welcoming the pain as he got to his feet. With shaking hands, he robotically forced himself to dress and put his hands to good use to make Aoife’s special blend of tea that Cane had left for him. The scent of it easing the feeling that his chest was caving in like a lullaby and he drank it with a silent plea for mercy that he would not dream.

Not tonight.

((Much thanks to the writers of Canaan & Josette Wheeler for being such amazing writing partners.))
Post Reply

Return to “Midway Manifestations”

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 0 guests