you know I'd still hold you if I could
Sep. 20th, 2010 06:23 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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February 14th
Afternoon
I felt Syl and Nu trying to find me. Perhaps I should have made it easy for them, but I didn't have any desire to be harangued by either of them. I was already frayed, spread out, barely corporeal, and I let myself instead lapse out of physical being. It wasn't as dramatic as the time Iblis and I splayed ourselves across the stars. It's easier now, without emotions clouding memory. I let myself drift through the being of Excolo, more tasting and feeling what happens than seeing.
The riot, I'll grant him, was good. It didn't end as well - or as badly - as it might, but I'm sure the panic and the bloodshed and most of all the hatred fed him well enough. But today...I can feel his touch in it, faintly, and this is pitiful, Iblis. Such a petty meddling in people's affections. Is this what you've been reduced to? Can you really be so very bored without me?
I try not to think of what he let himself become, that day. The taste of the memory is sour in my mouth.
The grass at the foot of the tower is winter-pale, worn out. It's soft under my boots as I coalesce there. A body is a strange thing to wear again.
[Open to Iblis]
Afternoon
I felt Syl and Nu trying to find me. Perhaps I should have made it easy for them, but I didn't have any desire to be harangued by either of them. I was already frayed, spread out, barely corporeal, and I let myself instead lapse out of physical being. It wasn't as dramatic as the time Iblis and I splayed ourselves across the stars. It's easier now, without emotions clouding memory. I let myself drift through the being of Excolo, more tasting and feeling what happens than seeing.
The riot, I'll grant him, was good. It didn't end as well - or as badly - as it might, but I'm sure the panic and the bloodshed and most of all the hatred fed him well enough. But today...I can feel his touch in it, faintly, and this is pitiful, Iblis. Such a petty meddling in people's affections. Is this what you've been reduced to? Can you really be so very bored without me?
I try not to think of what he let himself become, that day. The taste of the memory is sour in my mouth.
The grass at the foot of the tower is winter-pale, worn out. It's soft under my boots as I coalesce there. A body is a strange thing to wear again.
[Open to Iblis]