(Threads)
Character: Soturo
/ancient
/ light demon
/ mate-to-be of Vladis
----
A year ago today...
I'm probably supposed to fell sorry for the man. I do not, at least I didn't. There are so many emotions one feels in this realm its rather stifling. Its like trying to breath under water. There is no air there, and even though you crave a release from the pressure, the filling ache in your chest, there is nothing you can do once you've lost control. I do not envy those who have to live their entire lives here. I wouldn't be able to take it. These emotions are no joke. These emotions are so sharp.
Its so far removed from what I was, what I used to be, my old abilities. There is no why to trust myself with delving into a person soul. It has been fifty years since I was summoned and at the beginning I would have said this was nothing. Never can I say this.
Why is this so hard?
I miss my home. Over the years I have lost sight of what it meant to be a demon, to be what I was. I can see things, I can see the sounds I always wondered about, I can see the scents that I missed. All my life I have been blind and yet one act done by a selfish king and his servant have given me a wonderful gift. Its a shame they aren't mine.
Barlios misses being able to see. I miss not being able to cry. We both have to put up with this relationship, we both have to make sacrifices to be comfortable with the place he has put us in. Working for that slime of a king Onil-Anja hasn't done anyone any good here. But I kid myself to think that this isn't also my fault. That this isn't part of my doing. I can not fathom how easy it would have been to just do as my nature dictated but he was so pitiable, so frail, so young, dangerous. He needed a friend, a confidant, a comrade so I bent the rules. It got us both stuck here. There is wonder if it would have been just to take his soul.
I know I will miss him when I leave. When I die once more for his sake, when I return the eyes I stole, I will miss him. He will miss me as much, but I can not say that I will remember him. He may very well die when this shell has fallen to pieces. It is a horrid thing to think. That he will die alone. My heart it--
<the pages are stained with tears. The salt distorting the words till they are unreadable.>
...-mena. If there was any home for him, if there ever had been, please.
-
There is always hope.
