#anyways. all that to say back in the fall inwas saying he looks at me like im made of gold and it feels like i have wings i MEANT it ...

[myownprivatcidaho]

ok ive held off on saying this for months now but he smiles at me like this

[daylightrays]

Swimming the Dark Depths

“The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.” - John Milton

Why was it so cold?

Urien’s horse voice bid for freedom in the back of Inwa’s mind, calling from the cot he was sequestered to while the healing process continued. 24 bells. 48. 72? A sennight or more. Urien’s voice had always been crying out. Was it the same now as it was? Was it a new need? It seemed Urien was always being held somewhere. Escaping something. Running. Was it always this way?

Araignee decided Inwa should stay in the infirmary overnight. It was difficult to stay in one place or room with his mind racing to find answers. So many questions laid unanswered. The sense of peace he thought he would feel so far into this mission was as much myth as it was a fairy tale. 

“Who knew the one that would lead me to you would be a little boy with no will to live?”

“I will find him.”

Nothing was peaceful, he thought to himself, closing his eyes tight. At dawns light, he left the room sleepless with a new twitch in his hands as he poured every effort he had into joining them together. His mind was a mess. Information and thoughts raced at the speed of light, making him feel like he was swimming through molasses. How long had he been on his feet? Did Celestin say something? Was Urien still trying to escape? The simple and temporal felt nonexistent between the flurry of thoughts that stormed his mind.

“This is Inhumane.”

“Will you walk this road with me?”

“You’re him, aren’t you?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Say the words.”

Landon. That used to be him. The one that would race to Urien’s side, to look at him with bright, hopeful eyes. Inwa used to be the one to smile at him and touch him gently. How shell-shocking it was to hear Landon’s disdain at Urien’s treatment, the small Miqo’te watching as he lifts and carries the other away. The yells for someone to help Urien. To save him and take the mask off, to care for him and treat him with consideration. When did Urien stop earning such basic respect?

He would hand them all over?!

“Everything Urien receives, you will get threefold.”

“I’m not protecting him because you want me to!”

Nothing made sense anymore, Inwa sighed. The weight of his own heart felt like a foreign entity. It told him he was wrong. His head screamed in opposition. The puzzle pieces didn’t fit. The various shapes laid scattered, one never corresponding to the the other as he tried to fit them in the picture his mind begged to paint. He figured out Urien’s words too late the last time and the team paid a heavy price. How long would he have to figure this one out? Would Urien give his mind the time to slam the pieces in where they fit before more people paid for it? Before it killed Inwa in the process?

“You were a curse.”

“I promise I’ll send them all to you.”

“Please end it. I beg of you.”

“I need to go back!”

It’s so cold.

Urien’s voice always called out. His eyes were always looking towards the splendor of something just out of his reach. It looked to The Raven. It looked to The Flame. It’s even looked to The Ice. When they turned on Inwa, it was to cast him out. When they turned on others, it was to show they measured to little more than tools to him. It wasn’t always this way, Inwa said in a harsh whisper. His mouth tasted like ash. When did he have a drink last? 

Silvain. He was hurt. The image of Silvaineaux’s mangled hand was burned in his mind eye as he sat frozen and unable to help. Urien bit him. 

Inwa did not connect. He refused the words when Latika asked how they would heal Urien. The force of the heat mixed with the slick, disgusting texture of the ink and poison in the air revolted him, recoiling from the very option. For ‘a boy with no will to live’, he held fast, scared to interact with the heavy and powerful aethers making their home in Urien’s veins.

But the fire. The fire was like being linked to a volcano.

When he snapped back to reality, it came with a gasp, his body folding in on itself. Curious eyes darted left and right, looking around to where his feet had carried him for the first time. They turned upwards soon afterward, staring into the clear blue sky and taking in the feeling of warm sunlight against his skin.

The fall back in was as cold and violent as the sea, lapping over him and dragging him down deeper and deeper.

No one ever called. They beg. They curse. They blame. Pain chokes in their throats, fighting to free itself beyond the threat of Ink. They always look at him. They look to Silvaineaux, or Louvel, or the kill. Always the kill.

The Flame does not draw them in like moths. Elation always waits on the tip of his tongue or in the uneasy curl of his fingers everytime he draws closer, but never happens. He’s never gotten used to the touch, or the look placed on him. The shiver and disgust never abated to cleared the way for love and mindless desire.

Why? Why?

Why was it so cold?

He was in shock. Spider said he was in shock. The ravings of a man who pushed himself too far aetherically. There was no reason to fear the cold. He was creating problems where there weren’t anyway. It was Thanalan in the middle of summer. How could he be cold?

What if he wasn’t in shock? He knew The Flame was holding the Ink. He forgot. He forgot The Flame but not the fear. It lived in his bones and shook him every time someone had to use further force on Urien. Everything would come back. The pain, the time, the effort to save him. He was afraid of it all. Extracting the ink should have solved all of his fears, but the onset cold only magnified them. 

What if saving Urien was wrong. What if he wasn’t meant to help him? Could saving someone truly only make things worse?

Should Urien have died? Was he not already preparing himself for the grim eventuality of this? It came down to a choice of Urien or everyone else. He could not have both. 

Urien was not always like this. Urien was not this. Not at his core. Inwa remembered what he used to be. The memory of that hand reaching out to him felt more like a delusion with every further sun.

“-- He doesn’t deserve it.”

“This is inhumane.”

As quickly as the thoughts and memories had sped around him did they all fall away into the black abyss he found himself floating along. The silence was a solace he forgotten the feel of. The tide ebbed and the sea stilled. In its wake the cold found him again, Inwa reaching to wrap himself in a hug for warmth.

It would start again in time, this Inwa knew intimately. Within the prison of his mind, he begged not to be alone. A presence or distraction. A touch or a word. Something that would penetrate and anchor him.

He took a cautious step, continuing to walk forward on the path his feet were determined to carry him. None of those pleas found their way to his lips, as they almost never did. They would die in his throat as he pushed everything off and away, back down into the depths of the future tidal wave.