krasimir

Ten years.

That was how long she had been held away from him. But that wasn’t what frustrated her. It was that nothing was keeping them apart anymore. Nothing was keeping them from being what they were meant to be. Not anymore. It was them. The fact that neither of them knew where the other was. Which was why she had started the journey to find him with painting. Her art was as much a part of her as he was. It was only fitting that she would send out the clues and hints that she was still alive, that she was still here, with paintings. Some were simple. Just places they had been or seen in their adventures on the surface. Some came with etchings of Arkic symbols that only he would recognize. Whether he would actually see her hints was up to the universe. At least that was what she told herself.

Miru was so different than what he would remember. She began to ask herself so many questions when she decided to join the art gallery. When she had made the decision to go to the gallery. Her heart began to point in her chest and her breathing quickened upon walking through the doors. Would he recognize her? Would their souls remember one another? Would they call out to each other the way they always had? After all. It had been so much longer than the amount of time she spent locked away. But then she heard it. Heard him call her name. Her back was turned from him. Blonde curls sitting peacefully on her shoulders, cascading down her back. Miru closed her eyes. Slammed them shut to stop the tears that threatened to spill over her pale, hallow cheeks. Her soul called out to him. Of course it did. It was him after all, wasn’t it?

“Krasa?” she said softly. His name sounded like a song on her tongue. Felt so foreign. Though she had said it a time before now. It was as though she had yet to. Had yet to say it for all these years. “Krasa,” she let his name out as she felt herself breath seemingly for the first time. Miru spun to see him. Though slowly so she would not allow herself to be let down as she had so many, many times before. How many times had she thought she had seen him–heard him– when she had not? When she was on the brink of death and delirious? It was he who was welcoming her home when she had closed her eyes. Only to be brought back to life with a splash of water upon her pale face.

But then she saw him. It was him at last. Krasa. He who her soul sang for. Who her entire being was wrapped around and made for. Krasa. Who’s very name meant beauty. And he was. Her twin brother was the very epitome of beauty. His pale skin mimicked her own and the ice that had yearned to etch itself inside her blossomed once again as her eyes met his. “Krasa,” her voice was a whisper, “I’ve finally found you.”

It was like waking up after his eyes had been sewed up and she forced them open. Krasa. Like his lungs were set on fire and her voice was the only thing able to kill the flames. Krasa. Like he was absence until she recognized him, saw him, welcomed him back into this world. Krasa. And all he could see, all he could breath, was her: his world, his reason, his love, his soul, his everything. I’ve finally found you. Because she had been looking. It wasn’t just him. He hadn’t been alone in this. And goddesses, how it hurt. To imagine her alone in this world, leaving clues behind so he could find her. Waiting for him, longing for what he too longed for. Krasa couldn’t stand it. The fact that it took one hundred and thirty six years to be here, with her. “Miru”, he said again, all the steps needed to be right in front of her taken, fingers raised to touch her cheekbones with their icy tips.

He could feel her warmth. The shape of her very much real as he countered her nose, her chin, her jawline. She was really there. “Miru,” he said at last for her to hear. The one word that owned him, the one person. It had been her name the very first thing to come out of his mouth when they swam ashore, and it was her name the first word he learned when they were but babies. It was her when he finally breathed again. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner,” Krasa whispered, eyes filled with the tears he didn’t cry in all those years. He had screamed until his voice was lost and gone silent for months without end, but he had never cried. Not even once. Now, as he allowed his arms to bring her close, embracing her as strongly as he could without hurting his twin, Krasa finally cried. In silence. For her, for him, for time, for absence, for reunion, for home. For all the things he once was and all the things he could’ve been. 

It was so ugly. That hideous green thing standing in his living room, staring back at him. Why on Earth did I buy this shit?, was the question filling his day. To be honest, Blair didn’t really like surface-nature. It grew all over the place, in all kinds of weird shapes and smells. He didn’t particularly understand Helle’s love for it, and less could he loosely comprehend Lilith’s attraction to it. But an Arkic royal was nothing if a good host, and if he was to open his home for the twins, it would be in style. Or at least, in a way that wouldn’t traumatize him or the girls, anyway. So Blair made sure to be dressed, to keep the loft clean, to have good food, a varied set of movie options and a nice ugly big inconvenient plant in his dining table to put a smile on Lilith’s face and give him reason to once more prove to Pandora he could be a good friend to her twin. Double pleasure. One small problem. 

“Don’t worry, thingy, I’m killing you by the end of this month, anyway,” Blair frowned to the plant, shrugging away his utter annoyance at its presence once the doorbell filled the loft. Forcing himself not to stare too much at his bare feet, Blair walked to the door, a galant smile on his face when he opened it. “Hi, Lily,” he offered to the twin he liked. “Pandora,” he hissed to the one he didn’t. “Come on in, girls, no need to stand there,” Blair said at last, moving out of the way so they could start their movie night at once. 

The next one will take me to her. Those were the words that Blair said to himself every time he went after the paintings. Year after year, city after city, the same promise. The same false hope. And this time around, it wasn’t different. The opening of tonight’s show promised to bring him another one of those paintings he had been collecting for over a century. The ones that gave him sick clues of his sister’s whereabouts. Somehow, this was all Blair had going for him and his search for Miru. Anonymous tips that he didn’t even know how to elaborate in either their reality or falsehood. All he knew was that she had to be the one painting them. Those were her colours, her brushes, their memories. She had to be alive to send them to him. And with that in mind, Blair opened the door to the gallery, one hand in his pocket as he quickly looked through the crowd to find the one piece that mattered. The painting that had caught a rather familiar woman’s attention.

It was like his body felt her before his eyes met her back. Almost like a perfect echo of his heartbeat bouncing back to him. Once upon a time, every breath he took and every move he made had its reflexion on her. Once upon a time, he could’ve felt her presence miles away. And now, his entire body seemed to scream the way he did when she went missing. The pain of absence becoming the overwhelming sensation of finding himself again. It had to be her. Even though she didn’t smell like home. Even though her frame was far more delicate than he remembered. Even though she didn’t turn to him when he saw her. For those were her curls in that woman’s head, and so were those fingers, and height, and moves, and posture, and shape. Blair would never be wrong about it. Not for as long as he could recognise himself. 

This was Miru.

But she didn’t turn to see him. And she had to feel him too. Must. His heart started racing. Was he so delusional that he was wrong about this too? Or could he have changed so much, Miru wouldn’t be able to feel him near her? After all, her absence made him tempest, took away his patience. Every part of him that was once Krasa, became something else, entirely different. He wasn’t the silence carved in ice, the power in standing still, the wildness, untamed. Not anymore. Not without her. It disappeared when she did. All of what Arkic gave to him. All that made him theirs. One hundred and thirty six years ago, he stopped being seen as he truly was. One hundred and thirty six years ago, he was painted in all of the wrong colours. 

Until now.

“Miru”, he dared to say, to hope. Mouth still open in the shape of her name, body shivering, legs failing. He could feel his hands growing colder, the little patterns of ice growing in his knuckles as it always did when he couldn’t control himself. Please, his fingers seemed to say. Be her, the ocean left inside him asked. The sounds around him stopped. The shapes lost form. It was almost like the air itself was taken away and the creature of oceans was drowning inside his own mind. Blair couldn’t take another step, see anything else. Just the waves in her hair, the snow in her skin, the depth in her lines and the timelessness of her. Miru. His world. Please. His sanity. Be her. At last. “Is that you?”, so one hundred and thirty six years after, Krasa could finally breath again.

“ you do have a point there and I was at the lusty lady yesterday.”  or rather his fraternity brothers were inside the establishment and lucius was getting acquainted with someone else. “ bacchus seems like the best option if you want something a tad different and then I will take you to a little secret place of mine.” the wytch left a few couple dollars to cover the bill. “ let´s go. I need to find a place for my car because I will be in no condition to drive after." as they walked lucius considered if he should share with blair the special extra that they offered at bacchus. ambrosia was its name. he normally resisted corrupting his body with harmful substances but he was no saint. far from it actually. the effects tend to last for some hours and he had a family reunion tomorrow. fuck it. another time it will be. ” since you are a simple male what´s your vice, blair? the one you would sell your soul for? indulge me, please. I´m rather curious to know.“

“We’re all always at the lusty lady, my friend, it seems like one of the best places to be around here,” and that came with a meyr entertaining the crowd. What could Blair say? His people did have the ability to mesmerize and take everything to another level. A higher one. But that kind of comment probably wouldn’t go well with just anyone. So Blair just kept it to himself, a knowing smile on his face as the vanity of an entire species inflated his own. “Bacchus it is, then, and your secret place... rather curious to find that one out, specially with the promise of no condition to drive afterwards,” Blair shrugged, expectation already taking the best of him as he got up and followed Lucius. “I have a lot of vices, Luci. Five hundred years worth of them, actually. Drugs, bad choices, lovers, places... you name it and I probably already screwed that one out for sure. But if I had to pick one, that would be the chase. I’ve been looking for someone for a century now and I can honestly say I’m obsessed with it. The one vice I would sell my soul for,” and he laughed, with no emotion whatsoever present in that sound. Truth was always a delicate thing to handle. “How about you? What’s your sell a soul for vice?”

“ apathy is the same as death.  as a dead person for all intended purposes I would know.”  she comments dividing her attention between the man and the conversations around them. vampyr senses mean that silence wasn´t really an option. however it was rude of her, so astarte continued after taking a sip of her drink.“ humans have a saying that home is sometimes a person or a feeling. I was born in egypt but I don´t call it home. there is nothing of importance there anymore. they desecrated the graves of my family and exposed their bones for the world to see like trophies. and we were the heretics..." what follows her  words are a string of profanities in ancient egyptian that would make a lesser man crawl and the gods that hear them come to skin her alive. she doesn´t care anymore.  a pleasant but empty smile grows. mood swings are indeed a bitch. astarte was too old for a midlife crisis. ” ...sorry for that I was cursing the gods.  and where is your home? if you don´t mind me asking.“

her time was valuable but was also never ending. as long as the vampyr kept her head attached to her body and her heart between the webs of her ribcage.” no, it doesn’t change.“ she tilted her head. cold eyes almost violet with a golden rim study him. eyes that were strange even among vampyrs. ” you have something in your mind, don´t you? I don´t know you, but I know that look in your eyes. and your heart makes a beautiful song. always found interesting how hearts speak more than words.”

For a moment, Blair wanted to say she was wrong. No, one could desire apathy and not consider it death. But in a way, Blair knew she was right. The question became whether or not he still desired it. And as he looked at the dead woman for all intended purposes, he realized he might just do it. Might just cross from irresponsibilities and recklessness to an active desire of stopping all this. To be no more. But then, who would find Miru and bring her home? And the thought of her was enough to make him shake all those doubts, get rid of the unwanted images that came if him being absent and she still lost. This could never happen. Apathy was never to be his. “It’s quite alright”, Blair smiled, discretely. Who was him to judge someone else’s desire to be in the wrong side of their gods? He had his own share of misdeeds to get right with the goddesses, to be fair. “I was born in the Arkic Court, if that’s what you’re asking, but I wouldn’t exactly call it home... not anymore, that is”, he offered, one hand back in his glass as he considered whether to offer more or not. 

“I do, yes,” he said, one last breath before all the cards were on the table. It was now or never. Everything or nothing at all. A century of search exposed in all its flaws and accomplishments and fears and successes and failures and pain. This was it. The moment this whole conversation waited for. And somehow, Blair felt nothing. A complete lack of any sense of self preservation. No anxiety. No fear. No expectation. Just him, her, the hostile environment and what he came here for. “I’m looking for someone. A former regent of Arkic. She’s 498 years old, blue eyes, delicate face, a formidable painter,” he swallowed, a faint smile on his lips as he described her. “Her name is Miru and she was taken around a century ago. I’ve been looking for her ever since... she’s out there, somewhere, and I need to find her. Any information you may have, I’m willing to pay for it. Whatever the cost,” because he was desperate and there was no point in denying it. Because she might just be his last chance and he couldn’t afford to lose it. Because Miru was worth it all and Krasa was prepared to pay with his own life, if necessary.

#: ringtone?

↪️: last person they texted?

❤️: screensaver/background image?

@: do they have snapchat? Do they use it?

♣️: do they have a vine?

♦️: any games? Favourites?

✖️: what type of phone/what condition is it in?

✔️: misc. apps?

♠️: general content of their iTunes (if anything)?

〰: last thing they took a photo of?

* ╱ 𝓃𝒾𝓂𝒾𝒶𝓃𝑒 𝓀𝓇𝑒𝒾𝑒𝓈𝒾𝒶

●︎ when: april 23rd, 1899 

●︎ where: kristiania oslo, norway 

●︎ with: @blairkrasimir

nimiane swam upwards, body swaying to the motion of the serene water. ‘cold’ was never a thought, more of a emotion, a sense of being whole, but that day, she shivered at the thought of witnessing the surface for the first time. she was wide-eyed and unnerved, adrenaline rushing through the meek meyr after a successful escape from aisai’s walls. tunnels dug from ancestors and beasts alike has made the bottom of the kingdom a maze underneath mazes. she knew it was a formidable idea, one her mother would never think she’s capable of, but needed the assistance from her sisters. three, exactly. the rebellious ones, those that were sentenced to mother’s lair more times than she cares to count. “we were waiting for the moment you would grow up,” they had told nimiane in unison with their cheeky grins to match the influence they had on the youngest. now they stood guard while nimiane dared to travel to the human’s world.

surprisingly, her mother’s stories about humans never slandered them. in fact, nimiane had always assumed the woman missed the surface and her discoveries. as she made her way to the shores, shifting her deep blue tail in exchange for a pair of wombly legs, she could see why her mother was so beguiled. she fell, hard, at first, but meyrfolk are descedants of humans as well at the end of it all and it didn’t take long before she reached the spot her sister had left a flimsy dress for her to wear. the cold felt different on land, harsher, unrelenting and without the serenity she’s used to but all the more alive. her steps to her long awaited romance felt like eternity. was it nerves? fear? excitement? all of the above? the answer came to nimiane when she’s finally faced with krasa in all his mysterious swagger and she’s quick to run swift into his arms.

“any place you want. show me everything you’ve seen.” she said in their embrace, arms hugging his muscled frame; on the tip of her toes, nonetheless. she felt highly favored, a contagious smile from ear to ear surfacing at last. all the doubt and inhibitions fleeing her psyche. too long has she lived inside her own shadows, fearing for tomorrow and regretting yesterday. krasa brought a stop to the endless cycle thrust upon her. she let go of him after she her mind could prove that moment wasn’t a dream, that they were finally together, with the world at their fingertips - not hidden away in the trenches of the sea. again, she shivers, but out of deep love, practically vibrating at the possibilities ahead. “thank you…” she says shyly, eyes averting to the ground so her voice wouldn’t break, “this… you… it’s all so perfect. i don’t want this to end.”

It felt like she fit, in every sense of the word. Almost as if her body was a shelter, a place of comfort where every form of his could find safety. It didn’t matter their shapes, this felt the same. Something that Krasa wasn’t expecting, if he was to be honest with himself. A part of him had already grown cynic, waiting for things to fail, go wrong. This was their first time in the surface together. And though Krasa would never voice it, he imagined it could disrupt them. Torn them apart. All those wrong pieces of him against all her expectations. It was bittersweet, then, to hold her close against him, kiss the top of her head, and realize she still fit in him perfectly. As nothing had changed. Easily. It only made him think of this everlasting game where he braced for the worst and kept on facing the very best. A long life taught him this couldn’t be real. A desperate disposition sought out everything that could go wrong. Only to find nothing. At all.

How egocentric it was to suddenly consider he could’ve been made to fit her. All those years ago, unknowingly. The ocean forged him to be hers, an iceberg that found its home in only one place, at one specific time. Could that be real? Would the sea be so cruel to the point of making him belong to people and not to places? Because if so, Krasa was bound to be homeless. If there was one thing Miru’s disappearance taught him, it was that. And it hurt. To consider Nimiane might be next. To waste his time with her thinking about her absence. So he closed his eyes, allowed his skin to feel her, entirely. Even if it was to happen, it wouldn’t be now. “That could take a while... you might have to stay in the surface with me for a couple of centuries,” Krasa smiled, a suggestion that dwelled between fantasy, desire and a plan. Two hundred years was what it took him to get to this point. Two hundred years was all he asked of her. To show the world, discover its mysteries, learn about music, books, humans, art, magic, danger, adventures. A chance to guide her through it. The honor of being there for her first times as well. 

The blooms were full and sweet, and everything was blanketed under the big, blue sky. It was grand and vast, stretching into perpetuity like the hopes and dreams she had pleaded for against the universe in her youth. It was not odd to find her languidly stretched in the garden. Though she might appear serene to a wandering eye, a vexing storm roared beneath her surface. Helle was often left faltering under the weight of her own inner-workings. Hazel hues rolled towards the heavens. It was tangible yet undecipherable. There were different realms, different gates, different things she could slip between to coax a soul back to a mortal coil (or immortal, for that matter. There were times she had debated about slipping within, not seeking a someone, but a something. Answers. Helle propped herself up on an elbow when a figure darkened her peripheral. It was a face she knew well, though it bore an expression she didn’t have to analyze. She rose from the earth, her brow creasing in concern and query.

“Blair??” Helle steadied herself for the whirlwind she would potentially be swept into. It was one she would join in a heartbeat. A mangled heartbeat that the other knew the bloody history of – shared over the centuries when a tail was traded for legs. They were a constant in the chaos and turmoil, a hand extended ready to pull out of self-inflicted carnage and the wreckage of a life well-lived… or at least, their best attempt. She opened her mouth to extend a greeting but the truth soon shut it. There were a solemnity and heft in the few seconds offered to process before the barrage started. “Wow.” It was all she could offer in response.

There was something devastating and raw to be found in romance and its vulnerability, yet it was something Helle found herself running towards with arms outstretched. There was a dark poeticness about it — the despair and passion she drew together in a single, shallow breath. It was a beautiful, painful mistress she longed to submit to. One that had claimed many victims along the way. It was one she had vowed never to return to, uttered with Blair as her witness then and as the witness when she relapsed. Helle shifted once more and nodded towards a flask and a small, etched silver cigarette case. “Pick your vice, you certainly need it more than I do.”

She let it fill the space between them. She had heard the details, listened to many lamentations. They had gotten blind drunk in attempts to dull grief – not entirely the same, but mutual despair. If only the dead stayed buried. “Love can make someone irrational, yet it can feel like coming up for air,” Helle offered, “or whatever equivalent analogy you deem appropriate.” She wasn’t sure if any were. “Everything aside — what you did, what she did — she’s alive. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing??” The answer might not be that easy, but it might just be a start.

Wow, indeed. He felt stupid. Laying on the grass, eyes closed to avoid the sun, lungs out of breath. Blair just bursted. Allowed all the heartbreak, outrage and relief to take control. Without warning, composure, dignity. And by the goddesses, how he hated to lose his own balance. Specially for someone else. -- Though, if he was to be honest with himself, Blair would probably notice she always had that ability. Advantage, really. The one of many first times she owned in Blair’s long life. It was infuriating... but was also thrilling. To relinquish control, to watch himself be taken by whatever she brought back to life inside him. This was it. The thing that made him want to give up the world he knew, the home he had and the freedom he loved. This was her.

And instead of admitting any of that out loud, Blair just followed Helle’s nod, stretching his hands to pick both poisons. He could use as many dulled senses as he could master right about now. “I actually do need them,” he sighed, the words weighting on him as if they were poisonous. To need anything was rather unbecoming. To revel on his own abuses was the preferred position. But as Blair sat up to open the flask and swallow as much of its content as he could, he realized preference was no longer in the picture. Not with Nimiane in it. “For fuck’s sake, Helle, what am I doing with my life? I hate these... feelings,” Blair looked at his friend, the last word coming out as if it was dirty. Pointless. And with the flask closed again, he went on to burn his frustrations through one of her cigarette’s, the nicotine tuning him down.

“No, coming up for air is extremely accurate. It hurts like hell for me. Almost as if air burns, you know? First time around I thought I was dying... so, it’s perfect,” Blair offered, an ironic smile on his face as he looked at the fey. The analogy served him right, at this point. Graphic, dramatic, precise. “I want to say it’s bad. I really do. But if I’m being honest? It’s fucking amazing,” and yet, somehow, Blair could still hear his words torn between anger and bewilderment. If he couldn’t understand what went on inside his mind, how could he even search for his peace? “I forgot how she smelled. I mean... she’s still just as beautiful. Meyrfolk hardly aren’t. But her smell... it’s like coming home after years. It’s oddly familiar, comfortable, unsetting. I don’t even know who that woman is now, but it drawn me to her. I couldn’t help how I felt and that’s frustrating. Because, in the end, she stills fits me. Like there were parts missing and those were hers, and I don’t want to feel this. I want to be in control of my own chaos and turmoil. But her smell... I swear to all the goddesses. I just can’t shake it off.”