DAMIEN THORN.

a meme for characters who make the perfect problematic fave. most quotes are my own, some are from movies / shows / games / songs. feel free to change wording when sending your ask if needed.

     Irony stood that sometimes a curse could be a blessing, and it was at that moment. Because the Curse ensured that he would always do the bidding of the Coven, it also ensured that only the Coven could control him … that compulsions and enchantments would not affect him.

     That was not to say, however, that Rene didn’t feel it. In truth, it made him sick. Sensitive to those energies, even being in the same vicinity of someone with such strong charisma, he could feel it licking at the edges of his soul like fire, digging into the fiber of his being with curved needles and pulling … pulling … nauseating.

     A moth to a flame, perhaps, but able to withstand the allure–only admiring–but he could feel the burn, the burn of being too close to the fire, close enough to the point that you knew you were burning, that you should pull away, but knowing you could withstand it for just a second longer.

     That was one of the many reasons Julian had sent Rene–or rather, ‘Larc’ as he was known to the rest of the world. Being cursed worked to his advantage … Rene could take it, he could stand to be in this boy’s presence without threat to his will–a will that was already fickle and faltering as he continued to search for who he was, who he used to be, who he could be. Julian would have easily fallen victim to just this boy’s presence, there was no doubt about that. At least Larc appeared to be of a peer’s age, and perhaps it would seem odd if a grown man interacted with a teenage boy unsupervised in any case.

     Eyes locked for that brief moment, when earth met a fire the color of sea and sky. True to the lore, this boy was beautiful; of that, there was certainly no doubt. Captivating. His free hand lifted gracefully, rising like a wisp of white smoke; slender fingers curled about the swinging crystal to stop the pendulum, never once breaking his gaze. At that moment, Larc seemed so still and pale that one would nearly think him a living marionette of porcelain, unfazed by the passing students who filed by and disappeared around corners and into classrooms. None of them acknowledged the silent witch in the hall … and his spell had ensured just that; a simple glamour of invisibility … but this boy looked right at him.

     Larc would expect nothing less from the son of the lightbringer, unjustly cast into shadow.

     It was definitely him. The face was identical to the mural on Yigael’s Wall. And that aura … there was no mistaking it.

     He blinked once, a visual and physical reminder that this doll was, in fact, alive. Larc’s voice was quiet, an even and soft-spoken tone with a French lilt, weighted with the gravitas of wisdom beyond his apparent age. 

    “Good morning,” he replied as he gradually returned his pendulum to his coat pocket. Larc was not one for small talk. “Am I intruding?”

     he has seemingly always been this way.  a MISGUIDING LIGHT.  an alluring soul, like an ANGLER FISH.  a light in his hands, he snatches the victim often just as unknowingly, of his own actions, AS THOSE-- snared by them.  it is a blissful lie, a lie cast over his eyes, like a shroud of smog.  he sees the way things ‘SHOULD BE SEEN’..  he sees... what a human... should see.  he sees his future, his family, and endless possibilities.  YET the truth is.  there is only ONE future, for him.  ONE path.  ONE destiny.  any ‘choice’ he makes, is an illusion.  he’s been guided, nurtured, and groomed for this since the day he was pulled free of the JACKAL’S WOMB.  

yet he doesn’t know it.  he doesn’t know that they’re ALL AROUND HIM.  watching him, waiting-- THE WORLD WILL BE HIS, and they’re biding their time.  acting as teachers, as friends.... as his very own STEP-AUNT.  all because, when he rises to power... they want to ride along upon his coat tails.  it is best to be with THE WINNING SIDE, is it not? rather than that, of the LOSING SIDE.  after all, is it not war? damien is in place of the knight, his father the king.  it is his job to protect, and pave the way for the coming of the BANISHED MORNING STAR.  and it is he, who will be feared.   there is no time for love.  yet that is all damien has known.  for mark had given him LOVE.  had given him friendship, companionship, and taught him humanity.   it was mark that was the LIGHT to his DARK.  and it was never planned.  the ONE THING they could not control-- being mark thorn.

eyes captured by the pendulum gathered into thin fingers, his head tilts softly-- DARK HAIR cascading like a water fall, over icy hues as he dares to summon a step forward.  it is odd-- most people, never take long to close the distance between HE, and THEM.  but this boy-- seemed different.  around DAMIEN’S AGE, he’s nothing like teddy and for that damien is thankful.  the only one that flocks to him with a ‘verbal beating’ in mind, rather than to attempt friendship-- would be the BURLY YOUNG MAN, that spoke ill of damien’s ‘father’.   he DOESN’T have to look twice, to know the young man before him wouldn’t be speaking of ROBERT THORN and his wife--    if he’d speak at all.  

for a long moment passes, silence between them as students eventually filter into their classes-- and leave the boys alone.  soon his ‘TEACHER’ would come looking for him.  he seemed awfully ‘FOND’ of damien, watching him from the darkness where THE BEAST, could not see him.

@jackalborne

Perhaps he seemed a bit out of place. It was very clear from his attire that he was not ‘military academy’ material, and actually seemed more of the ‘preparatory school’ persuasion … nor did he carry himself like one of the students of this particular establishment. His gait was a refined and elegant glide as he wandered the halls. No escort. No explanation as to why he was there. He seemed to be just a random, well-dressed teen wandering the halls.

And yet … no one seemed to stop him; no one appeared to even notice him as they filtered into their respective classrooms. No one saw him pause in the middle of a corridor. Until then, he had kept his eye on a clear pendulum that had rhythmically swung from left to right … but suddenly, as he had turned a corner, the crystal started to swing in a small but rapid clockwise motion. 

His gaze lifted to glance to the boy across the way.

               damien appeared like glimpse of art midst creation.   MOVEMENTS, like brushes STRUCK ACROSS canvas, swirls of paint being blended into one another.  his features are fragile, his cheeks are round, and his eyes are brilliant.                      he’s the definition OF ANGELIC.  carved FROM MARBLE, infused WITH SAPPHIRES.         his natural born allure, draws mortals nearer.  and oh, how he has NEVER QUITE minded.     for in truth, he has never known what he is, or rather-- who.  THE BEAST, and it’s NUMBER hidden beneath a head of dark hair.  FOR NOW, he lives a human life,     with a cousin who taught him how to love.  a boy, who in every sense of the word... was damien thorn’s HUMANITY.  without him, the boy would lose HIS HALO, HIS WINGS would fall--    and the blackened entity that lurks beneath, would be unleashed.                   yet as he GRINS to the blond boy across from him, it is apparent that MARK is far from being gone--    no, he’s only going to his next class, where as damien... unfortunately must PART WAYS with the male.

and this, is how he notices the other boy--        an ODD SIGHT really, for damien KNOWS almost every face, and every name in the academy.    just as every face, and every name- KNOW HIM.  but he’s grown up like this you see.  people know him, before he ever knows them.  he was the son of an IMPORTANT MAN, and a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN.  both of whom had PASSED years ago.       now he was under care of his uncle.      and his legacy continues to burn in his WAKE.  

yet something, doesn’t feel right--            something in the boy’s GUT churns, and blue hues falter as they catch those of brown.    A BURN to his scalp, where THE NUMBER of the beast is branded, and the boy stops his descent.    he stands there, a silent figure as others shuffle past to their classes. oh the sergeant, will have damien’s head for this-- but something; ISN’T RIGHT.