LA * LUNE.

He came to this place by dying, by drowning. There was no difference in dreams, the place of the Caelums, as too they traversed through death and time and illusions. These places were the soft places, where reality and dreams and death converge and they fuss over each other in storms and delusions, smoke and mirrors. Except, he is drowning here in reverse. He thrashes and awakes with lungs full of salt water and dug from dragging depths. Bubbles sputter from his throat as a distant ascension is commenced, thrashing uselessly in the waters that are inclement to his struggle. But, through a burst of water, Noctis heaves himself upon a sand bar and retches water from his lungs, eyes tearing and throat burning. Coughing spasmodically, it hurts. But, he recovers. He manages to.

This is Altissia, and it is not. The colors are wrong, the emptiness is wrong. The Altar of the Tidemother sits on its lonely isle and the floating city is drowning in the Acqua Alta. She is drowned and quiet and perhaps she saved his life. Noctis heaves himself upon its stone, cold and sacrificial. 

He does not know why he is here, but perhaps he does. For he is not dead, he is not alive. 

“I– Anyone here?”

@moonichor

  & her ? --- the mirror asked. she came here by aching, wherein the bloodshed was embraced. --- said its reflection.  one would claim; wounds closed & healed to seal themselves into scars.  and yet, ichor shan’t cease splattering, spilling, flowing and running out until it revealed the bottom of the river. she forgot naught of the dismal wrongs in her head, no flicker of violations. a brand, a bloody one, remained vibrant, throbbing more vividly than vitality --- the essence lost its shimmer long ago, back in immemorial eras, and glistened nevermore amidst these ruins. now, a dark, dirty fluid streamed without halt and dried out with haste. moony, this crooked prophetess proceeded in fragile wanderings, paid no attention how all ‘round her was but reflecting something, anything but outside reality. a place where only ILLUSION could allow this surreal construction:  she, with her arid veins ;  she, with her crater-pain : found herself in an altissia non-existent, just as barren as herself; aquatic horizon replaced with sand. here, the goddess of the seas must be dead.  (  ‘ darling, walked we ‘pon a thin line ‘twixt living and un-living --- you and i ? ‘  ) 

A steady correspondence had been maintained through the canine that presently so amiably trotted up to the drifting youth. As blood heir of a distant Oracle, Vergil had not strayed from his lineage, nor his relatives, while he had up and left his home of Tenebrae. It was not his wish to cut ties or traditions, but he hadn’t any fondness for living beneath the oppressive rule of an invading authority. He had desired, much less, to fall in line and to render himself a pawn, an asset. To feign loyalty was not within him; to betray his sentiments, his family, his good sense was far beyond his power. He found himself in Duscae as a result, now more mature and experienced, and wise above all to the motives and the actions of Niflheim, and the consequences that surely came to follow wherever they would leave their mark. The rolling Lucian plains, its hills and grasslands, and every habitable outpost was a much different sight to behold, and even more a different experience to learn from. Vergil was afforded a new point of view from abiding among the natives, and any one of them he came to meet would not freeze their shoulder to turn away from the Tenebraen. His was not a forgettable face, considering his stature among his family and the renown it brought him. Still, one might not look upon him with the same familiarity as one might, say, Ravus Nox Fleuret.

He’d crouched to take the journal from Umbra’s gentle maw. Clearly, he had been joyous in countenance to receive such a visit, for this must certainly mean that his cousin had fared well as he’d hoped. The news of Insomnia’s fall and subsequent seizure was not something he, in Lucis, could have possibly missed—and with Lunafreya a doomed part of it, he had apprehended hearing no further word of her. It was with much relief that he saw Umbra, journal nestled between teeth, for he knew instantly that he needn’t worry himself any longer.

Eagerly had he pored over the contents of the filled pages. Breath escaped his lips parted ajar through a steady exhale. Any tension wound up within had relaxed away, and it was almost visible about his frame as he appeared to slacken with the lifting of an intangible weight. She’s all right! And, better still, she was in Lucis! They could meet, talk in depth—or as long as these new circumstances would allow. Alas, it would be a danger to have them together given Vergil’s incriminating position. With this thought, his smile faded. His hope, however, did not burn out as quickly, and he put pen to paper thenceforth.

Lunafreya,           You don’t realize how much I’ve been relieved to know that you’re alive and well. You can imagine how I’d felt when I heard news that you’d lost your life in Insomnia. I would much rather think on the future now that I know you can take part in it. However, I think it’d be a risk if we met. As much as I would like to, I’m afraid of what we would put in jeopardy. Imperials might already figure we’d try, and there’s no telling to what extent they would use that kind of opportunity.           That said, I’m open to suggestions. Maybe, if you’re expecting to travel to Duscae soon, I could stay put until you get here—it’s where I’m staying currently. We could plan further from there. I think we could both use the company and the comfort to come with it. I’m only too glad knowing you’ve made it out of Insomnia, and now you can fulfill your duties as Oracle. Please stay safe and in good health.                                                                                 Your cousin,                                                                                              Vergil

With that, he shut the journal, and returned it to his patient messenger. If he’d a stronger affinity toward animals, he might have given the dog a pat on the head. As it was, he merely smiled at him, and thanked him for his service as well as his loyalty. Not in so many words, of course, but he was inclined to believe that he’d been thoroughly understood. Thus, he sent Umbra on his way, offering parting words of caution. Vergil had no way of knowing what was to come as Luna’s response, nor when, but he would remain within Duscae if only to finalize arrangements—or until they must be dissolved. Sincerely, he hoped the latter was but speculation, and the former a great stroke of luck. At the very least, which was quite enough for him, his cousin had gotten rid of his doubts and his worries, all that terrible anxiety with which he contemplated the idea of her death. What, then, did that say of the Lucian king and its prince? Vergil would have to ask Lunafreya herself once the opportunity arrived. Let them have the opportunity first.

  a steady correspondence, indeed  ---  an emotional pillar, non-shattered.  one of the fewer stabilized things which did not wilt, nor gave in to the decay of time and the foolish fury of misled, war-thriving men.  and how they hath greedily taken, hungered for crystallized light, for they were night-infected, they were parasite-inflicted, unbeknownst of its true effect, to be host for corruption incarnate.   call this letter exchange a tying of links ‘twixt the star-shine of two, a glimmer to look out for, a lonesome hope amongst the absolution of isolation. a purely burning wick of a family’s beacon. like this, only for several shared lines, the world softened, and the heavens sighed less.    arrival of o time-bending emissary hath brightened her eyes in spotted daylight (  bask in these dying rays, as long as they filtered through thickening particles; slowly eclipsed. who’d known how long they lasted ? ). an awaited response was sought with eager pace with book in her hands, paper to paper, the pages fluttered. and there! the cousin hath written. paragraphs stretched across, as did the pale smile on maiden’s visage. truly, such reminded of passed childhood-history akin to a patchwork fairy tale, full with innocent memoriam, and naive dreams (  ‘this innocence was robbed from us.’  peeled, stripped, from oracle flesh to lunar-bone. ‘but, i am only halfway alone’  )  

 ‘ My dear Vergil;  you never need to worry about me, I promise you to stay in the best health possible. ’   --- in her damaging position, bluntly spoken. oh, how she loved to spill lies with ink. how she loved to encrypt, to create a puzzle with artificial optimism. by far, the most horrid part about her: an unapologetic masquerade.  these twelve years: they gorged on a once delicate spine, hardened it, made this heart lukewarm, soon to become cold, cold, colder. t’was her occupation / her inherited calling to bleed gold, to donate light that was not her possession, to give away warmth and soon it left her veins barren and her muscles slacken. lo, darling cousin; the lady oracle was born a liar, and she kept creating wrong harmony with a mere pen for thee:   ‘ The bitter truth about a hindered reunion aches me, but I agree. Surely, we have only a little number of options to plan a meeting furthermore. ‘ (  before the covenants drain the last bit of life from me. before i rot via this inward agony  )  ‘ As you know, the oracle’s duty demands to awake the gods when the time is right. I am sure you still recall the tales.  Whilst proceeding in this task, naturally I ought to visit many places, and the fields of Duscae are in fact one of them to pass by and gather the Archaean’s blessing.  This journey shall be a long one. As of now, I travel to the small isle of Angelgard, the thunder god will wait there. After this accomplishment, Duscae is my next goal, and then lastly Altissia.  Would that I could return to Tenebrae one more time with you to marvel at its valleys covered in Sylle blossoms, but with the empire following my every step, I am on the run. We both may be, constantly. Never do I wish upon you to be in danger, and in the current turmoil, their machinery troops seem alarmed day and night. Thusly, there is the probability we could miss one another. If you still wish to share your current location, I aim to seek you out.                                Please, be careful.                                                  Lunafreya.  ‘

@moonichor​

          ❝ it is an honour to be summoned by you , lady lunafreya . ❞ hand over heart , the star bowed to the young girl . ❝ how can i be of service to you ? ❞   

a familiar body , a familiar woman / different setting , different timeline . 

jagged edges of another life protrude from the pallor that envelops him , broken mirrors show a reflection not entirely his own ( a man of many names yet none quite fit , all wrong , wrong , wrong — ! ) ; don’t touch , it urges . he doesn’t listen ; fingertips glide along the edges softly , cautiously , leaving a trail of liquid gold in their wake . the aureate pigment soon fades , however , gives way to deep claret . wounds heal , re - open , heal again ; he retraces each life from start to finish , sets the blueprints alight / forgets it all once more ( each cycle gradually chipping away at the slumbering god beneath a mask so terribly human ; soon enough there will no longer be anything left to salvage : the remainder of phantom recollections peeled away from hollowed bones like decomposing flesh , picked clean by the vultures / by gaia herself ) . 

an illusion , it whispers , do not listen . a familiar voice beckons him then , but he doesn’t listen .

❛ so I see , ❜ ( faux ) mirth bleeds onto the pallor of his mien, befouls it / twists crimson - touched lips into a vicious smile . it blooms and blossoms , soaking into the fabric of his countenance , staining all a vivid vermilion . with arms folded ‘pon his chest now , he proceeds to recline in his seat , lurid gaze not once parting with her own ( she had freed him moments prior / cut him loose much to the priest’s dismay — he figures he can work with that ) . curious , this one , different . ( ever so familiar ) . 

❛ ‘suppose next time they’ll know better than ta ambush ‘n innocent , helpless citizen . ❜ evidently he belongs to neither category , the latter demonstrated plenty by a broken nose to his left and a broken arm to his right ( both guards still looking rather displeased with the loss of his bindings , yet dare not utter a single word of complaint ) . not that he was in a much better shape himself , with bruises and lacerations mercilessly peppering the vast expanse of exposed pallor ( for some unknown reason , as being modest was not at all on the agenda ever , the redhead was somewhat relieved his clothing had remained intact ) . his neck , however , was another matter altogether . deep , vivid maroon now pigmented the boundary betwixt the sharp line of his jaw and the beginnings of his collarbones , sanguine lilies blooming just beneath the parchment - thin skin , petal - edges gradually darkening as blood continues to clot inside soft tissue . with enough time they , too , will rot away ( fall away , ) and leave no reminder at all .

❛ well now that’cha got me , ❜ it takes some time for the unease to creep up on the man and to crawl down his spine ( spider - limbed and ever so unpleasant ) , but when it does , it forces his arms to slowly stretch out and over their wide rests as nimble digits curl , claw , and begin to tap away at the finely polished surface beneath . ❛ ‘s only ‘propriate ta ask what is it that ya want with me ? ❜ from me .

               a familiar body, familiar deity, who knew too much / saw too much.              (  thou hast admired this moon for far too long to not be drawn, see?  )      recalled and restored too often & fractured earth-given laws like church windows, without regret, without scruples and qualms. oh, such ire-stirring betrayal of a bound balance-nurturer. call her remorseless to become imbalanced, whilst she placed these shattered pieces together, each god-bone back into this primordial spine. this reality was a mosaic of half-truth. twisted and gruesome afterlives withheld the detail to one ( o pan, monstrous pan, thou remained’st the ignorant one ), sewed the other with-knowledge fabric and fateful work of handcraft ( o selene, clear selene, she hath been cognizant & pellucid ).      they reeked of biting tear-salt, they were soaked by the essence of a stellar-ocean, and my dear, we did drown. into this atrocity-hex, this atlantis-curse, we did drown, and unbeknownst of it all, thou swallowed’st its mayhem to quench thy everyday’s water-thirst. thou drankest the lapse of memory, then wast denied ambrosia, denied immortality.  (  & she shall tear these wounds open, ruthlessly with satin-fingers and a marble-sculptured heart, polluted her own hands with withering ichor, only to trigger thy remembrance.  ‘WAKE UP. I BEG OF THEE; WAKE UP. ‘ )