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@nycteris-offical
Come little children, I'll take thee away... Into a land of enchantment...
I am Nycteris.
I am very clearly a demon, but I was previously a vampire. Obviously not a great one, if I'm dead.
If you think you know me, no you don't. Looks can deceive, you know.
He/they.
Achillean.
...
Follow sweet children, I'll show thee the way through all the pain and the sorrows～
Theme: Blood Guts & Pixie Dust — Neoni
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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And so the first act ends.
See you in the next chapter, my dears~
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
“I understand you have a supply of cursed ichor?”
"I do not. Identify yourself."
wait wait wait so what exactly happened to nycteris after the last thread?
Ooc: He stayed on the clock tower for a bit to watch the stars, but shadow-traveled home when the sun was almost enough to burn him.
Nycteris stands at the top of the same clock tower he was writing on so long ago, eyes dull and expression neutral. He looks so... done with everything. Tired. Exhausted, even. One wrong move could send him falling over the edge to the ground so far away.
He's been quiet for so long now that silence comes more naturally than speech. Nycteris sighs, eyes closing. It would be almost serene if not under these circumstances. The Vampire Lord looks done because he is. He's so sick of people, sick of existing. He doesn't know how much more he can take before he finally breaks.
...
He misses Pierre.
Sometimes he sees the gargoyle in his present lover, and then feels so guilty about it that he wants to curl up in a hole and die.
If he is to go out permanently, it will be on his terms, in his control. He is as certain of that as he's certain his name is Chiroptera and his daughter's name is Aeliana.
( @asis-offical intervention perhaps? )
The soft beating of a bats’ wings flap through the air as Lysander appears metres behind him. The sight of his love standing there, looking so broken was worse than every single time he experienced the burning humiliation of lying helpless and powerless on the ground.
He looked so tired. A small hint of panic tugs at his chest at the scene, panic was never safe. His voice cuts through the air gently, as if he isn’t quite sure how to go about this.
“…You do know a jump won’t kill you, right?”
He remains in bat form, hovering.
"But it'll hurt," is Nycteris's reply. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Lysander. I hate this. I hate living a pathetic unlife without knowing one identity from another. Am I Chiroptera? Am I Nycteris? Am I some other name I've taken in my four thousand years of miserable existence? Every time I love someone, they die. I could lose you at the drop of a hat. I lost Judas; I almost lost Jenn. And that's just this century."
Nycteris sighs, arms folded behind his back as he walks along the tower's edge.
"I don't intend to jump now. But I won't catch myself if I fall. It won't kill me, I know, but perhaps it'll knock me out for a while. I can't keep smiling and acting like my mind isn't a hell in its own right."
Lysander shifts back so his feet feel the concrete beneath him. His face twists and his limbs tremble slightly; it was all so familiar.
“You are…” he hesitates, thinking. “Whoever you choose to be. If you want to be Nycteris, you should do so, if you wish to be Chiroptera, or someone else, you can do that too. Judas came back, he’s still here. Jenn’s still here. I’m still here. Ember is still here. Your daughter is still here. Everyone has the risk of dying but that doesn’t mean that you should give up your remaining time with them.”
He pauses to let out a wavering breath, tugging at the tie that now felt as though it was constricting; choking him.
“You don’t have to smile, or act. You aren’t obligated to hide yourself. We just want you to stay with us, love. You’ve experienced more pain than I could probably imagine, and I am so sorry…”
"I can't do this, Lysander. Every little thing I've done is weighing me down now of all times. I don't know what to do. I've permanently lost so many, and that will just keep happening again and again. Those who I love get hurt because of me, or I love those who are hurt anyways. I can't protect you. I can't protect the Coven. I—"
Lysander remains silent for a short moment. What did you say to something like that? He was probably right — at least a little — but that didn’t mean he should die over it….Right?
“You don’t- I—“ he fumbles, the dull ache in his head shifting to a thrumming dizziness, disorienting him. “I… You can’t guarantee— Look. Maybe that’s true in a sense, but you...”
"...The sun will rise soon. You should head back to the manor."
He shakes his head.
“I’m worried about you.”
"You shouldn't be. I'm not one to worry for. Look how many times I've already died. I just keep coming back. Can't you see it, Lysander?! I can't stay dead! Do you know what that does to someone?!"
Tears prick Nycteris's eyes, his voice gradually increasing in volume.
“I could only ever imagine,” Lys murmurs, voice a wisp in the air. His eyes are already glassy, veiled by a thin layer of the salty liquid. In his grimace, his fangs catch on his lips, tiny pinpricks of blood welling up and threatening to spill over.
“I wish I could ease this for you.”
"You can't."
Nycteris takes a step back.
"No one can."
“…I know.”
The words are soft — hesitant, low, resigned — his eyes falling to the elegant curve of Nycteris’s cloak. Anything to not look at the agonised expression on his lover’s face.
"I wish I had stayed dead."
Lys doesn’t answer. He allows the quiet to stretch. It was still, but it was alive; wind rustling, birds swooping, the moon glowing cooly above them, the enormousness of the night spread out around them both.
"Go back home, Lysander."
He doesn’t budge, staring intently at Nycteris as if waiting for answers he won’t vocalise.
"Lys, please."
Lysander steps closer, gently grabbing ahold of the other’s hand and bending a knee to kiss it, before whirling into the shadows and disappearing.
Nycteris draws in a shuddering breath, and turns to look at the stars. His eyes flit back and forth between constellations, memorizing every shape and every pattern.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Nycteris stands at the top of the same clock tower he was writing on so long ago, eyes dull and expression neutral. He looks so... done with everything. Tired. Exhausted, even. One wrong move could send him falling over the edge to the ground so far away.
He's been quiet for so long now that silence comes more naturally than speech. Nycteris sighs, eyes closing. It would be almost serene if not under these circumstances. The Vampire Lord looks done because he is. He's so sick of people, sick of existing. He doesn't know how much more he can take before he finally breaks.
...
He misses Pierre.
Sometimes he sees the gargoyle in his present lover, and then feels so guilty about it that he wants to curl up in a hole and die.
If he is to go out permanently, it will be on his terms, in his control. He is as certain of that as he's certain his name is Chiroptera and his daughter's name is Aeliana.
( @asis-offical intervention perhaps? )
The soft beating of a bats’ wings flap through the air as Lysander appears metres behind him. The sight of his love standing there, looking so broken was worse than every single time he experienced the burning humiliation of lying helpless and powerless on the ground.
He looked so tired. A small hint of panic tugs at his chest at the scene, panic was never safe. His voice cuts through the air gently, as if he isn’t quite sure how to go about this.
“…You do know a jump won’t kill you, right?”
He remains in bat form, hovering.
"But it'll hurt," is Nycteris's reply. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Lysander. I hate this. I hate living a pathetic unlife without knowing one identity from another. Am I Chiroptera? Am I Nycteris? Am I some other name I've taken in my four thousand years of miserable existence? Every time I love someone, they die. I could lose you at the drop of a hat. I lost Judas; I almost lost Jenn. And that's just this century."
Nycteris sighs, arms folded behind his back as he walks along the tower's edge.
"I don't intend to jump now. But I won't catch myself if I fall. It won't kill me, I know, but perhaps it'll knock me out for a while. I can't keep smiling and acting like my mind isn't a hell in its own right."
Lysander shifts back so his feet feel the concrete beneath him. His face twists and his limbs tremble slightly; it was all so familiar.
“You are…” he hesitates, thinking. “Whoever you choose to be. If you want to be Nycteris, you should do so, if you wish to be Chiroptera, or someone else, you can do that too. Judas came back, he’s still here. Jenn’s still here. I’m still here. Ember is still here. Your daughter is still here. Everyone has the risk of dying but that doesn’t mean that you should give up your remaining time with them.”
He pauses to let out a wavering breath, tugging at the tie that now felt as though it was constricting; choking him.
“You don’t have to smile, or act. You aren’t obligated to hide yourself. We just want you to stay with us, love. You’ve experienced more pain than I could probably imagine, and I am so sorry…”
"I can't do this, Lysander. Every little thing I've done is weighing me down now of all times. I don't know what to do. I've permanently lost so many, and that will just keep happening again and again. Those who I love get hurt because of me, or I love those who are hurt anyways. I can't protect you. I can't protect the Coven. I—"
Lysander remains silent for a short moment. What did you say to something like that? He was probably right — at least a little — but that didn’t mean he should die over it….Right?
“You don’t- I—“ he fumbles, the dull ache in his head shifting to a thrumming dizziness, disorienting him. “I… You can’t guarantee— Look. Maybe that’s true in a sense, but you...”
"...The sun will rise soon. You should head back to the manor."
He shakes his head.
“I’m worried about you.”
"You shouldn't be. I'm not one to worry for. Look how many times I've already died. I just keep coming back. Can't you see it, Lysander?! I can't stay dead! Do you know what that does to someone?!"
Tears prick Nycteris's eyes, his voice gradually increasing in volume.
“I could only ever imagine,” Lys murmurs, voice a wisp in the air. His eyes are already glassy, veiled by a thin layer of the salty liquid. In his grimace, his fangs catch on his lips, tiny pinpricks of blood welling up and threatening to spill over.
“I wish I could ease this for you.”
"You can't."
Nycteris takes a step back.
"No one can."
“…I know.”
The words are soft — hesitant, low, resigned — his eyes falling to the elegant curve of Nycteris’s cloak. Anything to not look at the agonised expression on his lover’s face.
"I wish I had stayed dead."
Lys doesn’t answer. He allows the quiet to stretch. It was still, but it was alive; wind rustling, birds swooping, the moon glowing cooly above them, the enormousness of the night spread out around them both.
"Go back home, Lysander."
He doesn’t budge, staring intently at Nycteris as if waiting for answers he won’t vocalise.
"Lys, please."
Nycteris stands at the top of the same clock tower he was writing on so long ago, eyes dull and expression neutral. He looks so... done with everything. Tired. Exhausted, even. One wrong move could send him falling over the edge to the ground so far away.
He's been quiet for so long now that silence comes more naturally than speech. Nycteris sighs, eyes closing. It would be almost serene if not under these circumstances. The Vampire Lord looks done because he is. He's so sick of people, sick of existing. He doesn't know how much more he can take before he finally breaks.
...
He misses Pierre.
Sometimes he sees the gargoyle in his present lover, and then feels so guilty about it that he wants to curl up in a hole and die.
If he is to go out permanently, it will be on his terms, in his control. He is as certain of that as he's certain his name is Chiroptera and his daughter's name is Aeliana.
( @asis-offical intervention perhaps? )
The soft beating of a bats’ wings flap through the air as Lysander appears metres behind him. The sight of his love standing there, looking so broken was worse than every single time he experienced the burning humiliation of lying helpless and powerless on the ground.
He looked so tired. A small hint of panic tugs at his chest at the scene, panic was never safe. His voice cuts through the air gently, as if he isn’t quite sure how to go about this.
“…You do know a jump won’t kill you, right?”
He remains in bat form, hovering.
"But it'll hurt," is Nycteris's reply. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Lysander. I hate this. I hate living a pathetic unlife without knowing one identity from another. Am I Chiroptera? Am I Nycteris? Am I some other name I've taken in my four thousand years of miserable existence? Every time I love someone, they die. I could lose you at the drop of a hat. I lost Judas; I almost lost Jenn. And that's just this century."
Nycteris sighs, arms folded behind his back as he walks along the tower's edge.
"I don't intend to jump now. But I won't catch myself if I fall. It won't kill me, I know, but perhaps it'll knock me out for a while. I can't keep smiling and acting like my mind isn't a hell in its own right."
Lysander shifts back so his feet feel the concrete beneath him. His face twists and his limbs tremble slightly; it was all so familiar.
“You are…” he hesitates, thinking. “Whoever you choose to be. If you want to be Nycteris, you should do so, if you wish to be Chiroptera, or someone else, you can do that too. Judas came back, he’s still here. Jenn’s still here. I’m still here. Ember is still here. Your daughter is still here. Everyone has the risk of dying but that doesn’t mean that you should give up your remaining time with them.”
He pauses to let out a wavering breath, tugging at the tie that now felt as though it was constricting; choking him.
“You don’t have to smile, or act. You aren’t obligated to hide yourself. We just want you to stay with us, love. You’ve experienced more pain than I could probably imagine, and I am so sorry…”
"I can't do this, Lysander. Every little thing I've done is weighing me down now of all times. I don't know what to do. I've permanently lost so many, and that will just keep happening again and again. Those who I love get hurt because of me, or I love those who are hurt anyways. I can't protect you. I can't protect the Coven. I—"
Lysander remains silent for a short moment. What did you say to something like that? He was probably right — at least a little — but that didn’t mean he should die over it….Right?
“You don’t- I—“ he fumbles, the dull ache in his head shifting to a thrumming dizziness, disorienting him. “I… You can’t guarantee— Look. Maybe that’s true in a sense, but you...”
"...The sun will rise soon. You should head back to the manor."
He shakes his head.
“I’m worried about you.”
"You shouldn't be. I'm not one to worry for. Look how many times I've already died. I just keep coming back. Can't you see it, Lysander?! I can't stay dead! Do you know what that does to someone?!"
Tears prick Nycteris's eyes, his voice gradually increasing in volume.
“I could only ever imagine,” Lys murmurs, voice a wisp in the air. His eyes are already glassy, veiled by a thin layer of the salty liquid. In his grimace, his fangs catch on his lips, tiny pinpricks of blood welling up and threatening to spill over.
“I wish I could ease this for you.”
"You can't."
Nycteris takes a step back.
"No one can."
“…I know.”
The words are soft — hesitant, low, resigned — his eyes falling to the elegant curve of Nycteris’s cloak. Anything to not look at the agonised expression on his lover’s face.
"I wish I had stayed dead."
Lys doesn’t answer. He allows the quiet to stretch. It was still, but it was alive; wind rustling, birds swooping, the moon glowing cooly above them, the enormousness of the night spread out around them both.
"Go back home, Lysander."
Nycteris stands at the top of the same clock tower he was writing on so long ago, eyes dull and expression neutral. He looks so... done with everything. Tired. Exhausted, even. One wrong move could send him falling over the edge to the ground so far away.
He's been quiet for so long now that silence comes more naturally than speech. Nycteris sighs, eyes closing. It would be almost serene if not under these circumstances. The Vampire Lord looks done because he is. He's so sick of people, sick of existing. He doesn't know how much more he can take before he finally breaks.
...
He misses Pierre.
Sometimes he sees the gargoyle in his present lover, and then feels so guilty about it that he wants to curl up in a hole and die.
If he is to go out permanently, it will be on his terms, in his control. He is as certain of that as he's certain his name is Chiroptera and his daughter's name is Aeliana.
( @asis-offical intervention perhaps? )
The soft beating of a bats’ wings flap through the air as Lysander appears metres behind him. The sight of his love standing there, looking so broken was worse than every single time he experienced the burning humiliation of lying helpless and powerless on the ground.
He looked so tired. A small hint of panic tugs at his chest at the scene, panic was never safe. His voice cuts through the air gently, as if he isn’t quite sure how to go about this.
“…You do know a jump won’t kill you, right?”
He remains in bat form, hovering.
"But it'll hurt," is Nycteris's reply. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Lysander. I hate this. I hate living a pathetic unlife without knowing one identity from another. Am I Chiroptera? Am I Nycteris? Am I some other name I've taken in my four thousand years of miserable existence? Every time I love someone, they die. I could lose you at the drop of a hat. I lost Judas; I almost lost Jenn. And that's just this century."
Nycteris sighs, arms folded behind his back as he walks along the tower's edge.
"I don't intend to jump now. But I won't catch myself if I fall. It won't kill me, I know, but perhaps it'll knock me out for a while. I can't keep smiling and acting like my mind isn't a hell in its own right."
Lysander shifts back so his feet feel the concrete beneath him. His face twists and his limbs tremble slightly; it was all so familiar.
“You are…” he hesitates, thinking. “Whoever you choose to be. If you want to be Nycteris, you should do so, if you wish to be Chiroptera, or someone else, you can do that too. Judas came back, he’s still here. Jenn’s still here. I’m still here. Ember is still here. Your daughter is still here. Everyone has the risk of dying but that doesn’t mean that you should give up your remaining time with them.”
He pauses to let out a wavering breath, tugging at the tie that now felt as though it was constricting; choking him.
“You don’t have to smile, or act. You aren’t obligated to hide yourself. We just want you to stay with us, love. You’ve experienced more pain than I could probably imagine, and I am so sorry…”
"I can't do this, Lysander. Every little thing I've done is weighing me down now of all times. I don't know what to do. I've permanently lost so many, and that will just keep happening again and again. Those who I love get hurt because of me, or I love those who are hurt anyways. I can't protect you. I can't protect the Coven. I—"
Lysander remains silent for a short moment. What did you say to something like that? He was probably right — at least a little — but that didn’t mean he should die over it….Right?
“You don’t- I—“ he fumbles, the dull ache in his head shifting to a thrumming dizziness, disorienting him. “I… You can’t guarantee— Look. Maybe that’s true in a sense, but you...”
"...The sun will rise soon. You should head back to the manor."
He shakes his head.
“I’m worried about you.”
"You shouldn't be. I'm not one to worry for. Look how many times I've already died. I just keep coming back. Can't you see it, Lysander?! I can't stay dead! Do you know what that does to someone?!"
Tears prick Nycteris's eyes, his voice gradually increasing in volume.
“I could only ever imagine,” Lys murmurs, voice a wisp in the air. His eyes are already glassy, veiled by a thin layer of the salty liquid. In his grimace, his fangs catch on his lips, tiny pinpricks of blood welling up and threatening to spill over.
“I wish I could ease this for you.”
"You can't."
Nycteris takes a step back.
"No one can."
“…I know.”
The words are soft — hesitant, low, resigned — his eyes falling to the elegant curve of Nycteris’s cloak. Anything to not look at the agonised expression on his lover’s face.
"I wish I had stayed dead."
Nycteris stands at the top of the same clock tower he was writing on so long ago, eyes dull and expression neutral. He looks so... done with everything. Tired. Exhausted, even. One wrong move could send him falling over the edge to the ground so far away.
He's been quiet for so long now that silence comes more naturally than speech. Nycteris sighs, eyes closing. It would be almost serene if not under these circumstances. The Vampire Lord looks done because he is. He's so sick of people, sick of existing. He doesn't know how much more he can take before he finally breaks.
...
He misses Pierre.
Sometimes he sees the gargoyle in his present lover, and then feels so guilty about it that he wants to curl up in a hole and die.
If he is to go out permanently, it will be on his terms, in his control. He is as certain of that as he's certain his name is Chiroptera and his daughter's name is Aeliana.
( @asis-offical intervention perhaps? )
The soft beating of a bats’ wings flap through the air as Lysander appears metres behind him. The sight of his love standing there, looking so broken was worse than every single time he experienced the burning humiliation of lying helpless and powerless on the ground.
He looked so tired. A small hint of panic tugs at his chest at the scene, panic was never safe. His voice cuts through the air gently, as if he isn’t quite sure how to go about this.
“…You do know a jump won’t kill you, right?”
He remains in bat form, hovering.
"But it'll hurt," is Nycteris's reply. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Lysander. I hate this. I hate living a pathetic unlife without knowing one identity from another. Am I Chiroptera? Am I Nycteris? Am I some other name I've taken in my four thousand years of miserable existence? Every time I love someone, they die. I could lose you at the drop of a hat. I lost Judas; I almost lost Jenn. And that's just this century."
Nycteris sighs, arms folded behind his back as he walks along the tower's edge.
"I don't intend to jump now. But I won't catch myself if I fall. It won't kill me, I know, but perhaps it'll knock me out for a while. I can't keep smiling and acting like my mind isn't a hell in its own right."
Lysander shifts back so his feet feel the concrete beneath him. His face twists and his limbs tremble slightly; it was all so familiar.
“You are…” he hesitates, thinking. “Whoever you choose to be. If you want to be Nycteris, you should do so, if you wish to be Chiroptera, or someone else, you can do that too. Judas came back, he’s still here. Jenn’s still here. I’m still here. Ember is still here. Your daughter is still here. Everyone has the risk of dying but that doesn’t mean that you should give up your remaining time with them.”
He pauses to let out a wavering breath, tugging at the tie that now felt as though it was constricting; choking him.
“You don’t have to smile, or act. You aren’t obligated to hide yourself. We just want you to stay with us, love. You’ve experienced more pain than I could probably imagine, and I am so sorry…”
"I can't do this, Lysander. Every little thing I've done is weighing me down now of all times. I don't know what to do. I've permanently lost so many, and that will just keep happening again and again. Those who I love get hurt because of me, or I love those who are hurt anyways. I can't protect you. I can't protect the Coven. I—"
Lysander remains silent for a short moment. What did you say to something like that? He was probably right — at least a little — but that didn’t mean he should die over it….Right?
“You don’t- I—“ he fumbles, the dull ache in his head shifting to a thrumming dizziness, disorienting him. “I… You can’t guarantee— Look. Maybe that’s true in a sense, but you...”
"...The sun will rise soon. You should head back to the manor."
He shakes his head.
“I’m worried about you.”
"You shouldn't be. I'm not one to worry for. Look how many times I've already died. I just keep coming back. Can't you see it, Lysander?! I can't stay dead! Do you know what that does to someone?!"
Tears prick Nycteris's eyes, his voice gradually increasing in volume.
“I could only ever imagine,” Lys murmurs, voice a wisp in the air. His eyes are already glassy, veiled by a thin layer of the salty liquid. In his grimace, his fangs catch on his lips, tiny pinpricks of blood welling up and threatening to spill over.
“I wish I could ease this for you.”
"You can't."
Nycteris takes a step back.
"No one can."
Nycteris stands at the top of the same clock tower he was writing on so long ago, eyes dull and expression neutral. He looks so... done with everything. Tired. Exhausted, even. One wrong move could send him falling over the edge to the ground so far away.
He's been quiet for so long now that silence comes more naturally than speech. Nycteris sighs, eyes closing. It would be almost serene if not under these circumstances. The Vampire Lord looks done because he is. He's so sick of people, sick of existing. He doesn't know how much more he can take before he finally breaks.
...
He misses Pierre.
Sometimes he sees the gargoyle in his present lover, and then feels so guilty about it that he wants to curl up in a hole and die.
If he is to go out permanently, it will be on his terms, in his control. He is as certain of that as he's certain his name is Chiroptera and his daughter's name is Aeliana.
( @asis-offical intervention perhaps? )
The soft beating of a bats’ wings flap through the air as Lysander appears metres behind him. The sight of his love standing there, looking so broken was worse than every single time he experienced the burning humiliation of lying helpless and powerless on the ground.
He looked so tired. A small hint of panic tugs at his chest at the scene, panic was never safe. His voice cuts through the air gently, as if he isn’t quite sure how to go about this.
“…You do know a jump won’t kill you, right?”
He remains in bat form, hovering.
"But it'll hurt," is Nycteris's reply. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Lysander. I hate this. I hate living a pathetic unlife without knowing one identity from another. Am I Chiroptera? Am I Nycteris? Am I some other name I've taken in my four thousand years of miserable existence? Every time I love someone, they die. I could lose you at the drop of a hat. I lost Judas; I almost lost Jenn. And that's just this century."
Nycteris sighs, arms folded behind his back as he walks along the tower's edge.
"I don't intend to jump now. But I won't catch myself if I fall. It won't kill me, I know, but perhaps it'll knock me out for a while. I can't keep smiling and acting like my mind isn't a hell in its own right."
Lysander shifts back so his feet feel the concrete beneath him. His face twists and his limbs tremble slightly; it was all so familiar.
“You are…” he hesitates, thinking. “Whoever you choose to be. If you want to be Nycteris, you should do so, if you wish to be Chiroptera, or someone else, you can do that too. Judas came back, he’s still here. Jenn’s still here. I’m still here. Ember is still here. Your daughter is still here. Everyone has the risk of dying but that doesn’t mean that you should give up your remaining time with them.”
He pauses to let out a wavering breath, tugging at the tie that now felt as though it was constricting; choking him.
“You don’t have to smile, or act. You aren’t obligated to hide yourself. We just want you to stay with us, love. You’ve experienced more pain than I could probably imagine, and I am so sorry…”
"I can't do this, Lysander. Every little thing I've done is weighing me down now of all times. I don't know what to do. I've permanently lost so many, and that will just keep happening again and again. Those who I love get hurt because of me, or I love those who are hurt anyways. I can't protect you. I can't protect the Coven. I—"
Lysander remains silent for a short moment. What did you say to something like that? He was probably right — at least a little — but that didn’t mean he should die over it….Right?
“You don’t- I—“ he fumbles, the dull ache in his head shifting to a thrumming dizziness, disorienting him. “I… You can’t guarantee— Look. Maybe that’s true in a sense, but you...”
"...The sun will rise soon. You should head back to the manor."
He shakes his head.
“I’m worried about you.”
"You shouldn't be. I'm not one to worry for. Look how many times I've already died. I just keep coming back. Can't you see it, Lysander?! I can't stay dead! Do you know what that does to someone?!"
Tears prick Nycteris's eyes, his voice gradually increasing in volume.
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Nycteris stands at the top of the same clock tower he was writing on so long ago, eyes dull and expression neutral. He looks so... done with everything. Tired. Exhausted, even. One wrong move could send him falling over the edge to the ground so far away.
He's been quiet for so long now that silence comes more naturally than speech. Nycteris sighs, eyes closing. It would be almost serene if not under these circumstances. The Vampire Lord looks done because he is. He's so sick of people, sick of existing. He doesn't know how much more he can take before he finally breaks.
...
He misses Pierre.
Sometimes he sees the gargoyle in his present lover, and then feels so guilty about it that he wants to curl up in a hole and die.
If he is to go out permanently, it will be on his terms, in his control. He is as certain of that as he's certain his name is Chiroptera and his daughter's name is Aeliana.
( @asis-offical intervention perhaps? )
The soft beating of a bats’ wings flap through the air as Lysander appears metres behind him. The sight of his love standing there, looking so broken was worse than every single time he experienced the burning humiliation of lying helpless and powerless on the ground.
He looked so tired. A small hint of panic tugs at his chest at the scene, panic was never safe. His voice cuts through the air gently, as if he isn’t quite sure how to go about this.
“…You do know a jump won’t kill you, right?”
He remains in bat form, hovering.
"But it'll hurt," is Nycteris's reply. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Lysander. I hate this. I hate living a pathetic unlife without knowing one identity from another. Am I Chiroptera? Am I Nycteris? Am I some other name I've taken in my four thousand years of miserable existence? Every time I love someone, they die. I could lose you at the drop of a hat. I lost Judas; I almost lost Jenn. And that's just this century."
Nycteris sighs, arms folded behind his back as he walks along the tower's edge.
"I don't intend to jump now. But I won't catch myself if I fall. It won't kill me, I know, but perhaps it'll knock me out for a while. I can't keep smiling and acting like my mind isn't a hell in its own right."
Lysander shifts back so his feet feel the concrete beneath him. His face twists and his limbs tremble slightly; it was all so familiar.
“You are…” he hesitates, thinking. “Whoever you choose to be. If you want to be Nycteris, you should do so, if you wish to be Chiroptera, or someone else, you can do that too. Judas came back, he’s still here. Jenn’s still here. I’m still here. Ember is still here. Your daughter is still here. Everyone has the risk of dying but that doesn’t mean that you should give up your remaining time with them.”
He pauses to let out a wavering breath, tugging at the tie that now felt as though it was constricting; choking him.
“You don’t have to smile, or act. You aren’t obligated to hide yourself. We just want you to stay with us, love. You’ve experienced more pain than I could probably imagine, and I am so sorry…”
"I can't do this, Lysander. Every little thing I've done is weighing me down now of all times. I don't know what to do. I've permanently lost so many, and that will just keep happening again and again. Those who I love get hurt because of me, or I love those who are hurt anyways. I can't protect you. I can't protect the Coven. I—"
Lysander remains silent for a short moment. What did you say to something like that? He was probably right — at least a little — but that didn’t mean he should die over it….Right?
“You don’t- I—“ he fumbles, the dull ache in his head shifting to a thrumming dizziness, disorienting him. “I… You can’t guarantee— Look. Maybe that’s true in a sense, but you...”
"...The sun will rise soon. You should head back to the manor."
Nycteris stands at the top of the same clock tower he was writing on so long ago, eyes dull and expression neutral. He looks so... done with everything. Tired. Exhausted, even. One wrong move could send him falling over the edge to the ground so far away.
He's been quiet for so long now that silence comes more naturally than speech. Nycteris sighs, eyes closing. It would be almost serene if not under these circumstances. The Vampire Lord looks done because he is. He's so sick of people, sick of existing. He doesn't know how much more he can take before he finally breaks.
...
He misses Pierre.
Sometimes he sees the gargoyle in his present lover, and then feels so guilty about it that he wants to curl up in a hole and die.
If he is to go out permanently, it will be on his terms, in his control. He is as certain of that as he's certain his name is Chiroptera and his daughter's name is Aeliana.
( @asis-offical intervention perhaps? )
The soft beating of a bats’ wings flap through the air as Lysander appears metres behind him. The sight of his love standing there, looking so broken was worse than every single time he experienced the burning humiliation of lying helpless and powerless on the ground.
He looked so tired. A small hint of panic tugs at his chest at the scene, panic was never safe. His voice cuts through the air gently, as if he isn’t quite sure how to go about this.
“…You do know a jump won’t kill you, right?”
He remains in bat form, hovering.
"But it'll hurt," is Nycteris's reply. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Lysander. I hate this. I hate living a pathetic unlife without knowing one identity from another. Am I Chiroptera? Am I Nycteris? Am I some other name I've taken in my four thousand years of miserable existence? Every time I love someone, they die. I could lose you at the drop of a hat. I lost Judas; I almost lost Jenn. And that's just this century."
Nycteris sighs, arms folded behind his back as he walks along the tower's edge.
"I don't intend to jump now. But I won't catch myself if I fall. It won't kill me, I know, but perhaps it'll knock me out for a while. I can't keep smiling and acting like my mind isn't a hell in its own right."
Lysander shifts back so his feet feel the concrete beneath him. His face twists and his limbs tremble slightly; it was all so familiar.
“You are…” he hesitates, thinking. “Whoever you choose to be. If you want to be Nycteris, you should do so, if you wish to be Chiroptera, or someone else, you can do that too. Judas came back, he’s still here. Jenn’s still here. I’m still here. Ember is still here. Your daughter is still here. Everyone has the risk of dying but that doesn’t mean that you should give up your remaining time with them.”
He pauses to let out a wavering breath, tugging at the tie that now felt as though it was constricting; choking him.
“You don’t have to smile, or act. You aren’t obligated to hide yourself. We just want you to stay with us, love. You’ve experienced more pain than I could probably imagine, and I am so sorry…”
"I can't do this, Lysander. Every little thing I've done is weighing me down now of all times. I don't know what to do. I've permanently lost so many, and that will just keep happening again and again. Those who I love get hurt because of me, or I love those who are hurt anyways. I can't protect you. I can't protect the Coven. I—"
Nycteris stands at the top of the same clock tower he was writing on so long ago, eyes dull and expression neutral. He looks so... done with everything. Tired. Exhausted, even. One wrong move could send him falling over the edge to the ground so far away.
He's been quiet for so long now that silence comes more naturally than speech. Nycteris sighs, eyes closing. It would be almost serene if not under these circumstances. The Vampire Lord looks done because he is. He's so sick of people, sick of existing. He doesn't know how much more he can take before he finally breaks.
...
He misses Pierre.
Sometimes he sees the gargoyle in his present lover, and then feels so guilty about it that he wants to curl up in a hole and die.
If he is to go out permanently, it will be on his terms, in his control. He is as certain of that as he's certain his name is Chiroptera and his daughter's name is Aeliana.
( @asis-offical intervention perhaps? )
The soft beating of a bats’ wings flap through the air as Lysander appears metres behind him. The sight of his love standing there, looking so broken was worse than every single time he experienced the burning humiliation of lying helpless and powerless on the ground.
He looked so tired. A small hint of panic tugs at his chest at the scene, panic was never safe. His voice cuts through the air gently, as if he isn’t quite sure how to go about this.
“…You do know a jump won’t kill you, right?”
He remains in bat form, hovering.
"But it'll hurt," is Nycteris's reply. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Lysander. I hate this. I hate living a pathetic unlife without knowing one identity from another. Am I Chiroptera? Am I Nycteris? Am I some other name I've taken in my four thousand years of miserable existence? Every time I love someone, they die. I could lose you at the drop of a hat. I lost Judas; I almost lost Jenn. And that's just this century."
Nycteris sighs, arms folded behind his back as he walks along the tower's edge.
"I don't intend to jump now. But I won't catch myself if I fall. It won't kill me, I know, but perhaps it'll knock me out for a while. I can't keep smiling and acting like my mind isn't a hell in its own right."
Nycteris stands at the top of the same clock tower he was writing on so long ago, eyes dull and expression neutral. He looks so... done with everything. Tired. Exhausted, even. One wrong move could send him falling over the edge to the ground so far away.
He's been quiet for so long now that silence comes more naturally than speech. Nycteris sighs, eyes closing. It would be almost serene if not under these circumstances. The Vampire Lord looks done because he is. He's so sick of people, sick of existing. He doesn't know how much more he can take before he finally breaks.
...
He misses Pierre.
Sometimes he sees the gargoyle in his present lover, and then feels so guilty about it that he wants to curl up in a hole and die.
If he is to go out permanently, it will be on his terms, in his control. He is as certain of that as he's certain his name is Chiroptera and his daughter's name is Aeliana.
( @asis-offical intervention perhaps? )
what?
"I don't trust when people ask me shit like that."
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just curious really
"..."
how’s Aeliana?
"She's fine. Why are you asking."
