#immortalite

Everything was better in the old days. Wasn’t that what people loved to claim? The good old times. A paradise lost. All his faith Liam’s put in his forfeited paradise, foolishly thinking he could buy his way back in through austerity, repentance and cold turkey. But there was no paradise. No paradise but the distorted image of the exact hell which led him to seek solace in a knife’s cut to magic power in the first place. 

And where was he now? Leaning against a brick wall facade, somewhere, anywhere, head hammering in pain. Nonononono. Don’t do it. But the jack knife in his trembling hand is comforting. The tip of the blade breaking the skin barrier on the heel of the hand is promising. That was it. That was as far as he’s allowed to go. Don’t make it into a ritual. Don’t word a spell. Pale and bristle lips part as Liam leans his head against the wall. Or maybe one spell, one ritual? Become someone again in the ocean of no ones.