#moonichor

The saying finds itself holding a topsy turvy perspective within his mind. Through voyaging beyond the stars and across the countless chasms of reality, watching the many ways life flourished or corroded, where people involved within his particular journey as starseekers were thrust into the chaotic grasp of Darkness one way or another, it left him... confused.

For there were many who also heralded the ends days that could produce an instinctively deep fear, the sort that could squeeze and claw at the very matter of your being, Sora's lips thinned as a hum escaped. So where does Luna's words find their lot in this system of experience?

Monsters made through relationships lost? Sides of the self that were all too eager to crawl to the surface, casting away restraint in terms of desire fulfilled? Or, by chance she encountered threats that found pleasure and purpose in intentionally keeping out of sight.

"Heheh, I can't really tell if it's bitter surprises or what you can see deep down that winds up being the worst. ..I'm not sure what I can really least expect at this point anymore."

The day power found itself burning bright within his hands was simultaneously marked by a day of betrayal. Ruin surrounded him, childhood whimsy and dreams smashed against the sea glazed rocks of a calamitous stretch, all while a great darkness lorded above destiny islands. When it came to Riku, in some ways, ..that wasn't the least expected. There was a discomfort that wormed heavily into their gang at the islands.

His distance as a thirst for adventure and an unknown promise allowed the intoxicating sweetness of false promises blind him.

So how about another? When that same individual ripped that strength back to it's rightful heir, when his companions that grew dear decided to follow duty instead of standing by their bond.

A monster known as helplessness had torn and burrowed into his rib cage then. Despite the outcome now days being a lot more positive, that all encompassing feeling that wanted to choke his Heart makes shivers creep through his being even now.

"..Is that another case of least expecting? When all courage within you could disappear from just one little moment?"

If only he could see the pain that contorts his face into such a firm gaze.

NERO’S BIRTHDAY 2K18 | @moonichor 

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

              fate was a cruel mistress–him && fate were bonded since time was born, && ‘twas near impossible to break the shackles. the endless loop of being reborn, having his own memories, thoughts of the lives previously twisted && yanked from his psyche, forcibly shoved in the depths of his subconscious, perhaps to merely dream of if he dared became victim to slumber.

               predictions of apocalyptic events weren’t a foreign concept to him, he has predicted World’s End endlessly, an inevitable event to sent the world spiraling into the void, to rebirth the world into something more grand. despite that–all deem to perish, life to begin anew. he did not fear death; the end is nigh.

              he rose from his chair, light steps moved the shrouded man towards her, gently, precise with care, took her dainty hands into his own, just for a moment, gazing into her cornflower depths, she did not fear death, such as he. 

              “ I am unfortunate to say, the end is inevitable. “ a tone that did not falter, they have always been reborn to find each other, bonded by fate, some may say, however–the Gods did not seek approval of this, ripping them apart in each && every life; he needed to fulfill his calling, they deemed her his distraction.

             a tender thumb stroked the back of her palm, “ you do not fear death, my moon, we will be reborn to find each other again, “ continuously disobeying other Gods. 

ＨＥＲＯＥＳ | ＶＩＬＬＡＩＮＳ ＳＴＡＲＴＥＲＳ ( ᵐᵉᵐᵉ ) |  accepting

A SMILE ENGULFRED HIS RAGE, but it cannot be hidden for long : so quick, veins of the deepest black start to crowd his eyes, like snakes slithering to the sun, ready to eat it whole. Ô the rage she inspires him ! And though the night should have been his ally, he made an ennemy of her queen. Damn you, Selene, his core screams, suffering from the light she brings. BUT HE WILL FIND HIS WAY, for every flower one day rot, and even the most gracious God will fall and wither. She is just like the other, those stars that once shine bright but are now dying under the weight of humanity : it's about time for this fate they brind to meet its end. let the wickeds rule, and the righteous sink to their graves !

ＡＭＥＲＩＣＡＮ ＧＯＤＳ ( ᵐᵉᵐᵉ ) | accepting

A BITTER HILARITY, melting away with a growl - like a wounded beast still trying to impress, as if the blood poured from his injury was but blessed water. He has this look of defiance, gold shining in the flames of his hatre. Ô, Selene, you think you know all...HE STANDS FROM HIS THRONE, his crown of shards adorned with luxury - true kind, even his nature and appearance seem to sing, but a fallen one, the scar on his arm tells. And yet, he will still show the severity of a sovereign, more than ever, downcasting his judgement upon those he deems not worthy enough. Fear him, his eyes seem to say, the iron of his sword glimmering through the fire.

         ❝ please, come take a seat —– young lady, ❞ he is aware as to why she’s here ; or at least has a vague belief. those with tragedy in their blood always end up finding their way to his doorstep. like crossroads on the river styx. but despite his abilities he doesn’t know whether his presence shall grant her luminescence a sense of fated immunity or console. his long hands thread together. stitching digits as his gaze remained as frigid as possible, perhaps to dissuade her from the question, ‘ --------what is it you see in my future, ’ silly girls are akin to play with ouija boards & tarot cards----. how is any response supposed to prepare them. a cursed existence, this quirk----. to know & to have all the love of a mortal man ; alas, to be weighted down by the apparent anguish that others such as her shall no doubt suffer.

         ❝ i’ll make us tea---. ❞ those hands unfolded as the man in a suit lifted himself upright & prepared the bronze kettle. ❝ jasmine or chamomile, my dear------? ❞