#shathyar

@shathyar &&. said... “  i did what i had to do.  ” ( hello! from ei. )

he's  not  sure  why  he  bothered  trying  to  speak  with  his creator  to  begin  with.  it's  impossible  for  her  to  remember  what  he's  become  —  EVEN  GODS  are  subject  to  irminsul's  sway.  the  wanderer  has  freely  acknowledged  in  the  past  that  he's  beyond  the  point  of  CLOSURE.  if  by  some  miracle,  his  mother  could  recall  everything  (  hidden  away  inside  her  perfect magnum  opus  )  —  what  would  that  change?  a  piece  of  pottery  can  never  be  perfectly  whole  again  once  it's  been  well  and  truly  shattered;  he  is  no  different.  a  vase,  a  bowl,  the  cracks  littering  his  artificial  form  filled  with  liquid  gold.  he  will  never  be  that  pristine,  innocent  creation  —  he  is  merely  the  creature  that  stumbled  out  from  the  puppet's  ashes.  his  entire  existence  is  predicated  on  a  foundation  of  BETRAYAL,  built  by  her  inaction.  her  unwillingness  to  take  responsibility  for  the  creation,  weapon,  son  she  brought  into  this  world.  there  is  nothing  that  can  be  said  or  done  to  fix  that.

his  fingers  are  clenched  around  the  GOLDEN  FEATHER  that  he  wears,  so  tight  that  it  hurts.  he  wonders  why  he  continues  to  keep  it  with  him,  even  if  he's  accepted  reconciliation  is  out  of  the  picture.  perhaps  some  part  of  him  has  always  feebly  hoped  that  she  would  recognize  it  —  recognize  him,  and  swoop  in  to  save  him  from  the  PERILS  of  this  world.  it's  such  a  childish  desire,  he  feels  embarrassed  to  even  entertain  the  idea.

❝  by  ABANDONING  me?  ❞  he  wants  to  sound  HATEFUL  —  and  it's  so  infuriating,  because  in  spite  of  everything,  the  wanderer  still  cannot  find  it  in  himself  to  despise  her.  anger  is  a  useful  emotion;  he  would  love  nothing  more  than  to  submerge  himself  within  it  until  the  mere  thought  of  his mother  is  but  an  unpleasant  echo.  yet  he  can't,  and  the  self-disgust  ren  feels  as  a  direct  result  is  so  potent  it  makes  him  feel  sick.   ❝  maybe  you  would  feel  differently  if  you  could  actually  remember  A  THING.  ❞   he  continues  aloud.  that's  a  lie,  a  voice  in  the  back  of  his  head  whispers.  (  an  unwanted  contrarian;  it  sounds  like  the  balladeer.  )  if  she  actually  cared,  she  would  have  done  something  a  long  time  ago.  she  didn't  even  intervene  when  you  became  a  god.  and  that  is  true,  as  much  as  he  hates  to  admit  it.  he  thinks  that  selfish,  attention-hungry  part  of  him  hoped  that  she  would  —  if  only  to  eliminate  the  problem  she  CREATED.

❝  you  should  have  destroyed  me  when  you  had  the  chance.  ❞  before  he  knew  anything  about  this  world.  before  this  world  knew  anything  about  him.  ❝  that  would  have  been  the  SMART  thing  to  do.  but  you  didn't ...  you  disguised  cowardice  as  mercy,  and  because  of  your  decisions,  everyone  suffered.  ❞  myself  included.  he  TIGHTENS  his  grip  even  further.  knuckles  go  pale  and  bloodless.  the  edge  of  the  feather  digs  harshly  into  his  palm,  too  dull  to  rend  flesh. ❝  did  what  you  had  to  do?  don't  make  me  LAUGH.  ❞ it's too late for that; a tiny laugh ( unsteady and humorless ) spills from grit teeth before ren can think to smother it.

❝  you  did  NOTHING ...  and  that's  the  problem.  ❞

MISC SENTENCE STARTERS

@shathyar ( Hylia )

"It was never meant to happen this way."

     How is the story supposed to go, then?

     He doesn't know who she is. Something in him sees her for what she is though, keenly. Feels it, resonantly. Like how he imagines a spider spinning its web would, the dawning second before something bigger — something colder — crushes it for the audacity of being spotted. He thinks of a legend told on a dying breath, remnants of a myth powerful enough to draw the world to a near end, a sword deemed only for him. A path deemed only for him.

     He thinks, shamefully, he might not like her.

     The forest has fallen silent. The fairies of the fountain, too, make little sound as they circle him. It's a quiet that curdles the air, lathers it thick with a feeling that walks along the shivering line between fearful and awed. There's a weariness that cannot be touched in this child, that has him bowed over on his knees in these shallow waters, and it weighs all the heavier as his scrapes and scuffs are kissed away by fairydust.

     Do the divine want? Do the divine hope? What is she expecting here? What is she seeking from him? Link breathes like he isn't a heartbeat removed from losing himself in his own skin, and looks up into eyes that will never meet his.

" AHAHA— she speaks !? And after all this time THAT is the only comeback you have for me !? I don't know whether to laugh or cry, " Kohga presses a hand to his mask and shakes with repressed laughter, perhaps hinging on the side of mania.

Ask Meme -- @shathyar

Link's lips press together, a fury burning in his blue eyes as he scowls at the great goddess statue. This does not have the same vague statement as before when he prays at the smaller statues for energy or endurance. No, this is a reply to an unspoken question, an accusation he has truly yet to voice, but she gives the reply anyway. Finally she dares to truly speak, deigning him with a response after so many years of silence! But why on earth should she even speak to him when she refused to say anything to her--to Zelda?

He stands in the same place Zelda stood not so long before, the waters of the Spring of Power circling chill against his thighs, cold despite the warmth of the air around him. And he remembers Zelda's prayers from long ago in that very spot, scowling at the emotionless face.