Post by Daniel MacNamara on Dec 30, 2020 18:53:54 GMT -5
“Nothing was quite as hot as the breath that came from a dragon’s mouth when it stared you down.
Especially when it was your dragon and nothing could save you from it.
There were no damsels to save, no kingdoms to protect, no riches to be rewarded with.
Just you, your sword, and the dragon.
And the acknowledgment that the beast before you, wasn’t the black cloud of this story. It was you.
I was not the prodigal son.
I was not the savior that was hoped for.
I was not the hero of this tale.
What was I? I was the wayward prince that carried the same promise that the storm that could not be overcome carried. I wasn’t a light in the darkness that promised safety to the meek and downtrodden, I was infernal embers cast out upon the world on a Gehenna wind. I was the balefire that all the rains called forth from the sky couldn’t extinguish, that the boots of my enemies couldn’t snuff out.
I wasn’t the knight in shining armor, because that was just a boy who hadn’t had his metal tested yet.
I was the one who had the same eyes of the dragon that stared down into me.
I’m Daniel MacNamara, and this isn’t a fairy tale that’s going to be spun by the Queen of the Stars.
This is a grim fucking fable with an unhappy bloody ending.”
His words were quiet, but they were bold, and they were firm. They were the words of a man who refused to be beaten by the circumstances of his life as he sat there in the darkness. The air around him was still, and stagnant, and the lighting was barely enough to do much more than illuminate his silhouette. Even then, that silhouette didn’t quite seem right. It didn’t really show him as she should be. The skin was raised in parts of him, there was swelling in places that there shouldn’t be, and strangely enough? It seemed like his skin was slick in areas where it should very much not be slick.
Quiet, or was it disquiet? His hands were together, the outline of rough, twisted, off angled digits steepling at the tips to brace against each other, arms were flexed, bent at the elbows which were precariously perched upon his knees. His words were calm as he weaved his story, but the posture of body didn’t match the serenity spilling from his lips. God, he seemed wound up so tight, as if he was struggling just to keep upright.
Like he was barely hanging on anymore, and yet..
And yet, he clung to the same last shreds of his dignity that the wolf did when he was under the barrel of a hunter’s gun. The same dignity that was afforded to any predator that was facing its final moments: he was still dangerous, and to approach him without the respect of that would mean your end, not his.
“The Queen of the Stars, the word weaver who tells us all that’s happened, and all that will be. The one woman cult who dances like the shifting winds. Allow me to weave a story about her, one that consists of reading the strings of fate, plunging her fingers into the ether of the cosmos to read it as if it was simple brail, because she could do it. She did it without asking, without consulting, and then she danced away without a care in the world. She’s the story teller, why should she be concerned about the fallout that comes from what she’s written until it’s time to take ethereal quill to the paper of reality?”
That’s when Daniel leaned forward and let the barely there light catch his face. Swollen, and distended. His right eye was closed from the swelling, three nasty cuts slid from his hairline down over his jaw as if something had very clearly tried to claw one of those eyes right out of his pretty face, inevitably it’d add to the scars that already littered it. Dried, still open, it was an ugly sight on a man who was becoming steadily more ugly with each passing encounter. Bare shouldered, with blackening skin starting to encroach onto that right side of him once more, as if an even crueler person had opted to paint part of him over with a blow torch.
Daniel did say, after all, that he was not the dragon.
“Did you write this, Indi Rhyder? Did you see this story unfolding in your clouded eyes, thinking that you’re the only one with the sight to behold what’s passed in front of you? I want to hate you, but I can’t. I know what’s going on inside of that head of yours. You see everything, but when you see everything, you miss what’s right in front of you. You spat out weaver crafted machinations at a blood covered boy who was spat from the wyrm’s mouth, left to fend for himself in the Wylds. Too alien to live, too weird to die, and you lumped him with the rest in song. You never saw him. It makes me wonder just what else you’ll miss when it comes to me.”
Sigh. Exhale. He needed a smoke. A blind hand patted down his pockets, but they found nothing. Empty handed? If that wasn’t a metaphor for his life, he didn’t know what was. Then, suddenly, there was a feminine frame in view, just there long enough to place one hand on his head while the other stuck a cigarette between his lips, lighting it soon after.
A single look was given to whoever it was, a grateful look, and the ghost of a smile was on his face for just a few moments. It was gone the moment he looked back ahead.
“Did you think I’d go seek out the dragon again, Indi? Did you know I ever did? Do you think that I’d lay my hands on them until they acknowledged me with acceptance or vitriol? Until I felt their flame, or their love?”
Inhale. This time it came with the cancerous smoke that filled his lungs before he pushed it all out through his nose.
“…I went to find him again, because I thought I needed him. I was desperate, Indi. To beat you, I knew I’d need something that I simply didn’t have anymore. I was a desperate man. I was.. I won’t lie. I was at the bottom of the barrel, and the thought having to fight you filled me with so much fucking dread. I couldn’t come to terms with another loss, not to anyone, not to you. I..”
His voice was strained, and he ashed that cigarette off to the side.
“In the darkest hour, while I laid there, half dead, maybe fully dead, I drifted back and forth. I forget what I was, but I know what I am. I don’t need what I sought out in that balefire. I have everything I need when it comes to you.”
Pause. Beat.
“But you, Indi? I have something for you. I have the ending to your next story. I have it deep inside of me, and I’m going to show you what it is when I reach into what’s left of my soul and pull it out kicking and screaming.”
Inhale.
“I’m going to be your Happily Ever After, when I make you into Sleeping Beauty.”
And just like that, there was nothing else left to say.
Especially when it was your dragon and nothing could save you from it.
There were no damsels to save, no kingdoms to protect, no riches to be rewarded with.
Just you, your sword, and the dragon.
And the acknowledgment that the beast before you, wasn’t the black cloud of this story. It was you.
I was not the prodigal son.
I was not the savior that was hoped for.
I was not the hero of this tale.
What was I? I was the wayward prince that carried the same promise that the storm that could not be overcome carried. I wasn’t a light in the darkness that promised safety to the meek and downtrodden, I was infernal embers cast out upon the world on a Gehenna wind. I was the balefire that all the rains called forth from the sky couldn’t extinguish, that the boots of my enemies couldn’t snuff out.
I wasn’t the knight in shining armor, because that was just a boy who hadn’t had his metal tested yet.
I was the one who had the same eyes of the dragon that stared down into me.
I’m Daniel MacNamara, and this isn’t a fairy tale that’s going to be spun by the Queen of the Stars.
This is a grim fucking fable with an unhappy bloody ending.”
His words were quiet, but they were bold, and they were firm. They were the words of a man who refused to be beaten by the circumstances of his life as he sat there in the darkness. The air around him was still, and stagnant, and the lighting was barely enough to do much more than illuminate his silhouette. Even then, that silhouette didn’t quite seem right. It didn’t really show him as she should be. The skin was raised in parts of him, there was swelling in places that there shouldn’t be, and strangely enough? It seemed like his skin was slick in areas where it should very much not be slick.
Quiet, or was it disquiet? His hands were together, the outline of rough, twisted, off angled digits steepling at the tips to brace against each other, arms were flexed, bent at the elbows which were precariously perched upon his knees. His words were calm as he weaved his story, but the posture of body didn’t match the serenity spilling from his lips. God, he seemed wound up so tight, as if he was struggling just to keep upright.
Like he was barely hanging on anymore, and yet..
And yet, he clung to the same last shreds of his dignity that the wolf did when he was under the barrel of a hunter’s gun. The same dignity that was afforded to any predator that was facing its final moments: he was still dangerous, and to approach him without the respect of that would mean your end, not his.
“The Queen of the Stars, the word weaver who tells us all that’s happened, and all that will be. The one woman cult who dances like the shifting winds. Allow me to weave a story about her, one that consists of reading the strings of fate, plunging her fingers into the ether of the cosmos to read it as if it was simple brail, because she could do it. She did it without asking, without consulting, and then she danced away without a care in the world. She’s the story teller, why should she be concerned about the fallout that comes from what she’s written until it’s time to take ethereal quill to the paper of reality?”
That’s when Daniel leaned forward and let the barely there light catch his face. Swollen, and distended. His right eye was closed from the swelling, three nasty cuts slid from his hairline down over his jaw as if something had very clearly tried to claw one of those eyes right out of his pretty face, inevitably it’d add to the scars that already littered it. Dried, still open, it was an ugly sight on a man who was becoming steadily more ugly with each passing encounter. Bare shouldered, with blackening skin starting to encroach onto that right side of him once more, as if an even crueler person had opted to paint part of him over with a blow torch.
Daniel did say, after all, that he was not the dragon.
“Did you write this, Indi Rhyder? Did you see this story unfolding in your clouded eyes, thinking that you’re the only one with the sight to behold what’s passed in front of you? I want to hate you, but I can’t. I know what’s going on inside of that head of yours. You see everything, but when you see everything, you miss what’s right in front of you. You spat out weaver crafted machinations at a blood covered boy who was spat from the wyrm’s mouth, left to fend for himself in the Wylds. Too alien to live, too weird to die, and you lumped him with the rest in song. You never saw him. It makes me wonder just what else you’ll miss when it comes to me.”
Sigh. Exhale. He needed a smoke. A blind hand patted down his pockets, but they found nothing. Empty handed? If that wasn’t a metaphor for his life, he didn’t know what was. Then, suddenly, there was a feminine frame in view, just there long enough to place one hand on his head while the other stuck a cigarette between his lips, lighting it soon after.
A single look was given to whoever it was, a grateful look, and the ghost of a smile was on his face for just a few moments. It was gone the moment he looked back ahead.
“Did you think I’d go seek out the dragon again, Indi? Did you know I ever did? Do you think that I’d lay my hands on them until they acknowledged me with acceptance or vitriol? Until I felt their flame, or their love?”
Inhale. This time it came with the cancerous smoke that filled his lungs before he pushed it all out through his nose.
“…I went to find him again, because I thought I needed him. I was desperate, Indi. To beat you, I knew I’d need something that I simply didn’t have anymore. I was a desperate man. I was.. I won’t lie. I was at the bottom of the barrel, and the thought having to fight you filled me with so much fucking dread. I couldn’t come to terms with another loss, not to anyone, not to you. I..”
His voice was strained, and he ashed that cigarette off to the side.
“In the darkest hour, while I laid there, half dead, maybe fully dead, I drifted back and forth. I forget what I was, but I know what I am. I don’t need what I sought out in that balefire. I have everything I need when it comes to you.”
Pause. Beat.
“But you, Indi? I have something for you. I have the ending to your next story. I have it deep inside of me, and I’m going to show you what it is when I reach into what’s left of my soul and pull it out kicking and screaming.”
Inhale.
“I’m going to be your Happily Ever After, when I make you into Sleeping Beauty.”
And just like that, there was nothing else left to say.