graveyard_bones

Teehee

hi :3

"Yes Gravelord," we all say, in unison. Cerberus sends a passing glance to those surrounding the lich, lips curling into a smile at the sudden reunion.

Cerberus blinks- right before a scoff emits from his lips. "Hm... interesting."

In a sea of regret, a singular man stands. He doesn’t shed a tear, he doesn’t scream into the night's empty void- he stares. He stares at the letter in hand, standing in Kaethul, feeling gentle waves crash upon his ankles. Something to feel other than crushing grief, something he hadn’t felt since his mother passed. A thumb presses over the creases on paper, flattening them out, gazing at the drawing held in hands, one real, one fake. His mind is blank, perpetually pushing each word etched with love into the forefront of his mind. With a lump in his throat that refuses to die, choking back sobs as reality hits him, he couldn’t bear the heartbreak. Yet, tears never form. He remembers snow crashing into his back, the competitive-filled pursuit they had, snowballs in hands, desperately attempting to reach that third hit. Ducking, cowering, scooping, crushing- it almost makes him laugh. In the blistering cold, standing proudly on that boulder, did Naya win. Sariel stared at her with disbelief, soon rolling his eyes- a dramatic, drawn out sigh following afterwards. And he wonders, could he build a snowman, adorn it with fake twigs as hair, and have a snowball fight with it? A husk of what she is? Could he win? Could he carve a one next to his name on that very stone? Has it withered away with time? Will she, along with his memories of her, wither away with time? In a blind rage, does he return to that very castle he promised he’d get out of, storming up to his room to destroy each and every last bit of furniture that stands. He throws books off their shelves, he breaks glass- blood coats paper, seeping and soaking. Blood drips onto the counters. There is glass entrapped in his palm. He screams at the top of his lungs- so long his voice goes hoarse and raspy, fueled by unbridled rage. Alone, could he no longer keep his act together, destroying even more until nothing could be pieced together, just like Him. No stone will go unturned, no corner will be left unchecked. Not until he finds her. He recalls that night, sitting atop a roof in Vikela, staring at the stars; reminiscing, remembering. They pointed at individual sparkles in a sea of black, comparing it to their mothers. That day they had reconnected, and Sariel was overjoyed, to finally have someone he deems a sibling inside his very first home. “The stars look twice as pretty.” Utters Him, “Are you up there?” No, she isn’t. He knows this, but he wants to believe. He wants to have that hope he promised her. His silence is broken off by a singular thought, something to pry his mind off the inevitable. His endless wandering leads him to the foot of Naya’s house in Petra, and he jostles the door open, jingling keys to alert his presence; animals seem overjoyed. His feet creek with every given step, slow and painful. He weaves around, meagerly refilling food and water bowls. A Borzoi seems rather delighted to see him, padded paws tapping on the floor. A feasel scurries down the stairs, hissing at him. How is he to tell an animal about Naya, he thinks, how many days until they finally give up hope of her ever returning. Something tugs at the back of his mind, begging him to step upstairs into her room. He uncovers a baby crying in his crib. Sariel gently scoops the baby into his arms, tending to his very needs. After mere minutes of calming Fynn down, he settles himself at her desk, fingertips grazing over books, beginning to indulge in whatever studies Naya committed herself to. The fire is lit.

Cerberus flicks a pen around in his finger, loosely dragging ink across a blank piece of paper- thinking, debating. Humorous, is what he'd call the situation, pitiful too. He glances around the empty halls of the grand castle he resides in, previous feelings subsiding. After enough pondering, he continues forth, outside into the trembling cold to send a letter to his sister, the very name that was slandered, Naya.

Cerberus stifles a laugh, remembering that night filled with countless amounts of fun the group had — or, at least the fun he had. “MORE PAINTINGS!” He yells, in the safety of his own room. What a shame though, that the very tower such tomfoolery started at, never fell.

A missive falls into the young man's hands, passed to him from a friend of a friend. The chair underneath him creaks with his weight as he sits, the gentle tap of his heel against hardwood floors echoes throughout his tiny home. A place that harbors dark secrets with hushed whispers nestled in the cracks of the walls. Sariel's eyes squints as he reads the missive over, and over, and over again until the words become nothing more than a jumbled mess. "Hypocrisy in its purest form," he muses. He never had high standards for Yera, he never thought fondly of her; something hides behind her reserved, quiet persona. He was certain of that. Steadily, he folds the missive, pressing the creases tightly to sneak it between the glass bottles that sit in his cupboards. "What a shame." The words leave his lips, drawn out and slow.