Once upon a time, there was a little hero, young in years for an elf but selfless with all but himself. It was he who was burned by hellfire and he who travelled with his attacker. Initially he stayed for duty, misguided in thinking he convince those he met on paved roads to stray away from them, ever the protector still. He spoke until the flame scorched his throat bare, ensuring he stay silent to new souls to spare him. The guilt spread with an underlying desperation.
‘So be it,’ He thought, if words wouldn’t do he’d use his sight. They traversed off roads, straying from people entirely when noticed, every slight movement was tracked and the ache of lids was a constant from the strain for new movement. The guilt alleviated for those days, until he noticed how he’d wake alone some nights. Then the desperation took over, at first searching frantically, in the dark nodes but she would return, she always did. The guilt took hold when he wasn’t fed on those nights.
The little hero continued on his journey, one without a path or trail, until his eyes blurred, until they too were scorched over. ‘So be it,’ he thought, if sight couldn’t do then he would use his ears, long and pointed as they were, he could detect any crack of stick or footsteps of possible martyrs approaching. The little elf continued with this lie, hero no more, no longer deserving of the title from the lives he knew he let lose. Guilt was a companion no longer, instead being the fabric he wore on his clothes, the air he breathed, the ground he’d trip over.
—
A hand holding on to him and he to her. It was parasitic, a feat and hurdle he had realised one night when she was away. It started as a small whisper, slipping between the cracks of his compartmentalisation, that he was a hero no more, just a tormented soul, caged till he could be reused no more. So the little elf ran, for a selfish reason as desperation took hold.
‘Sigismund…’, The hallucination gracing his ears made him flinch as he tripped. Feeling the ground leave his hands flew up to protect his head as he rolled, ripping and tearing through, jostling every patch of malflamed skin. Terror seeped from the open wounds as he looked around in vain. His ears failed him, every twig snapped could be her stepping closer, every rustle of bushes could be her parting the way, every wind blow could be the breath of the lady. He didn’t know if who he was had a deity on his sanction so he simply prayed.
‘Please,’ he thought, ‘don’t let it be so.’ His mouth failed him and so be it, it was no guide. His ears betrayed him and so be it. ‘Please,’ Being it night, not even light would shine through and the thought of moving with no direction petrified them. He had already covered his long ears, blocking out with terrified ignorance to any trickery. ‘Please, I need to get out.’ Unseeing eyes were felt darting back and forth, the strain of familiarity settling, as he repeated both in mind and in a hoarse whisper.
“Please, let me escape this hell.”
"V̸̳̱̼̙̝̍͌̚͠ā̴̗́̎̿̈́̇̏̄̀̔͠͝ņ̷̝̀̈͗͌͋̈́̔͘͜ͅ—ȁ̵̝̍̊̈..” A heavy static filled the air causing a rapid flinch, causing him to cover his ears as his eyes aimlessly darted for the source.
“No..no no..” He sobs, blind eyes filling with tears.
“Close your eyes.” They were kind, voice clearer over the growing static. His back hits the tree trunk hard as his feet dug grooves in the soaking mud.
“I can’t,” He muttered back, he needs to see, the static cover his ears and he feels a pounding in his skull, thrumming and drumming heavy in his head.
“Shhhh…” Warm hands touch where he covers his ears, the guide is steady to compare how every part of him shakes. The rainy wind he felt billowing on his face were shut off as his hands closed his eyes.
The crescendo of noise faded, dropping off to a low hum. Then..there was a light? There was ground, then two hands pulling back though not his own, wooden, like oak or a lighter spruce. His breath hitched but his sobbing stopped. Another ragged gasp came though as they looked higher, following where the hands sat on kneeling thighs up to where he would have seen a face if the figure hadn’t stood up.
He was about to move his hands to look up on instinct but- “Keep them closed…” Soft and full of adoration, a lower octave. The world was dark, it was dark but it wasn’t ..dark was a colour. There was rain, he could see how it fled down, absorbing into the ground beneath his dark boots. “Don’t you have to keep moving?” They interrupted his brief sense of awe, replacing it with the terror of remembrance. A small laugh comes from behind him and he feels himself standing with help, at least he thinks he does.
He treads forward a couple steps, tripping from the sudden depth perception required then back up into the darkness of the trees. They take another more steady step, looking to the left, then right. The hand lets go of him from behind, and he turns around.
“It’s unfortunate that you don’t remember what he looks like.” It was an elf, he knew them, wearing the last robe he saw them, familiar with red hair and where his face would be was a twisting spiral of a solid colour. It tilts its head at him and he feels the smile as it approaches, grabs his hands and brings it down. Instantly the world faded away and he understood with a shaky breath.
It swiftly came closer, pressing their heads together, gentle and familiar before he felt its hands dig into his eyes slightly, he felt the malflame burns flare. “And thus if you betray my gift to another, not of my own…” The end deliberately trailed off, he nodded with little else to do.
Hands brought his own up again and they looked around hurriedly while it took a step back. “Now go, she’ll be coming this way soon.” When the world came back, there was nothing with him anymore. He took one breath, then another, then a shade passed near him, leading hi
m to run once more.
