CHULANE
why do things happen with no reason or rhyme?
why does it feel like we're running out of time?
why does it feel like we're running out of time?
Broken, fractured, fragmented - his thoughts were scattered, his emotions even more so. Deimos stood before him, a monolith of strength, a tower, unmovable, steadfast, seemingly unshakable; he was everything Chulane wasn't in this moment. The vet couldn't stop moving, even when he turned to the man, pleading for knowledge of the companion, the luxere who might be the last connection to Kia either of them could have. When he did pause his pacing, his muscles still twitched, tremored and shook, and he resumed the motion of walking back and forth. He felt restricted, his chest felt tight - there wasn't enough room here, enough air to go around. What is going on? he asked, but to no avail - there was no answer, no Kia to voice the question to, no answer coloured by her voice to comfort him.
It was a sign of how frazzled, how shaken and adversely affected he was that he couldn't place the last location of the luxere immediately. Here? He questioned the question, before shaking his head. "No, no, she left him at the Grounds, I was checking in on him, we have t-to go," and suddenly he was moving to his room, to grab a bag, to stuff it with clothes - why did he need more clothes? - and he was bent over his bed, staring at nothing.
But it wasn't nothing, and he wasn't moving anymore, his attention captured, his focus fixated on that which she had left behind. Feathers, he saw, reaching for them with a shaking hand, through blurred vision. They weren't feathers from his avian shift, no, they didn't have any golden or brown streaks on them; but rather black and white, mottled, broad and long. "Kia-" and he was crying, sitting on the bed, holding onto the last physical part of her he had within his grasp.
It was a sign of how frazzled, how shaken and adversely affected he was that he couldn't place the last location of the luxere immediately. Here? He questioned the question, before shaking his head. "No, no, she left him at the Grounds, I was checking in on him, we have t-to go," and suddenly he was moving to his room, to grab a bag, to stuff it with clothes - why did he need more clothes? - and he was bent over his bed, staring at nothing.
But it wasn't nothing, and he wasn't moving anymore, his attention captured, his focus fixated on that which she had left behind. Feathers, he saw, reaching for them with a shaking hand, through blurred vision. They weren't feathers from his avian shift, no, they didn't have any golden or brown streaks on them; but rather black and white, mottled, broad and long. "Kia-" and he was crying, sitting on the bed, holding onto the last physical part of her he had within his grasp.
how do we keep going, through the dark?
why are we here at all, lost in the dark?
why are we here at all, lost in the dark?
