SUNJATA
the flood
anyway, you say you're too busy
saving everybody else to save yourself
saving everybody else to save yourself
He can feel her tears as they hit his back, he can feel the way she clutches to him tighter as the words leave his lips, and it pangs deeper. A serrated knife to the heart, twisting and pushing further and further, until there’s nothing left but red. Blood. Only they hadn’t cut when they were murdered. Hadn’t been butchered, hadn’t been torn apart. Frozen solid, within each other’s arms, and he hurts so incredibly deeply for that.
’Save it for the bedroom, boys.’ He’d told them. He hadn’t meant it to be in Mort’s realm.
She tells him that he didn’t kill them. But hadn’t he? When he’d asked them to come along for this hunt? For Safrin, for the Shrine? Wasn’t it his fault that he’d dragged them along, an echo of the past when Lusea had died the first time. When it had been his fault, for her to get close to him when it would inevitably end in rivers of blood along a marble floor.
He shakes his head to her, the cracks in his soul growing wider, pieces falling around and yet somehow he’s not the same, not again. No cocky arrogance, no dark humor. Only… Hollow. A shell, a boy, soft and naïve. He can feel it grow, feel it take hold as he fights to show his emotions. That being soft got you killed, and well… Shouldn’t he have been killed then?
He doesn’t respond to her, unable to respond to the implications of just how he thinks it is his fault. “Peter was my best friend, Maea.”
’Save it for the bedroom, boys.’ He’d told them. He hadn’t meant it to be in Mort’s realm.
She tells him that he didn’t kill them. But hadn’t he? When he’d asked them to come along for this hunt? For Safrin, for the Shrine? Wasn’t it his fault that he’d dragged them along, an echo of the past when Lusea had died the first time. When it had been his fault, for her to get close to him when it would inevitably end in rivers of blood along a marble floor.
He shakes his head to her, the cracks in his soul growing wider, pieces falling around and yet somehow he’s not the same, not again. No cocky arrogance, no dark humor. Only… Hollow. A shell, a boy, soft and naïve. He can feel it grow, feel it take hold as he fights to show his emotions. That being soft got you killed, and well… Shouldn’t he have been killed then?
He doesn’t respond to her, unable to respond to the implications of just how he thinks it is his fault. “Peter was my best friend, Maea.”
and you don't want no help, oh well
that's the story to tell
that's the story to tell
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
