Cyrus belongs to Gwenn of the 2BlueWizards
Cyrus felt the cold water against his cold hands. His skin was cold but not his blood, it was boiling. He dipped deeper into the sink, buried his arms under the water and hoped against all hope its coolness would take this fervour away. This mark, Cyrus glared at the ugly twisted serpent of redness. It had always been there as what left of his memory told him so, b.randing him in ways that were done to slaves. It used to be quiet, sitting on his arm like a tattoo he'd forgotten but now, it burns.
Cyrus smashed his fist into the water surface, which parted on impact. This dullness was eating him away! No he shouldn't blame the laundry, it was the time alone and the many thoughts it begot that were eating away his sanity. He shouldn't have accepted her offer, she shouldn't be trusted, how can she? She, the deceiver, the puppeteer, the source of his agony...but what had she done exactly? No, these thoughts, they were nibbling him alive! He needed to b.reak free, at least he needed a distraction. Cyrus gave the water one last smash before he stormed towards the door.
No one was around, thus was confirmed by the Dāmian's super-human senses. Cyrus stepped into a dense grove, the night was growing old, the dawn was approaching. The dark veil thinned in the eastern sky, the stars were sunken and a pale streak began to manifest over the tree top. Cyrus took a deep b.reath, why the hell did he do that? Why the hell did he trust her? Why? Why? Why? Perhaps deep inside Cyrus knew the answers, he remembered things but chose to forget. He needed a vent, a distraction and more over, an excuse, to both shun him away and draw him back. He wasn't taken by force, was him? He chose this path and there is no turning back. Cyrus opened the lid of the mirror...
"Ensil, it pleases me to see you." Her voice hung low in the chill of early morning, as if she was the source of this coldness.
"Our deal, princess, I have done my part, now it's your turn!" Cyrus gnashed those words between his teeth.
"Very well, what do you wish to know?"
"Did you kill them?"
"Will you believe me?"
"Just tell me! Speak!" Cyrus demanded.
"No."
"I don't believe you."
"Not that matters. You have averaged them, more or less." A sigh came from the other side of the mirror.
"What do you mean? Don't talk in riddles!!!" An instant anger scorched his heart, was she playing a game with him?
"Thy blade hath tasted my flesh, thou hast spilt the blood of thy foe, thy kin has been avenged. If that is what you want."
"How dare you! How dare you speak of them like that!" Cyrus's anger roared into a burning rage. He hoisted the mirror, he pressed so close against the faint image, he clenched the device, his fingers enclosed so tightly that a crack torn horizontally across the reflective surface.
"I am forever in debts to Katalina's kindness. Yes, that is your mother's name, you don't even remember, do you?" Her voice came through in a flow of serenity, her calmness to his rage, her water to his fire. What a contradiction.
"Stop it! Liar!! I remember!! I remember!"
"And Irena, your sister, Trevor, your b.rother. Do you remember them?"
"I remember! I remember!" Growled the Dāmian.
"What do they look like?"
"I..." Cyrus felt in utter silent, he did not remember...
"Do you remember your mother's lullaby? Do you remember the flower your sister loved so much, that she'd gather them in late summer, and adorned your hair with its crowns? Do you remember the tree that blossomed in spring and fruited in autumn, that you and your b.rother always climbed, to watch over the village and the smoke raising from each house's chimney?"
There were no responds.
"You remember nothing, Cyrus, son of Gab.riel. Those names to you are but masks, underneath which lays nothing. You do not even know who you are avenging for. "
"Stop! Enough!" The anger burnt on in the hearth of his heart, but a darkness was looming above, the fire was fading, audibly so.
Cyrus glared into those amber eyes he had meant to avoid. Lies, lies, everything she spoke were ugly lies! The colour of blood filmed his vision.
It was winter, the first snow had just fallen. Mountains, field, valley, everything was white, from the fairest to the ugliest, everything was white, everything was equal. The wind was hush, and the snowflakes cut flesh like razor blades. But inside the cottage, it was spring. Blazing in the fireplace was a roaring fire, those cheerful Igniphs cast heavy shadow on a woman’s face. She had eyes of the calm ocean, and flame danced across their glassy surface. To her right, closer to the fireplace, seated a girl. Absentmindedly, she ran her fingers through a dried flower crown of edelweiss. Opposite to her was a younger boy, he hunched over a stool, sharpening a wood stick, seemingly blackthorn, into the shape of a slingshot.
The woman held a toddler boy to her b.reast. She was patting him, and from her lips a lullaby invoked Nea’s blessing.
'Tsvite teren, tsvite teren, A tsvit opadaye. Khto z lyubov"yu ne znayet'sya, toy horya ne zna' (Blackthorn is blooming, blackthorn is blooming, the flowers are withering. He who knows not love, knows not sorrow). It was a beautiful song, beautiful but sad, as these two always go hand in hand.
Cyrus heard heavy footsteps against the crisp snow, he saw a hand pushed open the door. The mother and children received him with open arms, but the hands in his red vision returned with a raising blade. He struck down the mother. The son gathered his sister and little b.rother behind him.The daughter was screaming, the boy crying and the son put up such a fight. But it was all in vain. The hand cut down every life in the house. The heavy steps moved back towards the door. To its left, hanging on the wall was a long bow, next to it, a silver plate, dulled in time but still reflective. The red vision turned around, what reflected on its blood-stained surface, was Cyrus's face.
"No!!!!" In that moment Cyrus knew true terror, and that acknowledgment came in the form of a groan. The mirror shattered in his grip and he sacrificed his own blood for his rage.
"What is this? What is this you let me see!"
"You have always known, the fragment of truth in your deepest fear." With the means of communication gone, Cyrus still heard her voice, directly printed into his mind.
"What thy seek is not mine to give."
"You lied to me!"
"No one lied to you yet no one tell the entire truth. If you rely on others' words, you are allowing yourself to be manipulated. But here and now, fear is my domain, and fear does not lie."
"I speak this onto thee, Cyrus, son of Gab.riel. I b.rought such fate upon your kin, I am not innocent, yet I am not guilty. I was their harbinger of Morrigans' song, but not the grim kiss that took their lives away. If it is revenge that you seek, if it is my blood that you want to taste in your mouth, my heart that you want to crush in your hands, then come to me. You are more than welcome to do so, then we are each subject to our power, and Fate will decide the survivor. But if it is the truth that you seek, go to Zahlrati, she sees more than we do, and she has what we do not."
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