Chapter 8: Obsidian
Bones ache, body shaking,
With the weight of the lives I was not living.
No great villain prevented my struggle,
Only the thoughts in my head kept me in a bubble.
A perpetual shield that kept life at bay,
A fear of something going awry.
Regrets strung and lit up like the stars in the sky,
For what are the stars except crushed moon parts.
Squandered potential increasing my girth,
Anchoring my roots to earth.
A curved glass my only observer,
As I reach out to the world in wonder.
Its cool glass and wooden panelling a reminder,
That I was my mind's own prisoner.
...............................
Wyndham Street, Hongkong
People stared as he walked down the busy streets of Hongkong. They sidled away nervously, taking care not to meet his eyes. Even in the well kept clothes the witch dressed him in and the lack of scars on his face and body, they sensed that he was savage, raw with suppressed violence, and quite possibly mad.
He didn't give a damn what they thought. He was too busy containing the shivers of unease that racked his body. He'd not been around so many humans in years- 4 years to be precise. The noise was loud in his ears- cars zipping by, people shouting from their shops and the buzz of playing advertisments mounted on the walls of buildings. The movement of so many bodies dazzled his eyes, making him start at phantom attacks, giving him no place to rest his gaze. He stopped for a moment trying to get his senses under control, but a passing salesman jostled his shoulder.
He whirled, his knife already drawn, a snarl upon his lips.
The salesman's eyes widened and he backed away hands raised before turning and running.
"Damned Gao Sai*," someone muttered.
He spun seeking the speaker, but all he saw were white faces, hostile and fearful, all of them strange and foreign. Except that wasn't quite right. He wasn't just a foreigner. He wasn't even human. He was seelie. He blinked and sheathed his knife, inhaling to steady himself. He was close, so close. He merely needed to contain the demons the witch had risen in him a little while longer.
He ducked his head and continued. Months of walking had brought him here, to the bridge between the human and faerie world. He'd lived on what he could grab. He'd walked through rain and searing heat. He'd hidden from policemen and even some seelie who prefered to stay in the human world. He'd stepped out of the unseelie world just a few days ago and still wasn't used to the lack of cover around him.
Yet still he walked. He'd sacrificed too much- blood, people he held dear and his own honor- to get here.
He could see the nondescript building that housed the Locke Club from here. So close. So close.
He had no money or influence here. The clothes on his back were worn, his feet were bare, and he was thin from lack of food and walking.
But none could see the scars the witch had given him. The sting of stabs and cuts that he felt with every move and shake. The witch had erased any evidence that he was under her imprisonment. No Seelie, could imagine his unending suffering under the witch's tyranny. The damage that she had wrought in his mind and spirit.
Even the skin on his wrists which he thought was raw and tender, was not broken. Unlike his fellow soldiers and fallen friends, no scars peppered his body not a hair on his head had been singed. His connection to his friends and his comrades during the war was lost. The witch had robbed him of everything except the one thing he had sent to Puck for safe keeping.
He was Xander, the prince of the Seelie, and by God or by the devil, he was going to find the dragon's child.
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Stone Cold
Aventura"The stone first started to show on his father's right forearm. Pale onyx veins then spread throughout his body, shining like polished marble." Stone has claimed most of the magical creatures of the world, forcing the rest to go into...
