horology | the darkling

black winter nights

wires - the neighbourhood

i see the wires pulling while you're breathing
you knew you had a reason
it killed you like diseases

/

'pitch black winter nights live in my bones' - friedrich nietzsche

- 

aleksander

The Darkling found himself blinded by moonlight as he emerged from his sunken room. The light had just crept below the horizon, casting eerie shadows in the trees. He didnt mind the shadows though, they played right into his power. With a flick of his hand, he could make the black shapes writhe and shake; he missed that lingering power. He missed being invincible. He hated what he was doing now, but there was no choice now. He needed advice, now more than ever, now that there were rumours that Seraphina had been making deals with the Lantsov king. Nobody knew what happened, but the Durasts had been talking, gossiping behind half closed doors. They didn't even bother to stop talking as he walked past. Aleksander wonder if that was all that he meant now; a washed up general, all bark, no bite. From the most feared man in all of the known world to.... nothing. An old husk of what he was. He felt hollow. Like there was a leak in him and all the goodness was just spilling out in thick tears. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fix it, fix himself, fix the shit he had done. The Darkling had lived many lifetimes without looking back into the past, looking back at all the pain he was responsible for. But no matter how far he ran, all the terrible things he did eventually caught up. Now, here he was, a shell of his former glory, going to ask for help from the one person who had loved him when he didn't love himself. When he didn't see an ounce of goodness in himself. He hand't spoke to her in a while, he wondered how she was doing. His slender hand refrained from knocking, Aleksander didn't know if she wanted to see him again. He had hurt her badly and never apologised for it. But there were just some words that could never be taken back, never be forgotten. They form a part of you, the cracks in your mind and in your body. He wished he hand't hurt her as much as he did. The boy sighed; he couldn't do it.

The woods were mocking him. Ravens screeching in the tops of wilting trees. Insects buzzing, chirping at his cowardice. There was no where he could hide; the moon's light bore down on him with cold apathy. Time would be glaring down on him too. He flinched at the thought. His hand was still, hovering centimetres above the door. He willed it to knock but the voice inside his mind was twisting his thoughts. Coward, you pathetic coward. She doesn't want to see you. She doesn't care. He knew she did though. He knew that if he knocked, if she opened the door, he would have to put on his facade. The calculating General. The psychopath, the destroyer, the pristine. He couldn't do it. He didn't want to. Aleksander turned away, ashamed to feel helpless. He was about to take a step towards the Little Palace when the wooden door swung open.

He remembered the smell very well; fresh loaves of bread and just a little tickle of magic. He swallowed, softly to mask his fear. He turned around with a smooth flick of his heels.

'I've been expecting you, Aleksander'

His mother hadn't changed one bit; she still stared at him with the same cold, melancholic eyes.

-

Aleksander didn't want tea but he didn't object as she set down a mug of hot flowery liquid. He took a sip; it must had been wildflowers from the forest. Baghra busied herself at the kitchen, never looking him in the eye. She barely looked at him at all but he could feel her glimpses when his back was turned. His hand clenched to a fist on his lap, power inside his veins ravelling and unravelling nervously. He knew she was avoiding him.