Dancing Darkness

- chapter 5.5

(TO HOLD YALL OVER BECAUSE DAMN??)
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"As long as we don't die, this is gonna be one hell of a story." — THE LAST WORDS OF RIDOC GAMLYN.
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     Chapter 5.5 - Stars over your Scars.

I don't like remembering.
Remembering makes me feel things.
I don't like feeling things.
For most people, it's history now. A day in time where Navarre ended its rebellion. This day will eventually be forgotten, no longer spread by old folk tales or books, scribes and travelers.
But for me, whenever I close my eyes, it comes back clearly.

Heat.
I feel the tears streaking my face and the sobs tearing down every single layer of my heart as guards glare at us all with disgust. Utter disgust.
Why?
My father stands will his head held high, but it's his eyes that frighten me.
Those are not my fathers eyes.
That is the man who led the revolution.
That is the man who killed hundred's to get to his goal.
That is the man who upraised a rebellion and almost succeeded.
Almost.
I can't hear myself scream as my father is blasted into ashes by General Melgren's dragon, I don't feel myself thrash in my brothers grip.
I only remember when the guards— one had light brown eyes the color of bark, and his beautiful black hair tied up in a updo, while another dawned hundreds of small scars splattered around her face.— dragging me tooth and nail towards the dragon.
And that's when I finally let myself go.
I screamed and screamed, the dragon got angry.
So, so very mad.
Mad enough that he scorched me, covered me in flaming hot magma that ripped of my skin and oh god I can't breathe I can't breathe I cant breat—

My eyes open.
I sit at a large hill, looking over the Vale. If I am caught, I am surely dead. Not that any sane individual would wander up a cliff side for a pretty view.
But, I would not claim that I am sane.
I'm not exactly dead. But I'm not alive either.
I am a ghost with a beating heart. A barely beating heart.
After that day, I didn't sob or wail.
My grief was horribly discreet but as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from a unstitched arrow wound.
Never feel— that gets you killed.
My feelings were the reason my father died that day— if I had just thought for ONE SECOND—
But I don't let myself ponder the idea.
Who knows what I will do. I remind myself daily what I had ought to have learned by now.
   "You're a weapon; and weapons don't weep."
I can't say that I disagree.
The bright moon shines tonight, glowing and giving the valley Presentation takes place in an unearthly glow.
I can hear dragons.
Come kill me already.
Smell the sulfur on there skin and feel the emotions of them all down below.
What if I was a dragon?
I would bury myself underground.
If I was a dragon, I would soar. Never fly back down for even a moment. Just fly and fly and fly.
What if I was a different person?
That is what I wish I was.
After that day, my brother abandoned me. Never actually cared, never sent letters, as if I was a doll he could use and throw as he pleases.
Am I that easy to forget?
Thoughts ravage my brain faster than I can comprehend them.
My father's execution plays over and over, as if I am reading the same page of a book again and again and again—
And do you know what is funny?
It was my birthday.