So many days had gone. So many changes had ripped through the lives of those that had been left behind. Through it all the forest had persisted, had continued to grow. The endless cycle of life and death went on. Creatures died and were covered by soil, sprouts rose from those rotting bodies, flowers bloomed, flourished and died. A thousand little struggles against the backdrop of a thousand more. In this way nothing had changed. Each story, each life was meaningless against every single other life and other fight. They cancelled each other out into a washed out green against the leaves.
Rain had fallen, each arrogant drop had soaked the ground, imbedded itself into reluctant fur and perished. A fox took shelter in the ruins and others found their own hiding places. Then the rain became summer snow and blanketed the world in frozen white. So many creatures whirling in the flakes, so many looking for warmth. Perhaps the vixen had remembered the small warmth that had once lived by the still waters of the pond or wandered the Idol. But that warmth is long gone now, where will she go now? Flowers rode towards the sky, purple petals reaching towards those snow white flakes. Life among death. Night flowed in, the flowers fell. Mushrooms grew in their stead.Moonlight pools lit the ruin floors. Gold flowers grew among their fungi brothers and spread dappled petals out against the night. As always the sun rose the next day. Life went on.
New children entered the forest and old ones left. Never to be seen again, displaced by the weight of time. Once more life grows in the golden one, the sunlit one. The fox will have a family again. The others have long since gone. Struggles have surfaced, friendships have broken and yet they still struggle alone. The forest almost came to an end. So much has changed, it has missed so much. Nothing is the same but time goes on. Butterflies no longer flutter, their tiny clocks have run out. No more flowers for those bright wings. Once more the Idol one gets further and further away.
In its dreams it has wandered forests, tread across fields, scaled up mountains. Screams rip through valleys of ice. It knows that voice, knows that scream and still she pursues it. Sometimes it glimpses her in the distance, gold form flickering just out of reach. Her voice still calls it but it can no longer answer her. It lives for those instants, those brief snapshots of her, memories dragging tears from its cavernous eyes. There's no sun here, just an endless darkness of shifting landscapes. Here darkness rules eternal. There's rivers and valleys, shadow elms, soaring cliffs, waterfalls pounding. Its dreams paint themselves against the gloom around it. Here there is no color, just a black so dark it seems nonexistent. Yes there are little lights here, thousands of them wink from all around it but those lights are far away. Their cold winking lights do little to light or warm this endless place.
She is the only brightness it has left, she is the only true light. In this dark place her fur shines like the sun. It tries to reach her. Tries to get close enough to touch her but the phantom stays distant. Untouchable. There is nothing else left but her and so it follows her desperately, clinging to the fragile hope that the fox will somehow lead it home. Like a worn down traveler following a will-o-wisp into the woods praying that it will lead them to the the path they must take but knowing they could end up lost and more alone then they were before.
The waking days are full of pain. The darkness evades its shell, turns the blood into the same substance this realm is made of. Tar clings to the now fragile limbs, cements it to the floor. The longer it remains the more of itself it loses. In the beginning it fought with every sinew, strained every muscle, screamed against the dark. In time the movements became harder as more and more of itself drained away, the fight became a feeble struggle. Now the being is beyond exhausted, lethargic twitches are all it can give now. The rattling breaths are few and far between. It can no longer fight and so it sleeps away its days, seeking the only comfort it can find. Every time it awakes it is filled with fear that the golden one has disappeared, that now even in its dreams it is alone. The days go on and the chances decrease.
Then one day the Twins come back and force it awake. In its dreams it sees the fox at the edge of a cliff and then the ground falls from underneath its hooves. It awakens with a broken scream echoing in its throat. The Twins flow around him, their liquid bodies scrapping brilliant flashes of light from the shadows. It tries to hide its face but even that tiny movement is more than it can manage.
You have failed us. We brought you here to heal this place weed.
First it was the pond, your clumsy little steps never going beyond those shores.
But even then you fulfilled a small part. Brought tiny spots of refuge and light to those that sought you out.
You tended the earth, got the grass to grow and the flowers to bloom. Sang to the butterflies.
You served a purpose. However small that purpose was you did it.
You are a disappointment. Not only to us but all those you loved.
Did you not think of the pain you've brought them? Did you not think about the lives you fractured with your absence?
No you did not, you thought only of yourself. That you might not hurt anymore, you were so terrified of them leaving.
The thought of being left alone killed you did it not? You were so scared to see them leave you that you pushed them away before they could leave you.
You have always been scared. And see what the fear has cost you now?
She is to have kits, did you know that? Do you know what you did to her? Did you know how alone she thinks she is?
You thought you were alone, desperately tried to cling to any link that you had. Desperately tried not to be forgotten. You were jealous of her were you not?
That she found a family of her own with the stripes and then had her own children. So many things that you will never have. You thought that she didn't need you anymore, you thought that no one did.
Yet she returned. Everytime she left she eventually returned. You were one of the reasons the fox stayed. Many worlds are open to her but she chose this place. She has never forgotten you.
And the others, though you rarely see them have not forgotten you either. You were not alone but you thought you were. You refuse to see what you are worth. You still insist you are nothing.
You will not last much longer here. No one is coming to find you. This is solely your fault.
You did this. You did this to yourself and now you are paying for your mistake.
We gave you so many chances. You were blind to every single one of them. We can no longer help you. You will die here. You will die alone and your soul will not last long in the void. The fox mother has already picked her souls, she will not be back in time to find you.
This is your last chance. This week will be your last if you don't take it. You will never see them again if you stay here. The others will live their lives never knowing what became of you, some will come to hate you for your absence during hard times.
Their voices ring, casting glowing lights against the featurless walls. It wants desperately to escape those words, to fall back into its dreams. But there is no escaping this. Every sentence uttered from those ageless throats stings worse than driving rain and icy gales. They hurt because they are true. A broken whimper emerges from its tar soaked mouth and it stirs sligthy, limbs draging slight patterens in the tar. The Twins look on in contempt, whatever pity they once held for this leach long gone.
This is a terrible choice. A long ago conversation drifts back to it, a long faded promise. The one it made it to has vainished a year ago. It'd told the june bug that what ever happened it would stop at nothing to get back, that no matter how far it was taken it would fight untill it saw her again. That nothing would stop it. That it would return or that it would never leave by its own power. They both broke that promise and now that fawn is forever lost to it.
The thought makes it twitch involentaritly and then, for the first time in months, it tries to raise its head. Skin rips away and the tar keeps sucking down. A shuddering cough rips through its body and the head drops back down. So weak, so powerless. What has it done? It tries to answer them but its mouth won't form the words. Its voice is gone in this relm too. Cold and impasive The Twins look on, featurless muzzles dripping stars. The idol spirit tries again to rise, jerking and twitching as much as it is able to. The legs start kicking slowly, like a dog peddling above water. It strains to get its head free and finally manages to rip it away, tary ropes still streatching to the ground. Desperatly it mouths one little word.
"Please."
Please give more time, please help one last time, please, please, please. The head wobbles on the weak neck, the muscles already close to giving out. The Twins turn their backs and leave though one, Auriea, looks back at it one last time and says three words.
She's in the ruins.
It's head falls. A silent sob wracks the small form. It had been such a fool for to long. Its long ago father had been right, it was a weed. Not because it could not change but because that's what it had allowed itself to become. There had been a second chance, a new world, a new start that it had thrown away without a thought. Its eye sockets close and for the first time it tries to reach her over the distance between her. Very faintly it can feel the forest, the magic it had left behind before it had come here. It wills the magic to move, to search, to find. So very slowly the magic seeps from the crying stone, sinking into the grass. Lines appear as if serpents are sliding through it. Those lines travel across the forest, halting and fading from time to time as the idol spirit tries to keep it up. Finally they reach the ruins, searching for that familiar presence. It gathers around her in her den, the grass there growing taller and thicker. Buzzing faintly against her fur. Then the lines trace their way to the grass beside her sleeping head. Those lines trave letters and ever so slowly wilted poppies bloom to fill the letters. The message now complete the presence shudders and then falls apart.
The poppies spell out two words, one forlorn hope.
Finally finished this post
Yeeee