(this is a sequel to THIS ‘I think there’s someone in the house’ fic!)
The paramedics hammer on the door, and Neil looks up, teary-eyed, from where his face is pressed into Andrew’s damp hair. He’s feeling for his breath with the back of his hand, waiting moment to moment for Andrew to die in his arms, silently like he does everything else. Urgency keeps stunning Neil all over again, hysterical defibrillators. The EMT’s are calling out through the wall, muffled but calm.
It feels unthinkably wrong, their absolute evenness and ease outside his door when his life is an exposed neck and Andrew’s death is the whirring blade of a saw.
He realizes that he has to get up to let them in, and it seems as impossible as it would be for Andrew to spring up and answer the door himself. He feverishly wants them to crumple the door to splinters and be inside already.
It’s a herculean effort to ease Andrew to the ground, like he’s gritting his teeth and cutting off his own leg. He touches Andrew’s clammy face briefly but he can’t bring himself to try and slap him awake. He props Andrew’s bare feet up on the rim of the bath so the blood will flood towards his head, at least.
He feels untethered to his body when he stands, a helium balloon with its usual weight passed out on the bathroom floor. He falls into the wall immediately, adrenaline neck and neck with exhaustion.
He finds his way to the front door without his mind’s help. His head is in the bathroom with Andrew, and he knows that no matter what happens it’ll be there for a long, long time.
The next time he blinks, a man in uniform is holding his biceps and peering down at him seriously.
“—sir? Sir, are you hurt at all?”
“No,” Neil says, lips numb. “Bathroom. He’s in the bathroom. He’s bleeding to death.”
He turns, easily slipping the paramedic’s grip. There’s a procession of them, hefting a gurney and a couple of kits, and they’ve brought all the cold from outside in on their heels. They’re such a foreign object in their warm, messy apartment — uniformed, official, and precise.
It’s deadly, walking in and seeing Andrew spread out in his boxers, blood oozing through his t-shirt from his loose stitches, pale enough to match the porcelain. Neil’s seen enough corpses to recognize what they look like.
He falls heavily to his knees and puts his head directly to his chest, listening, tears slipping hotly over the bridge of his nose.
“Please,” he slurs. His heartbeat is a tentative thud, a knock from an unexpected guest. “Help him. Now, help him now.”
“We’re going to try our best Sir, but you’ve got to get out of the way,” someone says gently.
He topples backwards onto his hands. It’s a cramped space, and he knows it would be easier if he waited outside, but he also knows he’d rather die than leave them alone with him.
The first guy kneels down and takes Andrew’s pulse, and Neil shakes his head. They’re too slow, time is feeding directly into a wide open drain.
“He needs an IV. He’s two litres down, at least. You’ve got to—“ A petite woman puts a hand on his shoulder and he shrugs her off violently. “No! You have to listen to me.”
“We know what we’re doing,” she says. “Are you an MD?” She eyes him doubtfully, gaze flitting from his scars to where her colleagues are taking vitals and cutting through Andrew’s clothes.
“Yes,” Neil says wildly. “And he needs an IV. Possibly two. Large-bore, normal saline. He’s not getting any oxygen, and he’s been like this for as long as it took you to gather your meager response team.”
She purses her lips, but she’s a professional. He can see her repressing her anger and it infuriates him. He feels like he’s crashing, over and over again, and he’s watching someone daintily pump the breaks.
“He’s right,” one of the EMT’s says distractedly. “We’re gonna need to get some fluids started, he’s in hypovolemic shock, sats below 50.”
“You want to tell me what happened?” one of the men asks.
“No,” Neil says as evenly as he can manage, reaching out to graze Andrew’s cold fingers.
“Did you do these stitches?” the woman asks, pulling at Andrew’s skin to get a better look at them. He suddenly sees how they must look to them, sloppy and angry red. Neil bends her arm away without thinking about it.
“Don’t touch him,” he snaps. He could break her arm and it would make him feel better. He drops her, disoriented by his own violence.
“There’s no need to be antagonistic,” the first man says. “We don’t want to have to remove you.”
“You really don’t,” Neil agrees. “You won’t succeed.”
Does it make you sick
To think of my lips
On someone else,
The heat from our bodies
Passing through parted lips
Making each other tremble
Does it make you sick
To think of them
Sitting across from me
In a crowded restaurant,
As their hand reaches across the table
To steal my own,
Their thumb caressing my knuckles
Their touch as soft as sand,
But never enough-
Does it make you sick
To know that I lay next to them
In a darkened bedroom,
Twisted in blankets and each other,
My head resting on their chest
Listening to their heartbeat
Singing the tune of our love,
Instead of the one I shared with you-
Does it make you sick
To know that I reach for them
More than I used to reach for you-
They are reliable
And never doubt what they can give me-
Does it make you sick
To think about their fingers
Grasping my hair,
Dancing across my skin,
Touching my body
Caressing every part of me,
Including my soul-
Does it make you sick?
I keel over in pain,
My sickness all consuming
When I think of them
When it should be me.
A never ending beating drum
Thumping with misery and pain-
Here is Chapter 2! I haven’t started on Chapter 3 yet but I promise it is on the way! I’m SO SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER THE LAST TIME. Hopefully the ending to this chapter isn’t as bad? Maybe! Anyway! Enjoy!
Lance is left behind on the Galra ship with Prince Lotor as his personal torturer. Lance isn’t holding up well and the rest of the team have to act fast if they want to save him in time.
Chapter 2: Well, What the Hell.
It had been a long time. Or it felt like a long time. But
the steel that had covered Lance’s emotions was still there even though he was
sure that his body could take no more.
Prince Lotor visited Lance often. He shoved tiny metallic
needles into every place he could think of. The needles had long thin tubes
attached to them. They could send electricity or drugs through them into Lance. Both were
extremely painful but between the two, Lance would take electricity any day.
Sure it messed up his body but the drugs, they were worse. Lance would
be seizing in pain for hours unable to think, hear, and barely able to breathe.
It felt like someone was pushing on his chest, stabbing every part of his body
while burning it at the same time. After every session Lotor would ask him
questions which Lance either answered with snide remarks or nothing at all. But
Lance’s lack of cooperation made Lotor even more excited.
Lance had learned this: Prince Lotor is nothing like his
father. Sure Zarkon was scary but he wasn’t very patient. He would rather fight
head on than take the time to plan every detail. But Lotor, Lotor could wait and
that was even more frightening. He was methodical and manipulative. Crazy and
smart. In some ways he was definitely worse than Zarkon ever was.
Lance was aware that his body was getting worse, the cut on
his head also come with a sizable bump which throbbed like a never ending drum
beat on his skull. The vision in his left eye was completely gone now although
he was getting used to it. His back hurt and itched all the time. The skin on
his back was rough from the burns and every small twitch was agony. His hands
and arms were littered with small deep cuts from the needles. Some were healing
while others were new, blood dripping onto the floor. He couldn’t feel his legs
anymore. He was in a constant state of pain and numb but it didn’t bother him
much anymore. The pain kept him awake and aware. If he was getting out of this,
and that’s a big if, then he’d bring back with information of his own.
Lance had gathered this about Lotor:
1. He was Zarkon’s son
that Zarkon didn’t like very much
2. He was on his way to meeting the witch druid
lady after Voltron beat Zarkon’s ass in that last fight
3. He had a harem of aliens
4. He was really creepily obsessed with Allura.
Lance himself was obsessed with
Allura cause she’s beautiful but not like this guy. If he got out of this he
was going to apologize from every flirty thing he ever said to her.
But right now he was more
concerned about the Lotor in front of him. The weird thing was that Lance was
pretty sure he was hallucinating or dreaming. Lance couldn’t really tell which,
if there was even a difference.
“Your team abandoned you.
They’re never coming back.” Lotor said.
Lance shook his head, it throbbed
painfully but the pain kept him awake. It kept him sane.
“Why would they? You’re just
the jokester. The comic relief. You don’t have a special skill. You’re nothing
to them! You’ve said it before! Shiro is the leader. Keith is his favorite and
the best pilot of his generation! Compared to him you’re nothing but a cheap
replacement for him, for Shiro’s favorite pet! Hunk is a genius and a kind
soul. He deserves a better friend than you. And Pidge? She’s the smartest
person, a genius beyond her age! Allura is the princess and the only one who
can control the castle. Coran is the only one who can take care of the castle,
he’s smart and kind. They all have their thing. They all have a purpose. But
you don’t. You’re worthless.” Lotor spat at him, enraged.
Slowly his face began to
change. Lotor quickly faded away and was being replaced by someone else.
Himself. Lance was staring at himself. He was going crazy. The hallucination
shouted at him, continuing to yell all the thoughts that Lance had kept under
check. That Lance had tried to conceal.
“WHY DO YOU EVEN BOTHER TRYING
TO PROTECT THEM?! They haven’t done anything for you! They tell you to SHUT UP,
to FOCUS, they don’t WANT you! They don’t even NEED YOU! GIVE IN! YOU WOULD BE
BETTER OFF DEAD!!”
Lance tried to shut him out.
But how many times had he stared at his own face. How many times had his own
face yelled his worse fears? I guess this
is a new way to look at the phrase beating yourself up, Lance let out a
small laugh. Then the laugh grew louder. And the worst part was it that he couldn’t
tell if he was laughing or crying. But he said nothing back. He just laughed
and laughed as tears streamed down his face.
Keith was pissed. It had been
one week and three days since they left Lance behind on a galra ship where they
were doing god-knows-what to him right now. Keith had never NOT liked Lance, in
fact he’d say they were friends, although he knew Lance wouldn’t say the same.
Keith had been concerned for
weeks before they left Lance behind. Maybe months. Ever since the wormhole
gone wrong when the lions were split up. Lance had become quieter, didn’t say
as much, and didn’t joke as must. He lashed out at Shiro during the mission
where Keith learned about his past and being part galra. But afterwards when he
confessed to the group Lance was the first person to tell him it was fine, the
first one to say anything.
“Yeah so what?” Lance said,
standing up from the table.
Keith was shocked, honestly
with the way things had been going between the two of them he expected
“What? This is serious! I’m
part Galra, like the species that
ruined the whole universe.” Keith
Lance looked unfazed.
“Well yeah but you’re still
Keith, you have been the entire time. It’s not like you’re any different then
you were before. You’re still the best pilot with a stupid ass mullet. It’s just that you know more about yourself now. So like, congrats I guess.” Lance
He walked away from the table
waved to the rest of the stunned faces around the table.
“I’m gonna take a swim, you
guys have fun getting over your angst!” Lance shouted over his shoulder while
he left the room entirely.
After that they were fine for
the most part, Keith hadn’t thanked him though. He regretted that now. After
that Shiro had gone missing. Keith was in shock he couldn’t think but Lance had grabbed him by
the shoulders and turned him to face him directly.
“Keith, I know you don’t want
to think about it right now but you’re the leader now. We need to focus. We’ll
find Shiro, don’t worry too much.” He said.
Yeah they had butt heads and thank
god Keith didn’t need to be leader long, they found Shiro after three days, but
Lance was still quiet and still not himself. Keith was worried. But he never
said anything, never talked to him. They were always doing something else, after this mission I’ll talk to him, but
something always came up. Always.
That’s what Keith most
regretted. Or maybe it was the look on Lance’s face when he threw him and Pidge
over the edge into the vent before the ship exploded. Lance’s face was
expressionless, eyes hard and smile sad. He knew exactly what he was doing and
Keith hated it. He was an idiot. Now he had to get him back.
It wasn’t like they were
sitting around sulking this entire time but Allura had insisted that this time
they needed help, allies that could help bring Lance back. They needed ships
and plans. But it had been too long, it was taking too much time.
Keith barged into dining room
where everyone was gathered discussing something that was related to the plan
to get Lance back. Hunk was pale as he was these past several days, worry had
etched wrinkles into his forehead that never went away. Pidge was concentrated
on the details refusing to think of anything else so her mind didn’t wander to
places that she’s rather not think about. Shiro had his full attention on
Allura and Coran but he wore a frown that had not strayed from his face. They
looked over at Keith, shocked as he slammed his hands on the table.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE WE DOING?!”
Everyone looked back shocked,
Allura was staring at him looking a little scared, Shiro and Coran were stunned
into silence, Pidge and Hunk looked concerned.
“What-what do you mea-?” Allura
began before Keith slammed his hands back down on the table.
“I mean that Lance is on a
Galra ship and has been for a week and three days suffering god-knows-what and
the hands of some asshole and we are just sitting here coming up with plans!”
Keith paused to release a breath before continuing hopefully sounding a bit
calmer, “Why did you order us to fall back? Why did we abandon him? Why do we
need allies to take down a small fleet when we have never had trouble doing
that before?” Keith asked, he was practically pleading with her.
Now everyone was looking at
Allura, even Coran looked at her with curiosity. Allura’s breath hitched a bit
but she took another breath that went down a bit smoother. Keith didn’t like
being so aggressive but he was pissed and needed to know.
Allura swallowed before she
“The reason that we needed to
leave is because I recognized the ship that was taking Lance. It was the ship
belonging to Prince Lotor.” She said.
Coran gasped, finally
Pidge spoke quickly, “Who the
hell is Prince Lotor?”
“Pidge, language.” Shiro said
She let out a huff. Muttering
under her breath about Keith saying the words ‘asshole’ and ‘hell’ two seconds
ago. Shiro ignored her.
“Prince Lotor is Zarkon’s son,
although I understand that they were not close. When Zarkon was the black
paladin, he and my father were close. It was natural that the children of said
men would play together. Lotor was a kind child at first. We rather liked
playing together. But something changed in Lotor, he became disturbed as he got
older.” She took a breath before continuing, “He would, torture creatures. He
said he was playing with them but I knew what he was doing. One day he killed a
child we were playing with. He claimed it to be an accident but we knew better.” She paused.
“Obviously Lotor was sent away
from his father to a faraway planet that helped Galra who were too aggressive
or that is what Zarkon claimed. That’s where Lotor stayed. I heard it only got
worse from there. However Zarkon was also acting strangely and then he betrayed the
paladins. I was told he began to change after his wife, Prince Lotor’s mother,
died.” Allura finished.
“After we awoke from our 10,000 year sleep I tried to catch myself up on all I could. I learned about Zarkon as best
I could and Lotor. He has become ruthless. Kidnapped species all over the
galaxy to keep as glorified pets. Tortured prisoners, disobeyed every order
Zarkon ever gave him, was given his own fleet which is known for not losing a
single battle. In some galaxies Lotor is known as the planet killer. So that
day we… left Lance I knew we couldn’t fight him, down one paladin and already
under attack. So I ordered us to fall back. If we can get a few more allies to
stand with us we can take him long enough to get Lance off that ship and back
home.” Allura said looking into Keith’s eyes.
“I beg you, give me a few more
days. We will save him and bring him home. I promise.” Allura looked each and
every one of them in the eye making sure they knew exactly how serious she was.
Keith’s only concern was if Lance could last that long.
they say that hell is crowded, yet,
when you’re in hell,
you always seem to be alone.
& you can’t tell anyone when you’re in hell
or they’ll think you’re crazy
& being crazy is being in hell
& being sane is hellish too.
those who escape hell, however,
never talk about it
& nothing much bothers them after that.
I mean, things like missing a meal,
going to jail, wrecking your car,
or even the idea of death itself.
when you ask them,
“how are things?”
they’ll always answer, “fine, just fine…”
once you’ve been to hell and back,
it’s the greatest satisfaction known to man.
once you’ve been to hell and back,
you don’t look behind you when the floor creaks
and the sun is always up at midnight
and things like the eyes of mice
or an abandoned tire in a vacant lot
can make you smile
once you’ve been to hell and back.
pity this busy monster, manunkind,
not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)
plays with the bigness of his littleness
--- electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange; lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself.
A world of made
is not a world of born --- pity poor flesh
and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical
ultraomnipotence. We doctors know
a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell
of a good universe next door; let's go
E. E. Cummings
I hate it when people undermine Luke's accomplishments and struggles in comparison to Leia. I love Leia and the poor girl's been through a lot, but it's not like Luke hasn't suffered either. Even worse is if they put down Luke, calling him "whiney" and "weak", and then put Leia on a pedestal. Pretty sure if Leia heard any of that, she'd be pissed.
You and me both. It’s very Tiring. Leia would defend him, but unfortunately she can’t because lol, fictional, so we have to do that. But the deluge is never ending…
drums… drums in the deep.
But nothing matters because Luke is ~whiny~
Are there criticisms you can make? Yes. But they almost squarely land on a real-world storytelling angle, like Leia having to comfort Luke on the Falcon in ANH. It makes for a telling character moment (she doesn’t want to think/deal with her pain and would rather soothe someone else’s, if she can), but in the real world women are expected to perform this emotional labour and they’re usually made to in fictional works. That’s a real criticism but has LITERALLY NOTHING to do with Luke, as a fictional character, who‘ve lost just what Leia has lost; family (Alderaan being destroyed is literally nothing anyone can compare to, aside from other Alderaanians). Just because he’s JUST mentioning Obi-Wan and not Owen and Beru, doesn’t mean they’re not included.
And every time someone brings up the ~power converters~ line I want to scream because 1. Hamill deliberately made that as whining as possible, 2. Luke works, WORKS on a farm on a hell planet, and he wants to spend time with his friends instead of working? amazing, 3. IT’S ABOUT HIS “FRIENDS” not the power converters, DOES NO ONE LISTEN TO OWEN’S LINE RIGHT AFTER LUKE’S COMPLAINT??
And, I dunno… is there anything else? People say Luke is whiny but past ANH there’s nothing you can call him “whiny” for. Oh, I GUESS there’s Luke’s little outburst in Yoda’s hut, but I challenge anyone to remain calm and not get a little frustrated when you’re on an unfamiliar planet, might or might not get your ship out of the swamp, talking with a little creature that lured you into its home on a “I know Yoda”, and sure, he SEEMS harmless but he could just as well not be. Luke isn’t actually safe in that situation, and some prickliness is to be expected. Or, I guess, there’s Luke’s ~you ask the impossible~ and huffily leaving to go slump on the ground when it comes to the X-wing, but Yoda frankly kind of sucks as a teacher.
But no it’s much more relevant to call Luke ~whiny~
Is there issues with the fact that Leia being a Skywalker is shoehorned in? Sure. Is there issues with the fact that she doesn’t get to “catch up” to Luke with using/knowing she has the Force until the end? Sure. But those have nothing to do with Luke.
Seriously, people who go all “Leia did this and this and this at/before 19″… Ahhh, the classism STINKS. Amazing what a PRINCESS, of a CORE WORLD, USED AS A CHILD SOLDIER gets to do before 19.
Luke is literally a working class farmer in the middle of nowhere working on a farm that’s a little over subsistence level (they sell water/produce, but clearly it’s not much). What do you expect him to be doing, on a farm, on a planet controlled by what’s basically a mob boss, connected to a VERY LARGE NETWORK of other mob bosses (seriously, Hutt controlled space is HUGE). The Empire’s presence on Tatooine is basically nothing (and even in EU, where there was more, it didn’t really matter), the Republic when it existed had none, there’s slavery and whatnot.
And Luke is working class and his family is TRYING TO KEEP HIM UNDER IMPERIAL GOVERNMENT RADAR. And Luke is a good, loyal kid, who thus has spent all his time so far with said family, working, because they need him.
[The] Master /ˈmɑːstə/: Renegade Time Lord. Originally called Koschei. Known as the Doctor’s arch-nemesis. He took several names in order to reach positions of power, one of them being Harold Saxon, Prime Minister of Great Britain. His diabolical madness was the result of a never-ending drumming sound that had been retroactively implanted inside his head by some of the Time Lords on the last day of the Last Great Time War in an attempt to escape the event. The Master used all of his regenerations but obtained a new cycle from the Time Lords, being last seen in his seventeenth incarnation.
Request: Can I request an imagine where Draco is like trying to comfort his girlfriend because she’s sick and all? this is for my friend tho and her name is Ly I hope this cheers her up :) thanks! xx
Word count: 503 (Shorter than usual I know)
Pairing: (Y/N) x Draco
A/N: Hope this does cheer you up Ly :) Sorry I didn’t use a name, instead it was just (Y/N.) Feel better soon!!
You groan into your pillow as you head begins thumping again, the never ending beat of drums pounding against your skull. You reach for the box of tissues on your bedside cabinet, the hospital bed creaking as you extend you arm, however they were too far away for you to grasp. “Here we go my dear.” Madam Pomfrey says happily as she whisks over to your bed and places a strange liquid into your hands. “Drink up!.” Instead you close your eyes, shutting your mind off from the feeling of being sick. It had been like this for almost three days now and it was awful, your stomach churning every time you moved, the pounding headache and the fact that you had missed three days of class time.
“(Y/N)?” You hear a small, concerned voice ask from the hospital wing doorway. You groan in response as you open you eyes to see the familiar grey ones of your concerned boyfriend Draco. He slowly walks over to you and pulls up a chair beside your bed, taking the glass of vile liquid from you hands and putting it on the bedside cabinet, he takes your hand into his and begins to rub small circles with his thumb. “How are you?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. You scowl at him, was it not obvious how you awful you felt? “Oh yea sorry.” He laughs nervously, rolling his eyes as he places flowers beside your bedside. “What can I do to make you feel better beautiful?” You turn away from him, squeezing your eyes shut to get rid of your sickness. “No it’s ok (Y/N), look at me.” He cooed as he caressed your cheek with his other hand. “Its alright, I know you feel unwell now but you are going to be ok. Look ill stay beside you.”
“Ive already missed three days of school though Draco.” You croaked, “I just literally can’t believe this.” You let the first tear fall down your cheek. You just wanted to feel better and be able to attend classes again. “(Y/N) babe, you will be ok in no time. Look i’ll even write notes down for each class we have together-” He smiled.
“Visiting hours are over Mr Malfoy.” Madam Pomfrey calls from her office. Draco hung his head and removed his hand from yours.“ Ill be back as soon as I’m allowed. Please just know I am thinking of you… and drink that horrid liquid stuff.” He said with a chuckle as he stood up, adjusting his tie and running his hand through his hair. “Get better soon (Y/N), I love you.” He turned on his heel, marching towards the hospital doors. Before exiting he turned his head around to gaze one last time at you. You smile as you look at the flowers he left beside your bed. Opening up your hand you also saw he had left a small folded note.
Summary: Killian Jones was brought over from the Enchanted Forest along with the rest of its inhabitants by the Dark Curse. He took up residence as a florist, tending to flowers being the only thing that helps calm his haunted memories. That is, until he meets Emma Swan. Rating: T for now. Words: 1,488 A/N: Thank you to doyouprincess, gravityshipsus, that-first-glance-feeling, evil–isnt–born, imhookedonaswan and swansweetheart for keeping me motivated for this. Your excitement means a lot to me :) Edit: Can be found on ao3 here
The streets were empty.
It was sort of eerie.
A small town at night, completely and utterly silent.
Well, it was utterly silent until a very frustrated Emma hopped out of her car and the transformer exploded. 44 not-telling-you street? What a pain! She ran her hand through her hair as Henry hopped out of the other side, but before she could say anything a casual, lilting voice called out to them.
“Is everything alright, lass?” She spun around, pausing at the sight of him. Unruly dark hair, scruff lining his jaw, blue eyes visible even in this dark street. He was utterly gorgeous and Emma found herself staring at him in shock. That is until he winked at her and she rolled her eyes.
As most of my followers will know by now, the music metaphor is my all-time favourite thing in Doctor Who. I just love it so much. But allow me to write about it one more time to celebrate a decade of incredible RTD and Moffat collaboration!
In short, music in Doctor Who represents love.Or, more precisely, telepathy, which apparently is one and the same thing in Doctor Who.
The theme was introduced by RTD in The End Of The World through Cassandra. Do you remember that brilliant “traditional earth ballad“ joke?
There was no way to understand this at the time, but Britney Spears’ “Toxic” was actually the beginning of something beautiful that would re-occur all over RTD’s era and would be picked up again in the most brilliant ways by Moffat, making this a metaphor that spans over more than a decade. Only in Doctor Who will you find anything like it.
Summary: For years they were friends with a chance for more,but misunderstandings and outside forces set them apart, causing them to be centuries long enemies. With decades of hurt and distance between them, can they mend their ways and come together once more? With what it used to be?
The Doctor sighed as he sent the TARDIS into the Vortex. His knuckles turned white as grasped on to the edge of the console. His eyes squeezed shut in anger and pain. It was never easy, and it never had been. For centuries he had dealt with them, and for centuries he had tried to stop these feelings. But in all that time, he had never succeeded. It ate away at him. The anger, the pain, the guilt, and jealousy.
Things hadn’t always been this way, and his mind all too often when back to the days when things were simple. The days when the three of them would sneak out of their house and go running about in the fields, tumbling down hills and climbing up the silver leaved trees. He longed for the days when they were all friends and things seemed right. But everything had changed a long, long time ago. Everything started going wrong when they were first initiated.
Koshei, the Master was the oldest of them, when he was initiated, they say he went insane. He had told him many times of the sound that plagued his every waking hour. The never ending drum beats. He had watched as his friend had slowly succumbed to madness. He was the next oldest, and a month after, he had been initiated himself. When he looked into the Untempered Schism, he had seen such things. Such horrible and brilliant things. His mind had burned with the pain of looking into the Vortex. But ever since then, his curiosity had never been quenched. He needed to know everything. In school he strived to learn all he could. And the second he could leave, he ran again. He ran and he never stopped. But something kept bringing him back. Something kept pulling him in. She kept drawing him to her.