crazyloststar  asked:

mikanoa, 78

congrats for sending in the first prompt! <3 here’s me being super pretentious as a reward.

mikanoa ;『 7 8 』I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you. 

He meets her for the first time when he is only eight. Tender and fragile, yet intimate with the rancor and ineffable horrors the world favors upon those undeserving. He sees it in her eyes; the universe held in golden amber, a wellspring sheltering the harrowing macabre of all the unknowns, and he is bonded. He understands.

He wants to reach out and pull her into the sanctuary he has carefully nurtured against the winds of atrophy seeking passage into his miniature, sequestered kingdom. It is his personal mission, one right in a world of a million wrongs, to gather together those who have witnessed the roil of immorality, of despotic powers playing temptress to god’s wrath. There are things he was never meant to understand, but he does.

Before the looming crescendo of fate’s claws dig terminally deep, before the thread —finespun in silky gossamer— keeping modern civilization aloft unfurls to give into the end of life’s legacy, he lets himself drift towards her warmth, her cool gaze freckled with dappled mischief and something oddly profound. In all his wonderful, naïve exuberance, he attempts to save her without a wisp of thought, from the man he finds, years later, to be entangled in gilded mysteries and forsaken tragedy as deep as the principles that govern all matter of living things.

In that infinitesimal moment in time, he is weightless and infinite. He lingers in her lush memory, the aftertaste of calming lilac diffusing into every pore of his mind, soul, and body until he is utterly consumed. He thinks he is invincible, that it is forever. He quickly learns that regardless of strength or will, time’s sovereignty is absolute. Time is a magnate who waits for none and leaves little mercy in its wake; grasping, esurient fingers reaching blindly for a reminder of what once was and finding nothing but a phantom of halcyon days, a throbbing ache in the shape of soothing lavender, fading away from the vestiges of his mind, drowning, at long last, in the fiery emerald gaze of a boy who becomes his everything.   

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