Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: explicit mentions of rape, incest. do not read this if you are triggered by these things

His return was marked by the sun's departure; beautiful golden rays dappled the ground, and the air was sweet with the scents of spring. The boy's ragged, exhausted form was undeniably out of place. The limp from Runion's assault on his thigh had not faded— perhaps it never would— and he had neglected caring for himself since arriving home.
He didn't quite feel distant, or fogged as he had come to expect. In his chest sat an awful, cold kind of sharpness— a clarity he desperately wished to shed. Each thought he dared allow himself stung and pulsed with an undertone of grief. Faintly, he thought of Aditya; it might have been nice to talk to him, now.
There was no one else he could talk to, after all. @Lanawyn was angry with him— Delight was... off, distant— and he didn't think he could bear to tell Lily.
Alarian wandered thoughtlessly towards Paradise Garden, pausing for a moment to work out a newly-developing mat in his chest fur. His stomach gnawed at him, empty and indignant, with each faint prey-scent on the wind; the thought of eating was nauseating. The thought of hunting... ha-ha. He flopped down among the flowers, exhausted, and planned to stay there for the night.

The boy had drifted off, still slightly awake but mostly unaware of his surroundings; Lanawyn's arrival was sudden, unexpected. He flinched and was on his feet in an instant. It was difficult to see her expression in the blooming darkness, but Alarian kept his own passive nonetheless. Their last conversation rang fresh in his memory— her anger when he refused to answer her questions.
He would not apologize. Darkened hazel eyes found hers, ignoring the spike of pain at how similar they were to Celia's; their mother's eyes hadn't been quite so bright or fiery, but... Alarian swallowed hard and shifted, exhaustion forgotten. Now his nerves were alight, though he kept his composure— barely.

Do you know why Zamael left? It was abrupt, almost rhetorical; she could not know why. Zamael was never around to speak the tale, and Alarian had never wanted to. He looked away as he spoke, focusing on keeping his breathing even for a few beats. The question was left hanging heavy in that time.
Even as he continued, he could not look at her. A few days after he attacked him, dad killed his boyfriend. I saw it. I didn't— I couldn't tell him until he was healed, because I knew it would hurt him. I knew it would hurt him so much he would leave, and I couldn't— He swallowed hard and stopped. Lanawyn wouldn't leave, he knew that— but there were more ways to lose someone than physically, and the Keils knew that perhaps better than most.
After several beats, he spoke again, voice low. I can't stop thinking about it. It just— it won't leave you alone, once you know. I wish I didn't.

He tried not to flinch from her words; he failed. The Governor sank down in response to her heightened posture, lowering himself with tail tucked as her words washed over him. For several beats, he could barely comprehend them. A cold, nauseating horror spread first through his chest, then pooled in his stomach and writhed agonizingly. All he could think was I didn't know, I didn't know.
But that was his own fault, wasn't it? Alarian had always been far too wrapped up in his own world— in many ways, he still was. Had he known, he would have—
Ha. He would have killed Arnlith, and Runion, too.
Somehow, he pushed past the thickness in his throat to speak, wanting to reach out to her but knowing he shouldn't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I never knew. It was too late to make promises, to tell her what he might have done— and what could he do now? He had only the truth to offer her— only more tragedy to give. She had pups. Runion's pups. She killed herself.

Alarian could only watch his sister crumble, not even flinching at her scream; like so many times before in his life, he was helpless. Weariness dulled the white-hot surge through his veins, and he thought tiredly: I'm going to kill Runion. There was a certainty to it. No adrenaline came, no urge to rush forward and do the deed then— not like it had with his father. Only the sharp, crystalline realization that he would have to take another life. But not now.
Instead he crept toward Lanawyn, numb and blank and knowing only that he hoped she needed him as much as he needed her, then. He nosed her scruff gently, testing— and if she did not growl or flash teeth in warning, he would curl up alongside her quietly.