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tamingthemuseI'll do the header tomorrow, I'm too tired tonight.
Mordred stood still at the threshold of sims apartment. It look bright and undisturbed as of ready to stand still. He paused for a moment on that thought. It seemed strange that his apartment should remain put while he would be roaming the world. It felt like even before the start of his journey it was pointless to go and he should just as well unpack and stay because this apartment would be exactly the same when it would be time to welcome him back. It felt wrong somehow. Surely this journey would change him. It had to.
He took a step ack not quite conscious of the gesture and shut the door slowly. The apartment disappeared from his sight. He could always get a hotel room on his return. He didn't need to confront his old life.
---*---
It was all shades of green, blue, and grey around him as if his sight had been altered, unable to fit any other colours in his surroundings. He thought briefly that his ginger hair properly stood out even more than usual in this landscape, but no one was around to see it. It reassured him somehow. He couldn't be pointed out, not here.
He closed his eyes for a moment. He listened to the sounds of the waves crashing on the rocks below his feet. He felt the wind against his face, almost like a hand pushing him away but he stood still., fighting it.
He wasn't quite sure what he had hoped to find here. He had never seen the place of his attempted murder before, not in any life. He had not wanted to look at it in this life either, but in spite of his carefully planned goals he had felt drawn to this place and had let his steps led him here.
He opened his eyes and looked at the horizon where once he had disappeared to die. He didn't feel anything.
---*---
He had travelled for a long time before reaching Glastonbury. Nothing had gone according to his plans and he had quickly learned that he needed to follow his steps and see where they led him. He had traveled far and wide, to region of the world he never thought he would but this was the end now. He could feel it. He had reached the final line.
He looked around him, trying to blank out the tourists, and reconstitute the past glory of the abbey. There was something magic about it, as if great tragedy had scarred the place forever. He walked slowly to a far corner of the green space and sat down, observing the people. They had no clue of who he was. What would they do if they knew? Nothing he thought. It didn't matter any longer what he did. They remembered but they didn't care, it was all legends now, the truth and its horror forgotten long ago. But he remembered. He knew. He could still feel his sword slashing through his father's body, a gesture of despair, of fear, of anger, of love.
Hs head dropped, shielding his face from the tourists as silent tears started to fall. They were the first one ps he ever shed for his father, for his queen, for his brothers, for them all he had killed in a blinding love that had turned his heart cold as a stone.
Mordred stood still at the threshold of sims apartment. It look bright and undisturbed as of ready to stand still. He paused for a moment on that thought. It seemed strange that his apartment should remain put while he would be roaming the world. It felt like even before the start of his journey it was pointless to go and he should just as well unpack and stay because this apartment would be exactly the same when it would be time to welcome him back. It felt wrong somehow. Surely this journey would change him. It had to.
He took a step ack not quite conscious of the gesture and shut the door slowly. The apartment disappeared from his sight. He could always get a hotel room on his return. He didn't need to confront his old life.
---*---
It was all shades of green, blue, and grey around him as if his sight had been altered, unable to fit any other colours in his surroundings. He thought briefly that his ginger hair properly stood out even more than usual in this landscape, but no one was around to see it. It reassured him somehow. He couldn't be pointed out, not here.
He closed his eyes for a moment. He listened to the sounds of the waves crashing on the rocks below his feet. He felt the wind against his face, almost like a hand pushing him away but he stood still., fighting it.
He wasn't quite sure what he had hoped to find here. He had never seen the place of his attempted murder before, not in any life. He had not wanted to look at it in this life either, but in spite of his carefully planned goals he had felt drawn to this place and had let his steps led him here.
He opened his eyes and looked at the horizon where once he had disappeared to die. He didn't feel anything.
---*---
He had travelled for a long time before reaching Glastonbury. Nothing had gone according to his plans and he had quickly learned that he needed to follow his steps and see where they led him. He had traveled far and wide, to region of the world he never thought he would but this was the end now. He could feel it. He had reached the final line.
He looked around him, trying to blank out the tourists, and reconstitute the past glory of the abbey. There was something magic about it, as if great tragedy had scarred the place forever. He walked slowly to a far corner of the green space and sat down, observing the people. They had no clue of who he was. What would they do if they knew? Nothing he thought. It didn't matter any longer what he did. They remembered but they didn't care, it was all legends now, the truth and its horror forgotten long ago. But he remembered. He knew. He could still feel his sword slashing through his father's body, a gesture of despair, of fear, of anger, of love.
Hs head dropped, shielding his face from the tourists as silent tears started to fall. They were the first one ps he ever shed for his father, for his queen, for his brothers, for them all he had killed in a blinding love that had turned his heart cold as a stone.
