Character's LamentI'm nobody, nothing.
Just a figment, made of writing and pixels, the manipulation of light in the shapes of recognisable letters, and of scrawlings on paper.
I don't exist without you, independent of those who would create me, give me shape, give my thoughts a space on paper, on the screen.
And yet... and yet I still hurt, when you put me down. I still bleed, when you cut into me. I still cry, just like anyone.
You tear me down, put me through hell, telling yourself it's all for the story, but what about that ache in the back of your throat? The tensing of your neck? The fighting back of tears, when you know I'm crying? Are those all fake, too?
I'm not real... and yet, I still love you.
Our Last Tradition‘How long has it been since I last saw you? How long was it since I last spoke with you and held your soft, gentle hands? I can’t remember. Time - that fucking bastard - just passed by so fast.’
Chilly winds, soft carols, delicious apple pies, and good cheer reverberated throughout the place; people of all ages passed by with gifts in hand, chattering and greeting each other a merry time for the on-going season. A lone figure sat out of the way of it all, his attentive green eyes surveying the spectacle in front of him as pairs of lovers subtly displayed their love for each other. He wanted to puke and roll his eyes out. Back then, he would have probably crept up behind the said pairs and shown them some blackmail material that would have guaranteed a new set of slaves to do his every bidding; which would have quickly prompted a sharp thwack to the back of his head, a pair of glaring sapphire eyes, a familiar sweet scent of creampuffs, and a stern voice of reas