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POSTED ON Oct 10, 2018 14:32:01 GMT

persephone amavi likes this

.FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

SURVIVE.

fury erupts from a set of lungs too small to stomach the acute change in elevation. each breath comes out labored but fernando doesn't have a choice. he heaves with every fibre of his being. anything to survive, to persist, to make it beyond this shit hole. there's no way in hell he'll resign himself to expiring in the wilderness. but his body doesn't follow. it can't keep up. not when fatigue continues to wear at him. it's a miracle he's come this far, a show of grit that supersedes the limits of flesh. every struggle brings him closer to the edge. his eyes feel heavy.

another scream. anything to keep him conscious. but this time it's no call to rally, to defy his fate. it's to cry, breaking down into a series of sobs. wet tears speak a story of anguish but the abrupt gushing is one of relief. he is but a boy, a child, forced to take his first life.

make no mistake. these wails are not of remorse nor sympathy for the felled beast. they're selfish, for himself. all in a desperation to survive.

i don't want to die.

the usaring has been subjugated. a spill or organs and meat oozes from a well placed cleft on its skull. a bloodied rock rests not too far down the trail, displaced by the sudden collaspe of the bumbling beast. fernando is the same, flung from his head and left crumpled to the floor. he can't feel his legs.

to those that dare answer the bloodcurdling howl of battle, they'll find a boy well on his way to becoming food. the skirmish has left fernando crippled, claw marks rampant across a hemorrhaging body. the white of his bone protrudes from open flesh and the sight of dirt sprinkles the raw pink is enough to make observers nauseate. the predator may have been slain but in this condition, he looks like nothing more than a discarded snack.

but at least he lives.

the crying never stops. but it doesn't impede him. it pushes him forward. to struggle. to persist. to live. one hand goes forward and what's left of his strength is used to drag himself forward. his ascent on mount silver will end here but his resolve is absolute.

a half dead boy continues to crawl.

the strings of fate sing a beautiful eulogy. tenacity strings it out of tune. each thread unravels, broken, split.

the lyre is a liar.

i will not die.

persephone amavi

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POSTED ON Oct 10, 2018 17:17:28 GMT

FERNANDO SILPH likes this

she came here often. toeing the line, the border of the worlds, neither living nor dead. she always wanted to find the holy and liminal spaces, follow the path until she's lost, blind but ardent.

( read 'she' as: elysia,
or in the alternative,
persephone retracing her mother's steps )

cresting that threshold horizon between here and there, then and now, mt. silver is the stage and this is a the conference for the ghosts. the dying boy, the spirit, the echo. remember the order and repeat it back.

he's on the wrong side of the line, scream piercing again like a declaration, not a plea. it's a signal fire demanding an audience to witness him, not a saviour to halt the journey. she comes anyway; faceless in persephone's memories, always blinding and radiant, the light of her more real than the physical sum of her parts.

her shrewd hands hover over him, and the daughter can't look at him, at what's left of him. she's always been characterised by a fear of that vulnerability and the truth is she doesn't want him to see her cry. she can see his bone, as brilliant white as her mother's hair. she keeps him alive, and the girl isn't sure how. by what divine rites can he still draw breath?

she's speaking, her voice distant and pleasant and not meant for her; questions to keep him tethered to the living. would you have kept going? elysia marvels, not needing to hear an answer because that much was clear. she tells him to rest, that his journey is over now.

and in hindsight persephone was unsure if she was expecting him to return to them, to the place where the crossings from one world to the next happen.

dying, dead, designed to die. repeat the words like an invocation, retrace mt. silver's paths. not a maze with abrupt ends, but a labyrinth; the spiral path that, unicursal, eventually always lead them back to each another in some form.

( read 'form' as: elysia,
persephone,
the ghost possessing her body )

FERNANDO SILPH

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POSTED ON Oct 11, 2018 4:16:28 GMT

FEEBLE.

tired. so tired. so, so tired.

he can feel his consciousness faltering, surrendered to the warmth of another's embrace. someone bathed in light-- an angel. his savior, his redemption. "help." is but a murmur. his valor, long forsaken, is cast aside by the whimpers. he can't justify otherwise. he's no king. he's powerless. helpless. and it feels fucking terrible. it's a source of trauma, one that will live out the rest of its days unmatched. age will grow him but fernando will never forget this moment. it molds him, births a compulsion for sovereignty. to control his own destiny. never again will he suffer such frailty. never again will he be powerless.

mount silver is a pilgrimage that robs visitors of their youth. what it leaves in return is enlightenment.

life is vicious.

-------

no.

somewhere in transit he awakens, delirious, lost. vision evades him but he doesn't need it. not now. as long as the message comes across, so long as he can blurt out the warning, they're safe. it's his last contention, a caveat that further imposes on their situation.

"no hospitals! no where big."

the world returns to black thereafter.

-------

THREE WEEKS LATER.

with time, strength returns. enough of it musters him to stir from his prolonged slumber. he sits up. that's as far as he goes, unable to roll over and out of his shabby cot. try as he might, there's an absence of feeling from anything below his navel. muscle memory fails him, leaving him confined to the boxed perimeter of his sheets. this resignation opens up the world to exploration. voracious eyes eat up what they've been missing. fernando makes out a small room, occupied by only his bed and a desk adorn with sloven papers. it's too far to make out any of the characters but he knows they're foreign. their nature makes him feel out of place. only now does he realize where he is.

exhale.

his prerogative is clear:

RECOVER.

persephone amavi

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POSTED ON Oct 12, 2018 13:50:08 GMT

FERNANDO SILPH likes this

he says no hospitals and, inexplicably, elysia follows his directions for reasons persephone never could fathom. her mother watched over him with a warm curiosity. she always liked a challenge, and keeping him alive was one she could dedicate herself to; like a riddle that needed to be solved. the mystery of it compelled her to; who was he? why did he push himself to the brink of life itself? how did he get so high up the slope? a lone child who would rather trust himself in the hands of strangers than professionals.

she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment her fascination went from clinical to genuine; but a person can get attached to anyone with mere proximity.

persephone was barred from entering the room, which predictably, festered into a childish cyclic jealousy; for both her mother and him in equal measure, she didn't know what inspired that stab of envy in the chest other than the feeling that there was a bond and, it expressly excluded her. purely out of spite for her mother, and she would stand on her tiptoes to peer through the keyhole just to see if he's breathing, the severity of it all lost on her mind after elysia relented and called out a doctor who promptly announced he'd live.

the day he woke is the first day the sun lit up the sky in weeks, untouched by cloud. light filters through the streaked windowpanes of the cottage's room, motes of dust illuminated in the pillars.

elysia cracks open the door to peek in without knocking, and she's smiling with a soft and distant mirth, a smile belonging on a painting, not a living woman. "my pokemon told me you're awake," she said simply, as if that should answer any and all queries he might have.

regardless, she had no interest in answering questions, the idea that he had any didn't even occur to her. he was the patient, the subject, and she was both yet neither; doctor and scientist.

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POSTED ON Oct 13, 2018 1:30:32 GMT

persephone amavi likes this

SWEAR.

her splendor blinds him.

say something. anything. go on, now.

"i owe you my life."

nothing else feels natural. all he can do is feed off impulse, spewing out whatever comes to mind. there's no stutter, no hesitation, only a resolute permanence. gallantry breeds naivety, and with it a notion that every favor must be repaid. it makes him reckless, unable to grasp the severity of the words spoken. but what else can he offer? money, power, fame? none of these are his and there's no promise they ever will be. not after this blunder. all he can offer is a single possession, one he no longer has any right to.

his existence.

tiny fingers claw into the bed sheets, trembling into a clenched fist. no matter how hard he wrings the fabric he cannot choke out the anxiety that comes from big claims. he may understand the gravity of his words -- a taboo he's forbidden to speak upon -- but he's far from ready. it can only serve as a lesson of what's to come, that words mean little without corresponding action behind it.

"i owe you my life."

repeating it adds sincerity. hearing it allows it to sink in, replaying the song of words that are never to be spoken lightly. only now does fernando realize the extent of actions. a solemness settles down, clouding over outside's rays. he continues to stare. enamored.

an oath is made and a debt is set in stone.

signed in blood, cared for with love.

somewhere a bell tolls.

time matters not, compliance is absolute.

mother to daughter, parent to child--

--a promise made between two kindred spirits.

meld into one whole.

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POSTED ON Oct 14, 2018 12:04:57 GMT

she listens with a strange expression, a smile that was too clinical and didn't cover the way her eyes narrowed when she watched him, curious and distant. examining him from all angles, elysia felt that no answer she could offer could be sufficient, so she waited in contemplative silence for several long heartbeats before responding, unmoving and statuesque.

"it sounds like you are giving it away again," elysia said with an eventual cautiousness, querying but not dismissive, an observation but not a judgment. how little his life must mean to him? or in the alternative, how much it meant for him to offer it to her with such speed and clarity that it seemed almost like an instinctive response?

she sits placidly at the end of the better almost careful, like approaching a wild animal. crosses her legs and folds her hands neatly. she'd gotten used to it; the brokenness of him. does he realise that the boy that went up is not the same who came down? surely he realises the metaphorical bits of the soul that got torn apart, shredded, gored. what about the physical? would he recognise himself in the mirror?

elysia holds his hand in her own because she's sympathetic, she thinks, skin like cold porcelain.

by no right could she have known, no calculation could tally matters of the heart; it was in the strike marks against his bones, invisible and woven into the very sinew.

words have power when they're spoken; the the act of communicating is enough to bind a contract, the vow of it heavy in the air.

"stay here for as long as you like," she said, and even then the generosity of the offer never did meet the clipped tone.

contradiction over contradiction.

FERNANDO SILPH

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POSTED ON Oct 14, 2018 23:56:29 GMT

shiv and NIKOLAI PETROV like this

EMERGENCE.

something about her puts him at ease. he feels disarmed yet welcomes the embrace of peacetime. is this the familiarity of a mother who he's never known? he can't be sure, so he grasps at her hands, weaving his fingers into hers like a greedy child. she offers him an eternity and clings to it. right here, right now, he swears that he'll take her up on covenant, never to let go. but these are the words of a child and never meant to be realized.

he is but a wounded song bird. time will heal all wounds and the need to migrate will only intensify with each passing season. one day he'll have to leave the nest. until then, the family dynamic meets a significant change. before it was just them, mother and daughter. two alone was company aplenty. with three, it's now a crowd, one that demands the divested attention of what little she can provide.

"i'm giving it to you."

she owns him now. if not by body then by heart. elysia is the horcrux of kanto's undoing. unknown to them, she is the only barrier that holds back his ambitions. her bewitchery is what sates his appetite, keeps him at bay. it festers unrecognized. exposure makes him a glutton.

--------

recover comes with an insidious intent. days are spent lethargic, passed by the blackness of his own eyelids. only when sun sets does fernando dare hazard enterprise. his feet still fail him but he's learned to cope. eyes making up for what cannot travel. it allows him to observe her study, allows him to question her life's work.

"what's that?" is a question delivered innumerous times. if he cannot reinforce his body then he will fortify his mind. weeks of burning the midnight oil has left him brisk in catching up. what can be explained in logic and pattern is second nature for the puzzle solver. that which relies on ingenuity and fantasy is what eludes him. his inability to ponder fascinates him. perse too, though their exchange brief and temporary with the change in day, captivates him. his envy for her upbringing -- her closeness -- is only kept in check by her resemblance to her mother. he cannot hope to turn against the hand that feeds him.

-------

elysia is no longer his mother but his teacher. for every role she takes fernando feels her mastery over him flourish. he is inseparable. he sees his future beneath her, waiting, ready for her beckoning. he grows stronger with age.

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POSTED ON Oct 15, 2018 6:51:45 GMT

NIKOLAI PETROV likes this

are there things that elysia wouldn't put words around? yes, for the first time. jagged edges and broken off pieces that she won't cast a light on, words and phrases better left untranslated. the meaning is inferred between the lines, in the space between them, in how she held his hands then and, as he vowed his life to her, she vowed to protect his too.

something like ownership, barely anything like parenthood.

--------

whether she could provide what he wanted or needed was debatable, lost somewhere in her own interests and stories, telling legends from a region far from here. rolling her sleeves up to show the long, white lines against tanned skin, elysia grins and tells him they're meant to be a protection symbols, bordering on cultish, the belief that the water pokemon of hoenn's mythos would protect them if its sigils are inked into skin.

the love and nostalgia for her home continent grew sharper in the change of seasons, but the thought of displacing their comfort hadn't seemed a viable possibility.

--------

elysia always said that the most striking difference between them was that fernando looked to the future - to innovation and ambition - whereas persephone looked backward - to history, to the arcane, to the question of how we got here. persephone, in the vague and philosophical musings of a teenager, tries to not be bitter when she says that the future depends on the past, not the other way around.

her caution bled out with the months, when his presence served to become less of an intrusion and more a a stark otherness that she could tolerate but not fully accept. it's a makeshift family, but persephone can't shake the feeling that she simply wasn't enough. calling fernando "like a brother," she watches their facial expression to give her an answer to questions she couldn't phrase and had to read in their eyes instead;

what is this? what are we? and then, the one that hurt the most in hindsight. when will we end?

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POSTED ON Oct 15, 2018 8:47:16 GMT

DEPARTURE.

intrusion comes in the form of a letter. it is addressed to fernando but opened by another. their dream of unity is washed away by the bold letters that stare at them defiantly. the official note at the bottom dares them to challenge it. it's a fight that they can never win.

return, my son.

during all their time together, fernando's never hidden his past. he had foreseen the possibility that his worse nightmare may come to pass as reality. even so, they had accepted him. so they must pay the consequences of having him ripped away. fernando bids them farewell with a heavy heart, promising his return. it's the last time they see him as a boy. it's the last time they'll see him full of wonder and awe.

.AGE SEVENTEEN

the years have been kind to the prodigal son. he returns now, a man, purified from the defects of his youth. the blemishes may have vanished but the one across his heart can only be quieted by the embrace of family. perse is no longer competition but his sister in arms. time has made him miss her beyond their years. yet, she stays second to one. only elysia can incite the passion of his heart.

the festivities of their reunion is cut short by his zealousness to demonstrate his growth. the fables from afar have become a second language. the vestige of his surname afford him the privilege to explore the libraries of the uncharted. several of their books line his bag, a small token of appreciation of their time together.

here's to the times ahead.

persephone amavi

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POSTED ON Oct 16, 2018 15:18:20 GMT

when he returns, elysia's delight is tempered by the predeiction that he would come back to them. she was right in the ultimate outcome; she could read him well enough to know where his loyalties lay - like stars in the sky that she'd connect into constellations, a series of clues that she could only link through constructed lines and guesswork.

she misunderstood; just because the human eye sees stars close to one another at night, doesn't make them actually in each other's vicinity in the cosmos.

in other words, when elysia catches his head in her hands and has to lean up to press her lips in a kiss on his forehead, she misses the electric undercurrent between them, willful ignorance or just obliviousness on her part, the truth of it carried to her grave. when her daughter wraps her arms around his neck laughing, she's beaming at them and misses that his eyes are still on her.

she doesn't ask him how he found them; they never hid, and regardless, the heart has a way.

it would be unconscionable to directly ask him to come work for her because ultimately elysia felt she knew she exerted enough influence over him for him to accept even to his own detriment. the offer was, as it always is with her, tacit.

sifting through the research pieces he had brought to them alongside her own texts in their new temporary home and office (a dusty art nouveau apartment in johto's goldenrod city), elysia eventually looks up from the page to survey first fernando, then persephone asleep on a sofa, with an uncharacteristic seriousness, contemplative, and eyes narrowed.

"i'm so proud of the man you're growing into," she eventually said, with a finality that meant that she had nothing more to add. being laconic was in her nature.

FERNANDO SILPH

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POSTED ON Oct 17, 2018 0:54:32 GMT

CONFESS.

her declaration catches him off guard, disturbs him from his study. fernando blinks at the praise, unsure of how to respond, unaware of the implication of her remark. so he laughs it off. there's a smile on his face. time away may have matured his body but he's still her little boy. it's the last night his joy is allowed to bloom, innocent and chaste. a meek thank you is given before he returns to work. "it's all thanks to you."

inexperience makes him insensitive and nothing results from the comment. but the prospect is still there. waiting. expecting.

a quiet moment passes before fernando takes his turn to interrupt. he comes across something that baffles him, something only she can decipher. braille characters are strewn across the page. each dot seeps into the paper, allowing them to feel out each sigil with a passing touch. she shows him how to and when her hand relaxes against his he feels his insides thrash. for the first time, fernando feels the heat.

"you know, my birthday is coming up." idle chatter is uncharacteristic for him. it's even rarer that he mentions himself. "you don't have to get me anything. i'm already..."

his stare is pensive as words come to an awkward stop. he's probing her, looking for something more. time apart has emphasized how invaluable they are to him. the demands of the world outside has taught him to hunger.

to crave.

to desire.

the kindling of his heart ignites and fernando realizes that this love is unhealthy. it's not fit for a mother, nor a teacher. it's a love for someone he can never have. but, inheritance has taught him to be selfish, to take with an avarice unrivaled. his head comes down until their foreheads touch. he's too timid to do anything more. once he crosses this line nothing will ever be the same.

"i'm yours."

persephone amavi

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POSTED ON Oct 18, 2018 16:30:39 GMT

FERNANDO SILPH likes this

more than anything, she wants to say i couldn't know, to feign ignorance, to displace everything he laid out to her as part unsubstantiated desire, part delusion. she knows she can't, she knows that's untrue, because she was blind and complacent in it from the beginning.

even if this was the first time it became truly real, she knows she played a role in encouraging it, the reveal untainted with ambiguous meaning. the combination of it all - every action, every faint movement, every half-glance - came together like the braille inscriptions under her fingers.

there it was; the sudden burst of adrenaline when you finally understand a difficult problem, the answer of which eluded you for so long.

the feeling of his forehead against hers heavy, she wants to close her eyes, to think, to look at the blueprints, calculate each path. she doesn't let her gaze leave his.

elysia says his name because she needs to say something, unwavering and content as if he hadn't said anything that was so immutable so as to change the trajectory of their ( their: the three of them, always in her mind as one unit ) relationship permanently.

the words didn't come easily to her mind, but she spoke with the quiet confidence of someone who had no doubts about the veracity of it all.

"i know that, just like you know how i feel as well."

she can't run from it, and she knows he would accept no less.

it's a promise. she takes his hand, presses his fingers against a series of dots on the page.

( ⠺⠁⠊⠞ )

FERNANDO SILPH

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POSTED ON Oct 19, 2018 0:21:38 GMT

persephone amavi likes this

NORMALCY.

her words are encouragement enough for the cesspool of mixed emotions --a concoction of the anxiety that comes from the preying fear of rejection and the slow burn of a unrequited love-- to incinerate into cinders. no longer will it lurk in the darkest recesses of his unsettled heart. it can't. not when she strokes the tinder of his perpetual blaze. he wants to burn. to feel the actuality of the scarlet that floods the paleness of his face. it leaves him open, like a book, one which is summarized into a single word.

smitten.

much like before, the night continues without consequence. the silent acceptance isn't enough to persuade him to make a move. he can feel at it nagging at him, begging him to consort to its council. but he doesn't know how. he doesn't know why. because he's scared. content with the certainty of what little he's given.

fernando follows routine, the only thing he knows, and when the night grows too weary for his still growing frame, he bids her a good night. "i love you" always comes with a peck on the cheek. a lasting impression before fernando darts off to bed. what's left to linger isn't the impression of his lips but the hesitation that comes when he departs. the warmth of his face only emboldens with proximity. she can catch the lingering consideration that crosses his eyes when he takes too long to pull away. the way his eyes try to shy away from her lips, as if he can fool her steady watch.

having felt them so many times on his skin, he wonders how they feel on his own.

-------

his birthday comes too soon. yet, for two of them, it lasts an eternity too long. now that it's here, they're caught unprepared, unsure of how to handle the implicity of it all.

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POSTED ON Oct 20, 2018 19:22:54 GMT

she could have caught him by the arm, then, when he confessed with a reverence that felt expected by undeserved. and then what? the bittersweet taste of it that burned down her throat.

she let him leave the words on her skin, let the glance linger.

if she was a good person, she would have apologised and ended it there, overdue but explicit. it was selfish to continue, but elysia reasoned that she can't control the passions of others.

maybe she herself was damaged, one some level. maybe she was just not a very good person.

her guilt chewed at her bones regardless, but the heart wants what it wants.

--------

it's not a simple thing, to shed the shadow.

so well constructed that it was uncanny how it all fell together; the illusion of coincidence that his birthday was the exact day persephone had to go to slateport to pick up some files for her.

elysia says nothing about their vow, unspeakable to her, but she hadn't forgotten it. her promise, his words. calling it a contract would be too clinical and wouldn't relay the depth of sworn oath between them.

"you have to understand," she says calmly, though the flutter in her chest, in her veins, is anything but that. it's the only time she couldn't meet his eyes, and that alone was enough to make the shame catch in her throat.

"i can't be the one to say it, fernando. it has to be you. your choice."

FERNANDO SILPH

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