[Darkness once more. Enveloping him within the heat of the Styx’s blood. Ironically, for all his prowess and battles with every attempted escape from his Father’s wretched realm, the plunge back into the river’s crimson embrace was the only brief respite where there was simply… nothing. No pain. No doubts. No pride. No questions. No attitude. No mockery. No noise. No struggles. No suffering. For those few moments—he never knew if it was for seconds or minutes—everything ceased. One final thought drifting in his mind. Darkness guide you, my child. Darkness and blood. Nyx…
Blood boils and a moment later, the young prince bursts from surface of the Styx’s pool, rising in the same sloggy manner as he has so many times before. He feels the river’s sticky hold drooling off his body, like a film oozing from his skin and clothes, leaving him once more whole and complete. Amazing how much easier it is to breathe without a massive battle axe embedded within his sternum. Zagreus stalks forward, wading up the steps of the pool. He’s done this so many times, he’s completely ceased to bother shaking the river’s clinging fluids off himself. It drains nicely enough.
And hell if it gets all over the floors of his father’s House. Perhaps he should’ve thought of that before he decided to include a pool connecting to Styx to his own home. Foresight or morbid curiosity. Who knew? It’s not like he’s ever sat down to have a casual chat with the god who spawned him. At least not a chat to any informative degree that doesn’t end in mockery or bitter dismissal. It’s always been that way. He’s forgotten by now if his father even remembers his own child’s name. So often grumbling that ”boy” at him. Is he really so despised? Hmph, he knows the answer to that question. If it weren’t for the others in the House, Zagreus might have forgotten his own name by now too. Honestly, sometimes—more than sometimes—he wonders why his father had him at all.]
Damn that bull-headed monster. [That’s enough dwelling on that. Grousing at the temperamental brute behind the desk won’t get him further. He has to return, recuperate, prepare, and go again. Thankfully, Hypnos and Achilles were in a conversation together. Though he would’ve liked to speak with his mentor, Zagreus is in little mood to answer Hypnos’ incessant prodding for Asterius’ autograph without a short “No” and moving on. He shouldn’t be short with the God of Sleep. It’s not his fault, and he’ll forever be indebted to the soporific god for enabling all this to happen.
Zagreus sidles to the side of the room to give Cerberus some much-wanted (or a third-wanted) attention, petting the massive red hound’s snout and moving towards his neck while he listens to the conversation behind him. Nyx and Hades are fighting again, in their cold, stoic manner where one indirectly insults the other with threats and has the checks and balances returned. Nyx and Father are at it once more. Did his own mother clash with his Father like that? Another question stockpiled for the future. Megara isn’t in the lounge… and Dusa is her normal self, attempting to cheer him up in her flustered, supportive way before absconding to the rafters once more. Thanatos… well, he’s always a toss of the coin for presence, isn’t he?
With no one left, he turns for his room, the strange and ironic pang twisting in his chest. Despite the sheer number of people and shades filling the grand House around him, how is it that he can feel this alone? A silent curse to his father for the lack of doors to his own bedroom (of course Father gets to keep his chambers under lock, door, and key) as he passes through the violet glow into the solitude of his own chambers. He’d love to have the ability to slam his doors in their faces for once. Probably why Father had them taken off, Or to keep a better eye on me… or simply annoy me. A welcome sight, the mess and clutter. His own little place where he feels like he has an ounce of control and moment’s peace amid the discord of his family life and his unstoppable attempts at “rampaging” through Tartarus. He can keep his room as messy or decorated as he likes! The stone tiles and lush rug beneath the prince’s bare flame-licked feet are a welcome familiarity as he takes a few moments to simply stand in his abode.]
Back to it. [The empty greeting only reinvigorates his desires to leave and Zagreus approaches the wall-consuming Mirror in his chambers. The eternal gift from Nyx, his once-mother. The glass amid the golden frame and darkness-jeweled encrustments as always reflects the sparkling of starlight deep within its midnight depths. Powerful and mysterious, but at the moment, as void as Chaos’ realm itself.] For just once, you could work as a proper mirror. Then I at least might have someone to talk to.
[Being glib at the artifact won’t assist much, but it’s a small vent. He’s silently reminded of a conversation he once had. Whether within a dream, unconsciousness, dying moments, or what, he doesn’t know. But he was there. His own self. Real enough to speak to. The memory of that moment has never left him and it brings a small smile to his face regardless. Zagreus had given him a lot in that brief time. Support, encouragement, humor, embarrassment, entertainment, curiosity, a rush of levity he’d not felt in a long time. More than once he’d thought of him, of whether his own self could somehow be real. But alas, such thoughts were for moments like these. Enough to rouse him once more.] You haven’t given up, have you, Zag. You’re still there, going forward with all you’ve got. And if you can do it… then so can I. Go for it, mate. You can do this.
[Reaffirming himself. Zagreus reaches out and presses his hand to the surface of the Mirror of Darkness. For all he knew, the artifact contained the void of Chaos himself within the night-filled glass. But whatever it was inside, it had never failed to help him. Time to reflect again. And make another break for his freedom.]
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Zagreus and Zagreus ~ Me and Myself ~ (for deathdefiance)
Date: 2020-10-24 03:00 pm (UTC)Blood boils and a moment later, the young prince bursts from surface of the Styx’s pool, rising in the same sloggy manner as he has so many times before. He feels the river’s sticky hold drooling off his body, like a film oozing from his skin and clothes, leaving him once more whole and complete. Amazing how much easier it is to breathe without a massive battle axe embedded within his sternum. Zagreus stalks forward, wading up the steps of the pool. He’s done this so many times, he’s completely ceased to bother shaking the river’s clinging fluids off himself. It drains nicely enough.
And hell if it gets all over the floors of his father’s House. Perhaps he should’ve thought of that before he decided to include a pool connecting to Styx to his own home. Foresight or morbid curiosity. Who knew? It’s not like he’s ever sat down to have a casual chat with the god who spawned him. At least not a chat to any informative degree that doesn’t end in mockery or bitter dismissal. It’s always been that way. He’s forgotten by now if his father even remembers his own child’s name. So often grumbling that ”boy” at him. Is he really so despised? Hmph, he knows the answer to that question. If it weren’t for the others in the House, Zagreus might have forgotten his own name by now too. Honestly, sometimes—more than sometimes—he wonders why his father had him at all.]
Damn that bull-headed monster. [That’s enough dwelling on that. Grousing at the temperamental brute behind the desk won’t get him further. He has to return, recuperate, prepare, and go again. Thankfully, Hypnos and Achilles were in a conversation together. Though he would’ve liked to speak with his mentor, Zagreus is in little mood to answer Hypnos’ incessant prodding for Asterius’ autograph without a short “No” and moving on. He shouldn’t be short with the God of Sleep. It’s not his fault, and he’ll forever be indebted to the soporific god for enabling all this to happen.
Zagreus sidles to the side of the room to give Cerberus some much-wanted (or a third-wanted) attention, petting the massive red hound’s snout and moving towards his neck while he listens to the conversation behind him. Nyx and Hades are fighting again, in their cold, stoic manner where one indirectly insults the other with threats and has the checks and balances returned. Nyx and Father are at it once more. Did his own mother clash with his Father like that? Another question stockpiled for the future. Megara isn’t in the lounge… and Dusa is her normal self, attempting to cheer him up in her flustered, supportive way before absconding to the rafters once more. Thanatos… well, he’s always a toss of the coin for presence, isn’t he?
With no one left, he turns for his room, the strange and ironic pang twisting in his chest. Despite the sheer number of people and shades filling the grand House around him, how is it that he can feel this alone? A silent curse to his father for the lack of doors to his own bedroom (of course Father gets to keep his chambers under lock, door, and key) as he passes through the violet glow into the solitude of his own chambers. He’d love to have the ability to slam his doors in their faces for once. Probably why Father had them taken off, Or to keep a better eye on me… or simply annoy me. A welcome sight, the mess and clutter. His own little place where he feels like he has an ounce of control and moment’s peace amid the discord of his family life and his unstoppable attempts at “rampaging” through Tartarus. He can keep his room as messy or decorated as he likes! The stone tiles and lush rug beneath the prince’s bare flame-licked feet are a welcome familiarity as he takes a few moments to simply stand in his abode.]
Back to it. [The empty greeting only reinvigorates his desires to leave and Zagreus approaches the wall-consuming Mirror in his chambers. The eternal gift from Nyx, his once-mother. The glass amid the golden frame and darkness-jeweled encrustments as always reflects the sparkling of starlight deep within its midnight depths. Powerful and mysterious, but at the moment, as void as Chaos’ realm itself.] For just once, you could work as a proper mirror. Then I at least might have someone to talk to.
[Being glib at the artifact won’t assist much, but it’s a small vent. He’s silently reminded of a conversation he once had. Whether within a dream, unconsciousness, dying moments, or what, he doesn’t know. But he was there. His own self. Real enough to speak to. The memory of that moment has never left him and it brings a small smile to his face regardless. Zagreus had given him a lot in that brief time. Support, encouragement, humor, embarrassment, entertainment, curiosity, a rush of levity he’d not felt in a long time. More than once he’d thought of him, of whether his own self could somehow be real. But alas, such thoughts were for moments like these. Enough to rouse him once more.] You haven’t given up, have you, Zag. You’re still there, going forward with all you’ve got. And if you can do it… then so can I. Go for it, mate. You can do this.
[Reaffirming himself. Zagreus reaches out and presses his hand to the surface of the Mirror of Darkness. For all he knew, the artifact contained the void of Chaos himself within the night-filled glass. But whatever it was inside, it had never failed to help him. Time to reflect again. And make another break for his freedom.]