Wings

[Ucanthandleme]

Entry for : ✦ Winged Siblings -- Readopts, please DNP.

Username + ID: Ucanthandleme + 809102

[Ucanthandleme]

Sweet valentine entry
Nao, Male
Tell me about something they love (498/500w + art)

Was this love?
I was pitiful, a shell of a being. I longed for the glory, the praise, the constant validation and professions of love. The hero. I was their hero, I knew it, they knew it, without me they would be doomed. It was a forced love it seemed. A one sided window to which they would watch me through but never speak, I knew they were there, they knew I did too, a weapon to make the perfect hero. All eyes on me, their eyes became a constant pressure even more so then the dangers I fought off to keep them safe. I longed for the love, I craved the praise and attention, but all of it was not for me rather for the hero who protected them. Pitiful. I was a shell of a being.

The villain. The one who rained down destruction, the one who they feared, I feared. His powers did not scare me, nor did his plans. Instead it was his words that cut my flesh and ate me whole. He was on my side, my side of the one way mirror. He looked into my eyes and taunted me with words of truth, my deepest insecurities, my reasons for action, He seemed to read my like an open book. A jester who was merely prancing about in a lavish hall for the crowds entertainment, he thought he made them happy, he received praise after all. But once the curtains closed they chuckled at his plight, their bellowing laughter screaming in his ears, he could do nothing though, completing another performance to receive that brief and pitiful praise.

He wished to refute, deny, but in the end merely a tattered wail came from their lips. The villain watched but in the end could not help but sigh. The dear pitiful hero in a fit decided he would test the claims, he made his way off the stage and stood back. His family, his friend, the people who cheered his name, not one…not one came looking for the missing soul. The villain however came to his side, he did not taunt nor did he comfort he just sat with him watching the view of the city. “It's always like this you see, only when they need you do they love you but when you are no longer needed they can snatch back their affection with a cold-blooded cruelty”.

A villain and a hero, a tale as old as time. They revolve around one another unwillingly or without notice. Perhaps neither of them knew, in the whole world then one who knows them best, who constantly thinks about them and the one who is always in their eyes is the other. The pitiful hero and sarcastic villain who accompanies him through it all. Was this love? He still wasn't sure, but he knew only they would be by their side. Not the hero's side, instead his side, the beating heart underneath the broken shell.

[Ucanthandleme]

Dying Pickle entry
Valerian, Male
Tell me about a secret they have. (499/500w + art)

If I tell you my secret it's not a secret anymore.

I stood, the stained glass world dancing in my eyes. It depicted the past, the great war between the angels and demons. Not one face, completely blank visages riding upon clouds, wings ablaze with a crimson hue. Fighting, what war were they fighting? Only the sky knows…as he does too. The judgment, the ones who thought they were heroes against the villains on the other side, but who were the heroes and who were the villians? History only tells the story in the words of the victor rather than the innocent victims, the lovers of the war.

The marveled walls stained with a hue of red as the light shined through the glass, the faceless visages melting into a distant view. I gave a sigh, lifting the corner of my robe, my wings once a crystalline white now tainted by an inky black, spreading growing, these wings weighed me down. Step by step I walked down the hall, the marble floors echoing with the click of my heels with each step. Empty. It was so empty despite the large hang paintings and glass depictions of the war. Then there at the end I stood.

The angel in white stared down at me. Mocking. Even though it wore a mask I could tell it was mocking me, taunting me about what I once was, what the world once was. A decision, I had made my decision that fateful day. The one who the world praised, the one who the winners praised, tormented by his decision. The ones who he sought to protect lost, the innocent he sought to fight for lost, and the land he once knew, lost. So he would repent, repent not for the lost to forgive him, no, he would repent for them all.

If I tell you my secret it's not a secret anymore. But was this really a secret? The atrocities he had committed were true, framed on the walls and looked at in reverence. His life wasn't a secret, yet his feelings for them were. These feelings could not be known, or the whole world would be wrong, the war would have been wrong, the suffering would have been wrong. So maybe they did know his secret, yet choose to ignore it. After all, even worse than a secret sometimes is the truth.

The ghost of the cemetery. The once great cathedral ruined by the work of time. A child, a ghost, no one quite knew, wandered through the grave weaving to and from between their mossy complexions. He would sing to the graves, great wings of white tinted black, perhaps he was an angel or maybe a demon they heard about from the great war, but they did not disturb as they did not wish to find out. Little did they know the secret of the ghost, trapped in a past long gone, was their great savior. The winner of the war.