corpseknight: (zzzzz)
It was cold at night in the desert.

Not the bone-snapping, life-sucking cold of Icecrown's unending winter; it was not freezing cold, winter-cold, but it was enough. It was enough, and he lay in the sand on the floor of the cave, and bled in silence.

It's my fault. (my(myfault(your(my(faultmyfault)fault)my fault, stupid)traitor, stupid Larkspur)stupid fault, stupid Larkspur) mine. Too weak. Too (slow, stupid(gullible,trusting)) (stupid) (traitor(whore)) little.

He curled around the pain in his chest, burying his hands in his hair; clawed at his skull as if it would have any effect on the storm of self-recrimination inside.

A hank of gray hair pulled free and fell aside, ignored, to shiver into dust.

Not good enough (smart(fast(strong(loyal(good))))) for them, for (krenyn(orikhaav)(kae)(ben)(adra,'vali)jiel(embersong)((meros))ria((dynast(((mother)))) anyone. My fault. i(failed) (failed) (hurts)(can't even keep going anymore(can't keep your WORD(stupid)(worthless))(traitor)

He gave a helpless, mewling hiccup, shuddering hard enough to disturb the flock of moths clustered around him for what little comfort they might share. "'M sorry," he managed by rote. "S, sorry. I c--can't--" Shoved a knuckle between his teeth to silence the words, as he tucked into a tighter knot of misery.
---

One of the moths had stopped moving with the others. Not long after Larkspur had fallen back into a fitful sleep, it too fell to pieces, reduced to little more than rainbow dust on the sand.

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Larkspur Plagueheart

March 2017

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