The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
It was all Val could do to keep his mind off of that fateful moment. It had been engraved in his memory. When he closed his eyes, he saw it. When Faye spoke to him, he heard it. When she snuggled herself against him, he felt it. Certainly having her near helped his recovery. Why wouldn’t it? The thought of her by his side was therapeutic in its very nature. But ever since the accident, something felt... off. She seemed distant, her smiles less genuine as the days passed. Perhaps it was all in the Seeker’s head. Maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see and not what truly was. Maybe it was his guilt getting the better of him, or maybe she was just disappointed in her so-called Warden.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
“I’m… what does it matter?†He knew better than to press her. If she wanted time to herself—time to think—she would get it. There was no sense in arguing; it would only serve to make things worse. But it did not come without its consequences. Considering the recent events, Val’s mind immediately went to a dark place. What if she didn’t want to be near him? What if she no longer cared to be by his side? What if she forced herself to stomach the sight of him? What if each moment she looked at the nub of her left arm, she grew to hate him a little more each time? Val had suffered many wounds in his time. He’d broken bones and received more than his fair share of scrapes, bruises, and near-fatal blows. None of them hurt as much as the thought of disappointment from his beloved.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Writing would help, wouldn’t it? He’d always gone to his journal when he needed to get some thoughts off of his mind or practice his writing. Granted, that was few and far between. He was still learning, or at least trying to learn. Faye had been teaching him a little at a time as the nights went by, though that all ended as the days ramped up to the attack. On occasion he had tried to read on his own, though he could never be sure if he was saying the words correctly or just making it up as he went along. Smaller, shorter words became easy as she taught him the syllables of the letters. Longer strings of the damnable things were much more difficult, and writing them on his own was simply out of the question.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
But that wouldn’t stop him; not this evening. He needed to talk to someone about it. He needed to get it off his chest. He needed to tell someone how horrible he was and how much of a failure he’d been. He needed to express his sadness at being unable to keep the only thing in this world of worth to him safe. He wanted to tell them that he understood if she hated him. He understood if she wanted to replace him and find someone more capable. He deserved every bit of being cast out, if that’s what she wanted. Sure she had told him that all was well and that she still loved and needed him. She still came to him at night and snuggled by his side, and she still smiled despite how much he failed at trying to walk on his own. But he knew she was also very good at hiding her true feelings. She had an impressive amount of self-control and deceit when it came to such things, and despite their bond, he’d never know when she was lying or telling the truth.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Getting around was admittedly easier now than it had been before. In truth, the problem was never really with his legs. They had only atrophied so much during his time on the bed, and it only truly took a day for him to regain their use. What kept him from walking was the sheer pain, his body never quite having gotten used to the procedures taken to put everything back where it belonged. It was through the miracle of those in the infirmary that night that he was even alive. They had done a masterful job, but it would yet be some time before he fully recovered. Besides, he didn’t mind. He deserved this. It was his penance.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The Seeker finally made it to his desk with the help of the wall and several moments of his time, slumping down into his chair and withdrawing his journal from the bottom-most drawer. It didn’t look like much. Really, it was little more than a tiny notebook with which to write memos and daily reminders in. Val never really needed anything more. It wasn’t as if he could write long-winded entries and musings. It only served to keep things he wanted to tell others, but knew that he couldn’t for one reason or another. Today, perhaps for the first time, it would serve the purpose of actual journals: to relieve stress.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
“Fff.. Faaaayyyyye—,“ Val spoke to himself as he tried to spell the words, speaking slowly so that he could hear each syllable just as his Princess had taught him. No. That looked nothing like he’d remembered it. He struck a single line through the word and began again. He felt like he got the first half right, maybe? It was hard to tell, so he started over. He spoke the word again, slowly sounding it out as he wrote. When he’d finished, Val studied it once again. ..There was an ‘e’ in there, wasn’t there? But it didn’t look right. He struck another line through the word and tried again. This process continued several more times, each time Val finding himself to be erroneous. Each time he struck through the word to retry, the line growing darker and darker while his anger continued to rise and rise. He struck another line through a word, digging hard enough into the paper to tear the initial page and the next few beneath it.Â
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The Seeker threw himself into a fit, ink from the pen marring the page with no rhyme or reason. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Worthless, worthless, worthless! It was his fault. She hired him to protect her. She told him to keep an eye on the members of the company. She told him to try to keep everyone safe. Even if he didn’t much like the latter half of his job, she was most important to him! She was his job! His life! To harm her, to take a part of her, was to take a part of his life. Why did he let it happen? Why was it her, and not him? Why was it her hand and not his? His was useless. He could barely write two-letter words, while she had perfect penmanship, her letters as beautiful and elegant as she herself. The more Val thought of it, the more his rage consumed him, scratching and jabbing and slamming his fist and the pen on the desk and notebook until he no longer had the energy to do so.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Drip.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Drip.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Drip.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Val felt something wet, something beyond the tears that marred his cheeks. It was only after he caught sight of it that the pain began to register. His left hand rest on top of his journal, several slices and open wounds from where he pen had pierced his flesh during his blind rage at himself. The pages themselves were covered in a small pool of blood which streamed down, dripping from his desk into his lap and onto the floor beneath. At first, the Seeker didn’t much know what to do. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the notion of stabbing himself. He’d deserved far more than that. He momentarily considered finishing the job, but knew that if Faye didn’t hate him currently then she certainly would.Â
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
He pulled his hand in against himself and wrapped it in his shirt, lest he drip blood anywhere else but himself and his desk, and forced himself to stand through the pain in his stomach and chest. With the help of whatever object he had close at hand and his right arm to help keep him steady, the Seeker quietly made his way to the infirmary. When he returned, rather than bothering to clean the mess on his desk, he withdrew to the cozy nook in the back of his room and curled himself into as tight a ball as possible, ears pinned against his head and tail wrapped about himself.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
It was all Val could do to keep his mind off of that fateful moment. It had been engraved in his memory. When he closed his eyes, he saw it. When Faye spoke to him, he heard it. When she snuggled herself against him, he felt it. Certainly having her near helped his recovery. Why wouldn’t it? The thought of her by his side was therapeutic in its very nature. But ever since the accident, something felt... off. She seemed distant, her smiles less genuine as the days passed. Perhaps it was all in the Seeker’s head. Maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see and not what truly was. Maybe it was his guilt getting the better of him, or maybe she was just disappointed in her so-called Warden.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
“I’m… what does it matter?†He knew better than to press her. If she wanted time to herself—time to think—she would get it. There was no sense in arguing; it would only serve to make things worse. But it did not come without its consequences. Considering the recent events, Val’s mind immediately went to a dark place. What if she didn’t want to be near him? What if she no longer cared to be by his side? What if she forced herself to stomach the sight of him? What if each moment she looked at the nub of her left arm, she grew to hate him a little more each time? Val had suffered many wounds in his time. He’d broken bones and received more than his fair share of scrapes, bruises, and near-fatal blows. None of them hurt as much as the thought of disappointment from his beloved.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Writing would help, wouldn’t it? He’d always gone to his journal when he needed to get some thoughts off of his mind or practice his writing. Granted, that was few and far between. He was still learning, or at least trying to learn. Faye had been teaching him a little at a time as the nights went by, though that all ended as the days ramped up to the attack. On occasion he had tried to read on his own, though he could never be sure if he was saying the words correctly or just making it up as he went along. Smaller, shorter words became easy as she taught him the syllables of the letters. Longer strings of the damnable things were much more difficult, and writing them on his own was simply out of the question.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
But that wouldn’t stop him; not this evening. He needed to talk to someone about it. He needed to get it off his chest. He needed to tell someone how horrible he was and how much of a failure he’d been. He needed to express his sadness at being unable to keep the only thing in this world of worth to him safe. He wanted to tell them that he understood if she hated him. He understood if she wanted to replace him and find someone more capable. He deserved every bit of being cast out, if that’s what she wanted. Sure she had told him that all was well and that she still loved and needed him. She still came to him at night and snuggled by his side, and she still smiled despite how much he failed at trying to walk on his own. But he knew she was also very good at hiding her true feelings. She had an impressive amount of self-control and deceit when it came to such things, and despite their bond, he’d never know when she was lying or telling the truth.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Getting around was admittedly easier now than it had been before. In truth, the problem was never really with his legs. They had only atrophied so much during his time on the bed, and it only truly took a day for him to regain their use. What kept him from walking was the sheer pain, his body never quite having gotten used to the procedures taken to put everything back where it belonged. It was through the miracle of those in the infirmary that night that he was even alive. They had done a masterful job, but it would yet be some time before he fully recovered. Besides, he didn’t mind. He deserved this. It was his penance.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The Seeker finally made it to his desk with the help of the wall and several moments of his time, slumping down into his chair and withdrawing his journal from the bottom-most drawer. It didn’t look like much. Really, it was little more than a tiny notebook with which to write memos and daily reminders in. Val never really needed anything more. It wasn’t as if he could write long-winded entries and musings. It only served to keep things he wanted to tell others, but knew that he couldn’t for one reason or another. Today, perhaps for the first time, it would serve the purpose of actual journals: to relieve stress.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
“Fff.. Faaaayyyyye—,“ Val spoke to himself as he tried to spell the words, speaking slowly so that he could hear each syllable just as his Princess had taught him. No. That looked nothing like he’d remembered it. He struck a single line through the word and began again. He felt like he got the first half right, maybe? It was hard to tell, so he started over. He spoke the word again, slowly sounding it out as he wrote. When he’d finished, Val studied it once again. ..There was an ‘e’ in there, wasn’t there? But it didn’t look right. He struck another line through the word and tried again. This process continued several more times, each time Val finding himself to be erroneous. Each time he struck through the word to retry, the line growing darker and darker while his anger continued to rise and rise. He struck another line through a word, digging hard enough into the paper to tear the initial page and the next few beneath it.Â
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The Seeker threw himself into a fit, ink from the pen marring the page with no rhyme or reason. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Worthless, worthless, worthless! It was his fault. She hired him to protect her. She told him to keep an eye on the members of the company. She told him to try to keep everyone safe. Even if he didn’t much like the latter half of his job, she was most important to him! She was his job! His life! To harm her, to take a part of her, was to take a part of his life. Why did he let it happen? Why was it her, and not him? Why was it her hand and not his? His was useless. He could barely write two-letter words, while she had perfect penmanship, her letters as beautiful and elegant as she herself. The more Val thought of it, the more his rage consumed him, scratching and jabbing and slamming his fist and the pen on the desk and notebook until he no longer had the energy to do so.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Drip.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Drip.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Drip.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
Val felt something wet, something beyond the tears that marred his cheeks. It was only after he caught sight of it that the pain began to register. His left hand rest on top of his journal, several slices and open wounds from where he pen had pierced his flesh during his blind rage at himself. The pages themselves were covered in a small pool of blood which streamed down, dripping from his desk into his lap and onto the floor beneath. At first, the Seeker didn’t much know what to do. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the notion of stabbing himself. He’d deserved far more than that. He momentarily considered finishing the job, but knew that if Faye didn’t hate him currently then she certainly would.Â
The blade came down, the hand came off.
The blade came down, the hand came off.
He pulled his hand in against himself and wrapped it in his shirt, lest he drip blood anywhere else but himself and his desk, and forced himself to stand through the pain in his stomach and chest. With the help of whatever object he had close at hand and his right arm to help keep him steady, the Seeker quietly made his way to the infirmary. When he returned, rather than bothering to clean the mess on his desk, he withdrew to the cozy nook in the back of his room and curled himself into as tight a ball as possible, ears pinned against his head and tail wrapped about himself.
![[Image: ValForumSignature.png~original]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v443/Kendei/ValForumSignature.png~original)
