0.

carrd template by suncarrds

he was :
the son of aurora, daughter of fate and time. he is the fruit of the man in between; he is the deity of autumn and twilight. the momennt between day and night, the fleetingness meant to be looked at. a creature made from love and later shaped through resentment and grief. he is autumn. the deity.

ㅤhe is :ㅤ
the king of unbecoming. the empty shell of a once colorful threaded soul. now, with no memory of who he was and what he lost. a deity that walks amongst the supernatural and mortal realms, fulfilling the punishment to collect the souls that reach their limit. he is daniel. he is death.

1.

the abyss that looks back.

ㅤdanielㅤ he/him. 32. calm soul, quiet and overly rational. pending between nihilism and existentialism, he drifts in existence with an unwanted purpose, a soulless shell that reaches for something with no edges. too often, he drowns in melancholy, allowing the darkness that surrounds him to swallow what is left of his consciousness. loneliness can be a companion if you try hard enough. but he's willing to be proven wrong.

ㅤfavoritesㅤ conversations that drift naturally, overcome by time. laughter that bounces off the shoulders with the lightness of a sunday afternoon. a sincere smile of comfort when silence sits among us. her golden eyes when morning comes, reminding me i am alive, even in death.in a relationship, unavailable.

find me on
ㅤdiscord:ㅤㅤ themfchase.

DETAILS :

scents: midnight rain, nicotine, her.
colors: orange, gray, her eyes.
tastes: bourbon, dark chocolate, coffee.

tracks :

ㅤtrack 1ㅤㅤ erase me - lizzie mcalpine.
ㅤtrack 2ㅤㅤ let down - radiohead.
ㅤtrack 3ㅤㅤ cherry waves - deftones.
ㅤtrack 4ㅤㅤ over - robert glasper & yebba.
ㅤtrack 5ㅤㅤ saudade, saudade - MARO.
ㅤtrack 6ㅤㅤ nature boy - nat king cole.
ㅤtrack 7ㅤㅤ like you do - yana
ㅤtrack 8ㅤㅤ fruto do tempo - luiza sonza.

the tale of autumn
as cruel as his mother was, aurora too had fallen in love. her string tangled up in the oranges of the man in between, the epitome of the universe. they loved, they loved and from that love came autumn, proof that even the vilest of creatures could make something beautiful. yet, fate was not as kind, the balance could not pend too much on one side, so, as autumn came to be, the man in between was no more. and his first cry was one with no comfort, no love. no mother. act i

the tale of autumn

as cruel as his mother was, aurora too had fallen in love. her string tangled up in the oranges of the man in between, the epitome of the universe. they loved, they loved and from that love came autumn, proof that even the vilest of creatures could make something beautiful. yet, fate was not as kind, the balance could not pend too much on one side, so, as autumn came to be, the man in between was no more. and his first cry was one with no comfort, no love. no mother. act i

the missing soul
as the deity grew older, he reached the limit of time. a man of curiosity and compassion, watching humanity go by, admiring the innocence they had. how was he to know that he too would fall victim to the hearts desires? to the yearning of another? a human, by that. and he delivered, he devoted, as if he wasn't a deity at all. finding meaning to the littlest of thins before his mother's resentment turned love into grief. even if now, he wasn't even sure what he was grieving. act ii

the missing soul

as the deity grew older, he reached the limit of time. a man of curiosity and compassion, watching humanity go by, admiring the innocence they had. how was he to know that he too would fall victim to the hearts desires? to the yearning of another? a human, by that. and he delivered, he devoted, as if he wasn't a deity at all. finding meaning to the littlest of thins before his mother's resentment turned love into grief. even if now, he wasn't even sure what he was grieving. act ii

the humanity of death
a stolen soul, an erased memory. a phantom heartache he was sure carried a name he could not remember. far went her resentment, at least that was what he had been told. a dead human lover and a universal crime that had woven unprecedented consequences. he was now the son of the underworld, forced to watch life dim in the eyes of every living creature. showing them the path to the veil, wishing he could cross it himself. to find her. to remember her. to feel again. act iii

the humanity of death

a stolen soul, an erased memory. a phantom heartache he was sure carried a name he could not remember. far went her resentment, at least that was what he had been told. a dead human lover and a universal crime that had woven unprecedented consequences. he was now the son of the underworld, forced to watch life dim in the eyes of every living creature. showing them the path to the veil, wishing he could cross it himself. to find her. to remember her. to feel again. act iii

the deity and the creature
so what if death himself yearned to die? what if eons had not sparked his will to live? from realm to realm, from reality to reality. stepping through doors and looking for ways to cheat fate. yet he long had given up on his quest. perhaps finding a new purpose in looking for something that could innebriate him for longer than three minutes. or for something to take away the pain of a loss he could not recall. he became too hopless. too cold. . a king without a heart. the tale

the deity and the creature

so what if death himself yearned to die? what if eons had not sparked his will to live? from realm to realm, from reality to reality. stepping through doors and looking for ways to cheat fate. yet he long had given up on his quest. perhaps finding a new purpose in looking for something that could innebriate him for longer than three minutes. or for something to take away the pain of a loss he could not recall. he became too hopless. too cold. . a king without a heart. the tale

act I
When time was not yet time, and space was not yet formed. No life, or concept of existence. No rotting thing. No beginning, middle, or end. A single word was whispered into the universe, a voice with no owner, an idea formed from oblivion. "Love." A shape then began to twirl around nothingness, a pressure of violent red that tied around itself before it became too tight to not expand. From this, Infinite strings of destiny shot in every possible and infinite direction, sowing the beginning of time. The only anomalies were the different shades of string: black, gray, green, purple, and it went on, an array of shades, contrasting in the sea of twisting and intertwining reds. This story begins with the absence of light, black, and following the small fibers of this unforgiving string, we meet the soul attached to the end of it. Aurora was her name. The first lady, the daughter of time and fate, the word beauty was created just to describe her features. Hair pitch black, it made mortals think it was void, eyes so blue that if you paid close enough attention, you could watch the crashing waves of the deep blue sea. But as beautiful as she was, Aurora was a cruel being, whilst her brother, Dawn, was the epitome of kindness. Dawn's string was bright white, shining around him with careful serenity and ease; it had mortals, eons later, orbiting him with love and admiration. Aurora, in turn, despised him for it; she would toy with the tiny mortals and pull them apart just to watch the sadness and grief in her brother's eyes. She taunted him for the pleasure it brought her, erupted chaos for entertainment, smiting villages that worshipped her brother, instead of her. One not-so-special day, Dawn met a man, a man who was not quite mortal, not quite color. He was something in between, someone without a name, and they became almost one in the same, brothers chosen by fate. Aurora envied as she watched from afar, never getting too close, because the man in between held a power she could not measure, something bigger than her, older, but with a fragility she did not understand. It made a feeling she was unfamiliar with arise in her core. Curiosity, confusion. Yet the man in between was not as careful, not as prideful as her, and he sought the epitome of beauty, the daughter of time, he sought, and he courted her, although she was as cold as the glaciers her cousin Gaia liked to make, sharp like them too. Ah, but the man in the middle was too good at softening her, at making her cruelness subdue, her pride unattentive. The man in between made Aurora fall in love, and before she could protest to the one who created her, her black, void string was wrapped around the oranges of his. From them, a string was made. Colorless whilst in her womb. Loved by all whilst it was quietly nurtured. Blessed by dawn, awaited by Aurora, and with the pride and love of a man in between. Remember: this is not a happy story. Fate, despite yielding the kindness of Dawn, also carried the cruelty of Aurora. And as the creation inside of her began to come to fruition, the string began to take color. The same color as the man Aurora had given her heart to. The same orange with purple hues that could not be replicated, that could not be doubled. There could only be one epitome of twilight. And when she went into labor, both the man and Dawn mourned what it meant, mourned the fact that she was unaware. Mourned what it would mean for the creation they had made together, the tragedy of it. The man in between was no more as Autumn's string was formed. The boy was a mixture of the beauty of his mother and the mystery of his father. Dark hair with brownish hues, ocean blue eyes with crashing waves, and a void that could not be measured. The boy was so powerful that the possible repercussions sent fate into hiding, fearing the twisted game it had played had gone too far. It is said that Aurora's scream was heard through time and space. A painful, ripping scream that would be remembered in every tale. Of grief, loss, and terror. The love she was expected to feel for the boy never came; all she felt was resentment, rage, and hatred. The Goddess hated him. She hated her creation with a force only the universe would understand, and from that hate, she committed the sin that would seal the fates of every living creature for eternity. The day Autumn fell in love. The day she saw in his eyes what she had felt for the man in between, and realized her son felt it for a mortal of all things. That day, she allowed her hatred to take over every fiber of her divinity and committed the unforgivable crime by stealing her son's soul. She took away the only thing that gave him light. Erasing the color of his string, his memory, and taking the life of the only thing he had ever loved. return

act I

When time was not yet time, and space was not yet formed. No life, or concept of existence. No rotting thing. No beginning, middle, or end. A single word was whispered into the universe, a voice with no owner, an idea formed from oblivion.
"Love."
A shape then began to twirl around nothingness, a pressure of violent red that tied around itself before it became too tight to not expand. From this, Infinite strings of destiny shot in every possible and infinite direction, sowing the beginning of time. The only anomalies were the different shades of string: black, gray, green, purple, and it went on, an array of shades, contrasting in the sea of twisting and intertwining reds.
This story begins with the absence of light, black, and following the small fibers of this unforgiving string, we meet the soul attached to the end of it.
Aurora was her name. The first lady, the daughter of time and fate, the word beauty was created just to describe her features. Hair pitch black, it made mortals think it was void, eyes so blue that if you paid close enough attention, you could watch the crashing waves of the deep blue sea.
But as beautiful as she was, Aurora was a cruel being, whilst her brother, Dawn, was the epitome of kindness. Dawn's string was bright white, shining around him with careful serenity and ease; it had mortals, eons later, orbiting him with love and admiration.
Aurora, in turn, despised him for it; she would toy with the tiny mortals and pull them apart just to watch the sadness and grief in her brother's eyes. She taunted him for the pleasure it brought her, erupted chaos for entertainment, smiting villages that worshipped her brother, instead of her.

One not-so-special day, Dawn met a man, a man who was not quite mortal, not quite color. He was something in between, someone without a name, and they became almost one in the same, brothers chosen by fate. Aurora envied as she watched from afar, never getting too close, because the man in between held a power she could not measure, something bigger than her, older, but with a fragility she did not understand. It made a feeling she was unfamiliar with arise in her core. Curiosity, confusion. Yet the man in between was not as careful, not as prideful as her, and he sought the epitome of beauty, the daughter of time, he sought, and he courted her, although she was as cold as the glaciers her cousin Gaia liked to make, sharp like them too. Ah, but the man in the middle was too good at softening her, at making her cruelness subdue, her pride unattentive. The man in between made Aurora fall in love, and before she could protest to the one who created her, her black, void string was wrapped around the oranges of his.

From them, a string was made.
Colorless whilst in her womb.
Loved by all whilst it was quietly nurtured.
Blessed by dawn, awaited by Aurora, and with the pride and love of a man in between.

Remember: this is not a happy story.
Fate, despite yielding the kindness of Dawn, also carried the cruelty of Aurora.
And as the creation inside of her began to come to fruition, the string began to take color.
The same color as the man Aurora had given her heart to. The same orange with purple hues that could not be replicated, that could not be doubled.
There could only be one epitome of twilight.
And when she went into labor, both the man and Dawn mourned what it meant, mourned the fact that she was unaware. Mourned what it would mean for the creation they had made together, the tragedy of it.
The man in between was no more as Autumn's string was formed.
The boy was a mixture of the beauty of his mother and the mystery of his father.
Dark hair with brownish hues, ocean blue eyes with crashing waves, and a void that could not be measured. The boy was so powerful that the possible repercussions sent fate into hiding, fearing the twisted game it had played had gone too far.
It is said that Aurora's scream was heard through time and space. A painful, ripping scream that would be remembered in every tale. Of grief, loss, and terror.
The love she was expected to feel for the boy never came; all she felt was resentment, rage, and hatred. The Goddess hated him. She hated her creation with a force only the universe would understand, and from that hate, she committed the sin that would seal the fates of every living creature for eternity.
The day Autumn fell in love. The day she saw in his eyes what she had felt for the man in between, and realized her son felt it for a mortal of all things.
That day, she allowed her hatred to take over every fiber of her divinity and committed the unforgivable crime by stealing her son's soul.
She took away the only thing that gave him light.
Erasing the color of his string, his memory, and taking the life of the only thing he had ever loved.

return

act II
When Autumn woke up, he heard sounds. The sound of a buzzing village. People. He remembered what a village was, what people were, and what the animal in front of him was, a horse. He had no memory of who he was, what he was. As he stood and tried to catch people's attention, they passed through him as if he were not there. As if his skin were not there, his eyes, his voice. The sun shone bright, and the heart burned tender; he was alive, yet unseen. "Autumn." Something called towards him, his brows furrowed amidst his panic. "Autumn." The pair of eyes was set on him. The creature was speaking to him, Siren? Lycanthrope? A child of Nosferatu? He couldn't tell. But they were calling for him. The pixie's name was Candelaria. The one to call him Autumn. The one who told him that was his name. And the pixie told him a story. And the story was so sad and so lonely, and the story was his. Even though he did not remember, he still felt the pain, a phantom pain that made him choke on air, fingers clutching at his chest, where his soul should be. It had been stolen, and as a consequence, time had cursed his mother to fix the imbalance for the thing she stole, a curse that would be passed down to him, making him now the king of the underworld, the collector of souls, death himself. Mortals would not see him during daylight and would come to fear what they called the reaper. Immortal beings would avoid him at any cost. He would guide the souls of the ones close to the veil when their clocks came to a stop, be it supernatural or not; that was the curse that had fallen upon Autumn, and he would feel the burning, searing pain of the one he lost but could not remember. return

act II

When Autumn woke up, he heard sounds.
The sound of a buzzing village. People. He remembered what a village was, what people were, and what the animal in front of him was, a horse.
He had no memory of who he was, what he was.
As he stood and tried to catch people's attention, they passed through him as if he were not there. As if his skin were not there, his eyes, his voice. The sun shone bright, and the heart burned tender; he was alive, yet unseen.
"Autumn." Something called towards him, his brows furrowed amidst his panic. "Autumn." The pair of eyes was set on him. The creature was speaking to him, Siren? Lycanthrope? A child of Nosferatu? He couldn't tell. But they were calling for him.
The pixie's name was Candelaria.
The one to call him Autumn.
The one who told him that was his name.
And the pixie told him a story.
And the story was so sad and so lonely, and the story was his. Even though he did not remember, he still felt the pain, a phantom pain that made him choke on air, fingers clutching at his chest, where his soul should be. It had been stolen, and as a consequence, time had cursed his mother to fix the imbalance for the thing she stole, a curse that would be passed down to him, making him now the king of the underworld, the collector of souls, death himself.
Mortals would not see him during daylight and would come to fear what they called the reaper. Immortal beings would avoid him at any cost.
He would guide the souls of the ones close to the veil when their clocks came to a stop, be it supernatural or not; that was the curse that had fallen upon Autumn, and he would feel the burning, searing pain of the one he lost but could not remember.

return

act II
Autumn was in pain. He figured it was the judgment of time. The punishment he deserved for loving something so fragile and bringing his mother's wrath. As millennia went by, Autumn chose an alias, Daniel. And Daniel... Yeah, Daniel wanted to die. He had tried to die over and over and over again. Each time, he'd find himself alive. With no soul, there was no path to the afterlife for him; he was stuck right at the entrance of the veil he guided souls to, never allowed past that point. Millennia of trying made him bitter, angry, and frustrated. Jumping off a mountain? He'd feel the pain of the tumbling, rolling fall, but when his eyes waited for impact, he'd find himself atop the mountain, throbbing pain still echoing, but alive and well. When the modern days came around, he'd try pills, choking on them as he overdosed, and then woke up hours later with vomit on him and a burning in his throat, again, alive and well. Gunshot to the head? The bullet would lodge in his temple. Stabbing? It would go through, he would bleed, he would feel the pain, but the cut would heal in a matter of minutes. He tried decapitation once, but the blade stuck to his neck as if it were made of iron. It was ironically cruel. Death could not die, and yet he yearned for it in a way that was almost all he could live for. For dying. Time had made him a nihilist. There was no point to anything. No point in friendships, even the immortal creatures somehow found a way to die, and he was left alone. Being death himself was filled with more cons than pros; alcohol was the closest thing to inebriation he could find, drinking a bottle and being drunk for a whole 2 minutes before he was completely sober. At one point, Candelaria said he was an alcoholic, as the shipments of alcohol would come by his manor door. She kept him company as he drank, as he wallowed in self-pity and depression for decades and decades until one day, in the middle of the night, she visited him, and he realized it wasn't her, but her soul. Daniel had cried that day; he had cried and broken every single bottle of Bourbon against the wall as he screamed, and then he had decided that he would not love a single creature until time decided he was worthy of passing through. He just didn't expect he'd have to go after it himself. return

act II

Autumn was in pain.
He figured it was the judgment of time. The punishment he deserved for loving something so fragile and bringing his mother's wrath.
As millennia went by, Autumn chose an alias, Daniel.
And Daniel... Yeah, Daniel wanted to die.
He had tried to die over and over and over again. Each time, he'd find himself alive. With no soul, there was no path to the afterlife for him; he was stuck right at the entrance of the veil he guided souls to, never allowed past that point. Millennia of trying made him bitter, angry, and frustrated. Jumping off a mountain? He'd feel the pain of the tumbling, rolling fall, but when his eyes waited for impact, he'd find himself atop the mountain, throbbing pain still echoing, but alive and well. When the modern days came around, he'd try pills, choking on them as he overdosed, and then woke up hours later with vomit on him and a burning in his throat, again, alive and well. Gunshot to the head? The bullet would lodge in his temple. Stabbing? It would go through, he would bleed, he would feel the pain, but the cut would heal in a matter of minutes.
He tried decapitation once, but the blade stuck to his neck as if it were made of iron.
It was ironically cruel. Death could not die, and yet he yearned for it in a way that was almost all he could live for. For dying.
Time had made him a nihilist. There was no point to anything. No point in friendships, even the immortal creatures somehow found a way to die, and he was left alone.
Being death himself was filled with more cons than pros; alcohol was the closest thing to inebriation he could find, drinking a bottle and being drunk for a whole 2 minutes before he was completely sober. At one point, Candelaria said he was an alcoholic, as the shipments of alcohol would come by his manor door. She kept him company as he drank, as he wallowed in self-pity and depression for decades and decades until one day, in the middle of the night, she visited him, and he realized it wasn't her, but her soul.
Daniel had cried that day; he had cried and broken every single bottle of Bourbon against the wall as he screamed, and then he had decided that he would not love a single creature until time decided he was worthy of passing through.
He just didn't expect he'd have to go after it himself.

return

the tale of autumn
excerpt i── in the tale of autumn; kamadeva mocked him quietly, sitting in the corner of the room, on a worn down, red velvet armchair as the fireplace casted shadows on the walls. it would loom over him, the laughter, licking at his cheek, one side, then the other. and he'd look away. ashamed. knees pressed to the floor in front of the god, trembling fingers pressing against the dirty carpet. "please..." he begged again, quiet, contained despite the edge to his syllables. "just take it away from me." a hush, a secret kept in too long. as if speaking it out loud again would crumble the world around him. but the god quirked a brow, leaning forward, pride at the tip of his nose and beauty. "you've already knelt, but i'm not yet satisfied." his voice kissed at the ears. "you want me to take it away..." "yes." a breath. "but what is a life without love, and desire? is it a life at all?" kamadeva stood, a step and then the other, placing a hand on the top of his head. "i could free you from the anguish of longing, king of unbecoming." and he shuddered, eyes going blank as the pieces of his cracked, collected memory flashed behind his lids, the same ones he lived repeatedly in his anguished dreams. always a feeling, never a face. again and again, agony and grief suffocating him. the god furrowed his brows as he witnessed it, intruding in what tormented the other for millennia. "what a shame. to have loved so devotedly and yet, not remember who or why." when he removed his hand, death slacked to the floor, a heaving breath of torture ripping through. "take it away... take it away." he repeated in whispered agony, hand clutching at his chest, for air, for a sliver of peace. "i will not, yama." the god laughed again, forced, faked, nervous. "i fear your mother more than i fear you." hopelessness invited itself into the room as kamadeva vacated it. his forehead pressed to the carpet in defeat, heaving with his jaw set tight and he allowed it into his chest until it swallowed him whole. ──────────── excerpt ii── in the tale of autumn; he would call to galateia as the calm waves dared kiss at his bare feet, as if she asked for his forgiveness, as if he had any to spare. she wouldn't dare speak his name, a stranger to wrath, unready to be acquainted. the story went that no being could tell when the goddess wept, yet the king of unbecoming wiped her tears with the wind of early fall, she could almost hear him then, as the scent of rotting leaves, of earth danced under her nose. "my friend." she imagined it to be a confession at times, hoped for it, would renounced her divinity for the attempt at prayer. "love me, love me, love me." she'd chant too far from shore, far enough to be safe, not close enough for him to understand why she betrayed him. "where is it." he'd ask again, as he had, every day for millennia. each time the words lost their edge of compassion, of the kindness he once yielded. "i do not know." she would always answer, and it would always be true, and a lie. she had drown for the very first time, she learned what sorrow felt like as it flooded her lungs, spilled down her chin, witnessing him love someone, something, that was not her. aurora's call had been too finite for her heartache to forgo. and what would he take today in exchange for what she had done? in exchange for her aid in stealing his essence, erasing his color, his lover, his mind? nothing had hurt more than the eyes that did not remember her as anything other than a story, told by someone else. and this time he left with empty pockets, nothing in exchange. instead, he left her with a silent bite against the sea air if she reached to touch it, something that said "this will be the last time." she could not mourn him a third time, in love, in life, but not in death. ──────────── excerpt iii── In the bite of winter, where the wind whips uninvitingly against a hearing ear, the snow deceives with softness and invites curiosity into touch, only for it to rot at fingertips. At the peak of a seaside rocky mountain, where the seasons are unfriendly, and the moss too dark to blossom, stands a shadow overlooking the crashing, angry waves as they try to reach. Eyes cast down in judgment, unamused at the tantrum these waters throw, even as the sea water splashes high enough to caress his skin, he turns away, and the dark, graying water coils back in, disappointed. If you paid enough attention, you'd hear the scream beyond the horizon, somewhere where your eye would not meet land, and he's paid close enough attention to discern what it screamed for. But he was unforgiving, the rumbling, thunderous clouds casting a shadow down the bridge of his nose. He looked down as if there were never a time he pitied it. The Sea. Now there was a void where affection once lay, nothing to offer, nothing to take. Just a mere obligation as he waited, becoming impatient. His hands rest in his long black overcoat, thick and heavy as it hangs from his body. A foggy, visibly breath leaves his pinking lips from the cold air, hair flying as the wind — Aura, played with his hair. He could almost hear her giggle flying around, a taunting play at seduction that would go by ignored. "Enough." His voice rang through the space, vibrating the snow-littered earth and sending the winter critters and creatures that lived in the dense forest behind him into hiding. A demand from him was not to be ignored by any being, deity, or supernatural being, for he had a claim over what was being kept from him. There would be no more stalling. "Give it to me." The earth shook, the waves growing in size, in violence, in stubborn desperation, but it could not deny Death. The woman appeared at his side, soaked and dripping as her gaze stuck to the horizon. He turned to meet her, this time patient, waiting. When she shuddered in cold, he lifted his hand, swiping at the air slowly, and she was dry, warm, as if only where she stood, spring could exist around her. Her eyes met him then, a grateful smile on her lips. "I thought she wasn't going to let me go." Her voice whispered, testing if she could speak at all. Her blond hair stood still, the taunting wind unable to reach her. "Is it time to go?" The human soul asked, a strain to her voice. "Yes, yes it is." return

the tale of autumn

excerpt i──
in the tale of autumn;
kamadeva mocked him quietly, sitting in the corner of the room, on a worn down, red velvet armchair as the fireplace casted shadows on the walls. it would loom over him, the laughter, licking at his cheek, one side, then the other.

and he'd look away. ashamed. knees pressed to the floor in front of the god, trembling fingers pressing against the dirty carpet. "please..." he begged again, quiet, contained despite the edge to his syllables. "just take it away from me." a hush, a secret kept in too long.

as if speaking it out loud again would crumble the world around him. but the god quirked a brow, leaning forward, pride at the tip of his nose and beauty. "you've already knelt, but i'm not yet satisfied." his voice kissed at the ears. "you want me to take it away..."

"yes." a breath. "but what is a life without love, and desire? is it a life at all?" kamadeva stood, a step and then the other, placing a hand on the top of his head. "i could free you from the anguish of longing, king of unbecoming."

and he shuddered, eyes going blank as the pieces of his cracked, collected memory flashed behind his lids, the same ones he lived repeatedly in his anguished dreams. always a feeling, never a face. again and again, agony and grief suffocating him.

the god furrowed his brows as he witnessed it, intruding in what tormented the other for millennia. "what a shame. to have loved so devotedly and yet, not remember who or why." when he removed his hand, death slacked to the floor, a heaving breath of torture ripping through.

"take it away... take it away." he repeated in whispered agony, hand clutching at his chest, for air, for a sliver of peace. "i will not, yama." the god laughed again, forced, faked, nervous. "i fear your mother more than i fear you."

hopelessness invited itself into the room as kamadeva vacated it. his forehead pressed to the carpet in defeat, heaving with his jaw set tight and he allowed it into his chest until it swallowed him whole.

────────────

excerpt ii──
in the tale of autumn;
he would call to galateia as the calm waves dared kiss at his bare feet, as if she asked for his forgiveness, as if he had any to spare. she wouldn't dare speak his name, a stranger to wrath, unready to be acquainted.

the story went that no being could tell when the goddess wept, yet the king of unbecoming wiped her tears with the wind of early fall, she could almost hear him then, as the scent of rotting leaves, of earth danced under her nose. "my friend."

she imagined it to be a confession at times, hoped for it, would renounced her divinity for the attempt at prayer. "love me, love me, love me." she'd chant too far from shore, far enough to be safe, not close enough for him to understand why she betrayed him.

"where is it." he'd ask again, as he had, every day for millennia. each time the words lost their edge of compassion, of the kindness he once yielded. "i do not know." she would always answer, and it would always be true, and a lie.

she had drown for the very first time, she learned what sorrow felt like as it flooded her lungs, spilled down her chin, witnessing him love someone, something, that was not her. aurora's call had been too finite for her heartache to forgo.

and what would he take today in exchange for what she had done? in exchange for her aid in stealing his essence, erasing his color, his lover, his mind? nothing had hurt more than the eyes that did not remember her as anything other than a story, told by someone else.

and this time he left with empty pockets, nothing in exchange. instead, he left her with a silent bite against the sea air if she reached to touch it, something that said "this will be the last time." she could not mourn him a third time, in love, in life, but not in death.

────────────

excerpt iii──
In the bite of winter, where the wind whips uninvitingly against a hearing ear, the snow deceives with softness and invites curiosity into touch, only for it to rot at fingertips. At the peak of a seaside rocky mountain, where the seasons are unfriendly, and the moss too dark to blossom, stands a shadow overlooking the crashing, angry waves as they try to reach. Eyes cast down in judgment, unamused at the tantrum these waters throw, even as the sea water splashes high enough to caress his skin, he turns away, and the dark, graying water coils back in, disappointed. If you paid enough attention, you'd hear the scream beyond the horizon, somewhere where your eye would not meet land, and he's paid close enough attention to discern what it screamed for. But he was unforgiving, the rumbling, thunderous clouds casting a shadow down the bridge of his nose. He looked down as if there were never a time he pitied it. The Sea. Now there was a void where affection once lay, nothing to offer, nothing to take. Just a mere obligation as he waited, becoming impatient.
His hands rest in his long black overcoat, thick and heavy as it hangs from his body. A foggy, visibly breath leaves his pinking lips from the cold air, hair flying as the wind — Aura, played with his hair. He could almost hear her giggle flying around, a taunting play at seduction that would go by ignored.

"Enough."

His voice rang through the space, vibrating the snow-littered earth and sending the winter critters and creatures that lived in the dense forest behind him into hiding. A demand from him was not to be ignored by any being, deity, or supernatural being, for he had a claim over what was being kept from him. There would be no more stalling.

"Give it to me."

The earth shook, the waves growing in size, in violence, in stubborn desperation, but it could not deny Death. The woman appeared at his side, soaked and dripping as her gaze stuck to the horizon. He turned to meet her, this time patient, waiting. When she shuddered in cold, he lifted his hand, swiping at the air slowly, and she was dry, warm, as if only where she stood, spring could exist around her. Her eyes met him then, a grateful smile on her lips.

"I thought she wasn't going to let me go." Her voice whispered, testing if she could speak at all. Her blond hair stood still, the taunting wind unable to reach her. "Is it time to go?" The human soul asked, a strain to her voice.

"Yes, yes it is."

return

do not
be rude, approach me with intense behavior, unless we know one another. touch me without consent (hugs, cheek kisses, hand holding). this account is sfw unless stated otherwise, does not engange with conent that is not sfw. do not approach me with mean/bully behavior. if you want to speak ill of others or gossip. if you have nothing productive to say, refrain from saying anything at all. last but not least, do not romanticize drug usage.

do not

be rude, approach me with intense behavior, unless we know one another. touch me without consent (hugs, cheek kisses, hand holding). this account is sfw unless stated otherwise, does not engange with conent that is not sfw. do not approach me with mean/bully behavior. if you want to speak ill of others or gossip. if you have nothing productive to say, refrain from saying anything at all. last but not least, do not romanticize drug usage.

dni
if you're under the age of 21 both ic and ooc. if you faceclaim anyone under the age of 21. stan accounts, locals. racists, transphobic, islamophobic, and xenophobic in any way. if your account has heavy themes or if you do not have age in your bio. this account is a roleplay account with the purpose of socialization and creative writing. dni if you god mod, use ai generative content in any way (pictures or writing). do not interact if you're a minor.

dni

if you're under the age of 21 both ic and ooc. if you faceclaim anyone under the age of 21. stan accounts, locals. racists, transphobic, islamophobic, and xenophobic in any way. if your account has heavy themes or if you do not have age in your bio. this account is a roleplay account with the purpose of socialization and creative writing. dni if you god mod, use ai generative content in any way (pictures or writing). do not interact if you're a minor.

to interact
plotting is welcomed. be advised that this character holds heavy themes that revolve around nihilism, melancholy, and the usage of alcohol as escapism. Conversations are strictly IC unless stated otherwise, and casual conversation is welcomed as long as the "do not" criteria is put in place. dms are slow, but more easily answered on discord. there will be times i am active on the timeline but not active in dms, do not pressure me to reply.

to interact

plotting is welcomed. be advised that this character holds heavy themes that revolve around nihilism, melancholy, and the usage of alcohol as escapism. Conversations are strictly IC unless stated otherwise, and casual conversation is welcomed as long as the "do not" criteria is put in place. dms are slow, but more easily answered on discord. there will be times i am active on the timeline but not active in dms, do not pressure me to reply.

writer
writer was born in 1993. brazilian-american, timezone is GMT-3. she/her ooc. works in the music industry as a songwriter. a libra sun, taurus moon and rising. infp-t personality type. but can be extroverted at times. reader, music lover, and does not mind mentioning ooc topics if not too intimate. movie and anime lover. tattoo enthusiast, addicted to nicotine, coffee, and cherry-flavored anything. private account is a mixture of ooc and ic thoughts. taken ooc.

writer

writer was born in 1993. brazilian-american, timezone is GMT-3. she/her ooc. works in the music industry as a songwriter. a libra sun, taurus moon and rising. infp-t personality type. but can be extroverted at times. reader, music lover, and does not mind mentioning ooc topics if not too intimate. movie and anime lover. tattoo enthusiast, addicted to nicotine, coffee, and cherry-flavored anything. private account is a mixture of ooc and ic thoughts. taken ooc.