Morita ((Preservation from Umbral GuildPortal))

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Morita ((Preservation from Umbral GuildPortal))

Post by Vivimord » Mon Nov 30, 2015 6:18 am

((Originally posted by Morita.))

((Where did that lady go anyways?))

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night,

Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,

Some are born to endless night.


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I just want to hold you a moment. I just want to touch you a little. That delicate blue vein, soft downy skin; vital and viable. I just want to caress you a bit; just a little bit. I just want to embrace you a little. I just want to comfort you a little. I just want to hold you tight! – like this. I want to measure my skeleton against your arms. Strong healthy arms, aren’t they? I just want to kiss you a moment, or two – your lips, your throat. I just want to poke my tongue in your ear. Don’t laugh! Don’t squirm! This is serious! This is the real thing! I just want to taste you a little. I just want to suck a little. You’ll be hurt if you keep straining away like that, if you keep exaggerating. It won’t hurt if you don’t scream. I just want to bite a little. I just want a taste of it. Your saliva, your blood. Just a taste. You’ve got plenty to spare. You’re being selfish. You’re being ridiculous. You’re being absurd. You’re being cruel and unfair. You’re hysterical! Stop provoking me. You’re laughing at me! You want to make a fool of me. You want to gut me like a chicken! You want to make me fight for my life - is that it?

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A long time ago when she was a girl she lay in secret with a picture of the great General Marcus Jonathan cut from a poster stealthily acquired on a family trip to Stormwind smoothed carefully on the pillow beside her head. Now she lies awake past midnight, past one in the morning, staring at a very actual, tangible face lying only inches away. He isn’t General Marcus, but this dosn’t bother her for a moment. She watches his warm flushed skin and bruised look of his mouth, the quivering eyelashes, eyes lidded with secrets. What are you thinking, my dearest?


No reply comes, the man is lost in a deep sleep and his thoughts are his alone. She isn’t bothered by this impermeable repose, she knows enough to feel reassured and comfortable. She knows that the disorderly tussle of his regularly neat appearance that evening is her doing alone. She knows that her smell alone lingers on his vivid skin, he won’t wash it off until morning, so many hours away. She knows that when his fragile eye lids rose again, he’ll regard her with the same adoration and desire his eyes had held when they closed that evening. You’re mine.

“You’re the most exquisitely beautifully alluring creature I’ve ever met.” he’d say.

“I know.” she’d reply. “That’s why I love you.” Then they’d both laugh.

She smiled fondly. Their meeting had been a happy bout of luck. He’d come to her in the mid-morning, right to her house. Long limbed and husky, hair the colour of hot spices, with a narrow head, a low boney brow, and rapt feral eyes set deep below the brow. The eyes were intelligent but quick-darting, watchful. She’d later determine his name to be Thadius – an “ancestrial” name of his mother’s choice that he’d never liked. Thadius had been standing right in her garden. What are you doing here, stranger?


He’d been there to ravage her lovely rows of plaguebloom, and she’d watch him carefully - too fearful to approach. Though, as he gathered his prizes and stood to walk away, she’d realized that the notion of his departure was far more daunting. She cautiously drew her black silk scarf up around the lower part of her face and turned up her collar before pursuing the retreating figure swiftly down the path and boldly reaching out with a clawed finger to barely graze it’s shoulder. He had turned and embraced her immediately. Never leave me.
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Re: Morita ((Preservation from Umbral GuildPortal))

Post by Vivimord » Mon Nov 30, 2015 6:19 am

((Originally posted by Morita.))

((More-rita))

He’s hidden himself from me! I can’t find him, I don’t know what to do, I can’t be expected to bear this alone! He’s hiding from me! It’s one of his cruel games! I can’t let anyone know.

This isn’t the first time he’s played this cruel trick on her, but she’s always been able to find him in the past, or, if she hasn’t he’s always returned, always so innocent-seeming, so astonished by her distress.

I know he’s here, he’s here but he’s gone, he’s lost and can’t find his way back, oh what can I do?

She makes an effort to wipe her eyes and clear her thoughts. Her faced is suffused with a darker than natural blood colour, her cheeks, her moist lips, she looks almost youthful speaking rapidly, accusingly, clutching things for balance. She’s wearing an ill-fitting linen robe, ankle length, unevenly buttoned to the neck, that gives her the appearance of a doll upended; her hair, usually so fastidiously arranged, is flatter on one side of her head than the other.

How long has he been missing now? He isn’t missing, not to himself he isn’t he’s in hiding, that’s the kind of man he is. Yesterday morning, it was yesterday morning after he was up so early prowling and bumping against things in the dark, having to use the bathroom so often and lighting a candle and scaring the life out of me and I told him, I told him please stop, and we had words and he turned his back and walked away on me and I didn’t chase after him. He’s been selfish, how bad-tempered. It’s the principal of his behavior! Hiding from me, hiding from his own mate, vexing me out of spite and cruelty.

She begins to systematically search the house. A ludicrous game of hide-and-seek. Her once strong and virile man has been different as of late. Frailty, forgetfulness, vertigo, amnesia, spells of irrationality and bad-temper, malaise, depression. Then again, strange and alarming spells of childishness, giddiness, inappropriate playfulness. He had been a man of a slightly sardonic, dry-edged dignity, a man of consummate intelligence, but has for some time been behaving like no man she’s known. She tears through the small kitchen; sadly pretentious as a room in a museum which no one visits, the bedroom; adjusting the crooked bedspread, adjusting a pillow, the pillow on his side of the bed. For a moment it seems plausible that he might just be peeking though the bay windows at her, laughing.

Even if he hates me, how could he do this to me? Humiliating me. I can’t be blamed for this, it isn’t fair to blame me. He’s ill, he isn’t himself, he wouldn’t do such a thing if he was himself.


The basement smells of damp earth, something sweet-rancid, earthy. She holds the candle behind each shelf, in each corner, each nook. With a trembling hand she shines the light into the farthest shadowy recesses, above her, around her, all is silent. Hurrying up the stairs she turns her ankle on the top step and winces with pain.

Do I hear him outside? Laughing? That’s him laughing! Isn’t that just like him. He can stay outside all night, if that’s his game! Let him stay outdoors all night! But he’ll freeze…


She puts on her cloak and heads outside. The moon is bright and mocking as a rounded, wondering eye. She begins shining her light through leafless shrubs, trees, patches of grass shimmering with frost, like powdered glass. The rear of her property has gone to shambles, there are dead limbs that need to be pruned from these tall trees, there’s a weedy rectangle that used to be a vegetable garden. Beyond the edge of the property there is a four foot wall of stone; on the other side is a no-man’s land of untended fields and woods. She begins to consider the probability that he’s climbed across this wall where it’s partly collapsed.

Who would know, who would have seen him? Who would find him if he didn’t want to be found? And if he’s sick, if he’s collapsed lying helpless on the ground, how will he be found until daylight? No, he’s not missing. He’s here. That’s him laughing. Hear?


She paces towards the stone wall. Wild bushes have grown over everything, the tiny thorns catch in her clothes and pierce her papery skin. Icy-gritty particles are blowing slantwise against her face. She holds the light to the upright wall, the collapsed sections, the light lingers on what appears to be a groundhog hole, then moves on. She’s excited, it has something to do with the heightened wind and the laughter that’s inaudible inside it.

The fieldstone wall that once bounded all this property, even in the front, is now badly dilapidated. It looks like a twisted outgrowth of the earth itself, much of it covered in briars and weeds. Some of the loose rocks, sunk in the earth, must weigh over one hundred pounds. Shining the light from rock to rock, steeling herself to see something she isn’t prepared to see even as she prepares herself to see it; a foot, a limp hand, a gleam of his scalp? – nothing. What drew her eye previously is an opening of about a foot across, she searches for a while before she locates it. Here, the collapsed wall seems to have formed a kind of tunnel, a natural shelter; like an animal’s burrow. To enter it, an adult man would have to push, press, wriggle, squeeze like a snake. Yet it could be done. If passion, or desperation were sufficient.

She draws her fingers against the jagged opening, and notices the dried moss there, which looks scrapped.

Thadius? Thadius? … Please, Thadius?


Suddenly she looses control, she’s convinced he’s here. She kneels pulling frantic at the rocks that block her way, how heavy these rocks! How savage their resistance! Stuck in the frozen soil, impacted, virtually immovable. Her fingernails break, her fingers are scraped raw.

Thadius, it’s me!


Reaching now inside the opening as far as she can, groping blindly, eyes wild in her face, her hands scrape against something not stone, not inanimate earth , she’s certain, she’s on her hands and knees now pressing as close to the opening as she can, she let the candle burn out, no moon and almost total darkness and sobbing with the effort she feels reaching inside feeling – what is it? – a hand, a foot – something swathed in thick wool – she hears nothing besides her own hoarse, choking breath. She’s leaning harder, and still harder, arm now sunken in to its armpit, fingers blind and outstretched yearning for a touch, a grip, a handclasp.
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Re: Morita ((Preservation from Umbral GuildPortal))

Post by Vivimord » Mon Nov 30, 2015 6:20 am

((Originally posted by Morita.))

Because it was a mercy. Because even the most cruel will sometimes grant mercy.
Because he cried, you do not know how he cried.
Because at such times his face was so twisted and hot, his nose running with mucus, his eyes so hurt.
Because he remembered, because he still knew her name.
Because this summer has gone on so long, and no rain. The heat lightning flashing at night, without thunder.
Because in the silence, at night, the summer insects scream.
Because even by day there are earth-moving abominations operating hour upon hour razing the woods near our home.
Because the red dust gets in our eyes and our mouths.
Because he would whimper in a way that tore my heart.
Because the all of the potions for sale these days are made of nothing more than water and chalky colours. They do nothing for the pain.
Because I loved him more than he ever loved me even from the first when his eyes moved on me like candleflame. Because this was shameful, loving you knowing you would not love me enough.
Because my efforts are now mocked for their inefficacy. Because you will not believe I once held respectable power.
Because my body is misshapen, the pain is always there.
Because I see that it was not his fault and even in that I could not spare him.
Because in the early days we were so happy! So happy I am certain! Lying together on top of that bed with the runecloth bedspread in the narrow jiggly bed hearing the rain on the roof that slanted down so that he had to stoop being so tall with its dark shingles looking always wet was like a lowered brow over the windows like squinty eyes and we would come home together. My eyes would ache because of the dim flicker that no one else can see and I was so happy his arm around my waist and mine around his like any couple, walking home, yes it was home, I thought always it was home. I hear now drumming on this roof but only if I fall asleep during the day with my clothes on so tired so exhausted and when I wake up there is no rain, only the earth moving abominations.
Because this washcloth was in my hand when I saw how it must be.
Because the meager gold that comes in form our excursions is barely enough to afford to maintain our equipment.
Because to this shame he was a witness, he saw.
Because he wasn’t aware, but even so he knew.
Because of that knowledge in eyes that went beyond me in mockery of me.
Because his crying tore my heart but angered me too, so I feared laying hands upon him wild and unplanned.
Because he flinched seeing me. That nerve jumping in his eye.
Because he was hurting himself, he was so clumsy falling and hitting his head against the post and that time in the kitchen whining and in bad temper trying to reach for the dinner pot handle so I lost control slapping him and shaking him by the arm. “Bad!” My voice rising in fury not caring.
Because he wet his pants.
Because it was so easy, because the fading was so gradual.
Because I saw how easy it could be, how he was prevented from screaming, from fighting, weak and submissive.
Because he faded so gradually. Because though he did not love me, he could not escape me.
Because I scorn your charity.
Because I am so tired.
Because he whimpered “Please, don’t. Please.”
Because he flinched from me when there was no cause.
Because looking at me naked now you could show disgust.
Because you were not here to stop me, were you?
Because finally there is no one to stop me.
Because finally there is no one to save me.
Because in the end everyone’s betrayed me.
Because he body is not heavy to carry anymore, as I wrap it up in our runecloth comforter, he remembers that comforter, I know.
Because the bones soaked in his saliva, desperately gnawed will dry to show no sign.
Because to heal there must be forgetfulness and oblivion.
Because he cried when he should not have cried but he did not cry when he should.
Because he did not struggle. And when he did it was too late.
Because I knew I must not panic or worry, and did not.
Because I loved him.

Because I wanted to tell him these things. Just like this.
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