OOC:
I was listening to this song and it inspired the thread idea~ so listen to it, it is preeettties
Jar of Hearts- Christina Perri
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~*~*~*~*~*~*~As she clutched onto her jar of hearts, she felt the faint fragments of his life burning within. She could still feel his heat, still feel his eyes, his lips, seeing his face seeking her out, full of hope and love. She tried to warn him, but he persisted, moving in, giving chase and letting himself open up to her. She, begrudgingly did the same. Their first kiss was shared beneath the blossoms of a weeping cherry, pink petals scattering like snow. And that was all it took. Their time had been short, their time had been sweet, his face soft and inviting. And she could feel it, the breath coming out, the soul sucking within, gathering inside her lips, then collecting back to her jar. And as his green eyes opened to her, she watched as he smiled, his life spiriting away. He couldn't draw back, he couldn't run away, but he appeared unphased, only smiling as his hand held onto hers. He gently squeezed it, as if telling her it would be ok. And the last thing he would see would be her face, the tears beginning to form before the cold grip of death had become him.
And Samrin, the guardian of the rivers, child of the lesser Gods, died; having fallen prey to a foolish game that had started long before his birth. And there he lay, golden hair splayed around his head as she held him, sobbing against his lifeless form, his soul never to return. And from the shadows came a dark wind that passed, one carrying and cutting through the end of the summer sun. Autumn would come, the grasses already turning to the color of ash upon his death, and the snows would fall early that year, the crops would die, the mice would feed, and the lice would thrive.
It was how it was to be, it was her destiny. She let herself fall too easily. He had been warm, soft and sweet. He had loved her. And now she felt worthless and empty, once again incomplete. Picking up his body she clutched him close, giving him one last kiss goodbye, before resting his corpse in the stream. The river would carry him far away, to a place where his real body could rest, while his soul was in her jar of hearts.
Turning around, she paused at the sight of the mutated figure of the witch, Mahtaht. The woman was tall, but her body was immortal, though not ageless as she was twisted over, body so wrinkled and leathered from age, her skin and smell putrid and dark. Even her hair was nearly falling out, and the patches that remained poking out from beneath the hood of her tattered cloak were ratty, and gnarled with thick, untamable knots. Her body was shaking as she grinned and moved forward, her old bare feet scraping against the dirt beside the dying river reeds.
"Well done my child, well done." And her eyes lit up at the sight of the glowing jar. For even she could feel the powerful life force within, so young, so pure, so innocent- it had been so full of love.
Megrin turned away, shame faced and empty. She hugged one arm around herself, letting her gaze follow back over to the stream, to where Samrin had once been, now he was just an empty dream.
"Come, pick the jar up and we can go home. Master will be pleased."
Megrin grit her teeth. The witch couldn't touch the souls, only Megrin could. She was the vessel, the controller, the handler of the jar. She flinched, recalling what she had done, tears still burning on the inside, but she refused to cry in front of the witch. More tears would come later. Her own heart was dying. So as she turned around to lift up the jar, the river world around them, which had been dying and fading away, turning into autumn waste, suddenly began to perk up, as if hope was coming from the faint humming of a silent song. Even she could feel it, a warmth rekindling inside her heart, tickling her and making her flinch, dropping the jar as the lid spilled open and she fell against a tree, a tree of which groaned beneath her touch and began to glow gold under her finger tips. It was too late in the season for apples, but as she peered up, she was surprised to see the apples all began to grow.
Mahtaht had watched the exchange with wonder, before something registered within. She snatched onto Megrin's arm sharply. "You kept some of his soul!"s he hissed, baring the remains of her rotting teeth. "The master will hate you, punish you. It is to all be his!" she shook Megrin's arm, but Megrin didn't care, didn't listen, all Megrin could do was stare up at the apples and their blooms. Samrin.. somehow he was still alive, she could almost feel it, and smiled sadly at the notion before picking up her jar of hearts.
Though despite the warnings from Mahtaht, the Lord of Souls was pleased. Ahk-meht had acquired a great power, one that would help open a gateway to the world of the gods. Since the beginning of time, the Lords in waiting, the lords of time, the lords of darkness, all of them felt scorned. To have the Gods sit so righteously, while their demon brethren fell. Ahk-meht held a deep sense of loathing, even since then, and that had been eons ago. Now with a woman, his tool, his vessel, he was nearing a time to champion over them; opening a gateway, to a war, to the blood shed and fall of the Gods.
Megrin cared little for this. Her own soul was already damned, even as her Lord held a magnificent ball in the underworld, inviting all those of the dark to play. He was relishing the moment, to have a young god's soul! The ball was held in his lair, a twisting cavernous world beneath the ground, as if in the very bowels of Hell itself. And as everyone was there at the party, laughing and carrying on, sucking souls and sucking blood, Megrin found herself in her tattered violet dress all alone, walking away, her eyes sad and distant, her body wilting as if in defeat. She had no more strength left to want to go on. With each soul she stole, a part of her was broken away, and now she felt completely empty.
None of it mattered anyway. She was a toy, a woman only fit to play. What was another love? What was another dream? She pushed aside a black gossamer clothe, one that separated the main manor in the cavern from something quieter and more dark. And bare foot she walked, hand slipping across the rocks. Her legs felt weak and she felt tired, but still, she pressed onward, fingers clutching onto her dress.
Her shadows danced and stretched, growing tall against a far wall, while gold serpentile pyres held fires between their teeth, and cages aligned the ceiling with bones and decaying meat. But none of that seemed to matter, as she walked on, walked alone, pausing just beside another gossamer clothe door, wishing she had a chance to dream.