aliasCel, Nightlock
pronounsShe/They
821written posts
offlinecurrently
CEL
Part of the Furniture
i don't get angry when i'm pissed; i'm the eternal optimist.
[attr="class","prismatic"] [attr="class","prismatic-border prism-vertimg6"] [attr="class","prismatic-inner"] [attr="class","prismcol-img6 prism-imgbg6"] [attr="class","prism-imgbox6"] [attr="class","prismcol-body"] [attr="class","prism-textbox"] “I knew you once, didn’t I?”Certainty wraps itself around the corrupted miasma that is Shreya Daradi’s mind, interspersed with a void of memory, blood, and depravity. The sight of the tiefling means something, she’s sure of it, and she wouldn’t have gone searching for him in all of Baldur’s Gate if it didn’t mean something. He lets out a hoarse laugh, and with it, she hears the sickening sound of a man who didn’t want to be found. What did she do to you?
Who were you to me?
Why was it your form in my dreams? “You really don’t remember me, sweetheart? I can’t tell if that’s a blessing or not, actually.” He pauses, looks at her again, considering, then sighs. “Shit.”Somewhere in what is left of her heart, Shreya feels it break all over again. “Guessing you won’t let me go if I don’t give you an answer?”He must know her well, then. She doesn’t say anything, but the tiefling must consider it enough sign. With one final glance her way, he nods toward an open table. Shreya follows, of course, and waves the rest of her companions away. They don’t need to see this part of her history. Whatever it happened to be. “It’s unfair, y’know, Shrey. All this time and backstory, and you still look so goddamn beautiful.” The tiefling — Vallech, she remembers him mention his name was — says, staring at her like he’s looking at a corpse. Or the possession of one. She may as well be. “That’s really the first thing you say to me?” The half-drow asks, raising a brow, and he nearly laughs. It still sounds wrong to her ears. "Mhmmm, fair point. Right then. How do I start?" For a moment, his voice drifts away, before... “We were nearly married. Had the wedding date and everything. You were fire, brimstone, and astonishingly good-looking in uniform. I had all my roguish charms you couldn’t resist, and was the one who couldn’t help but adore everything I saw about you.”This sounds like a sad story. Shreya wonders if she would be happier running away now, rather than hearing the conclusion. “I guess we didn’t end well?”Vallech nods, somber, uncharacteristic from what she can glean of him. A funeral march must be kinder than knowing. “I left, beloved,” he says, a statement. “Don’t know if you waited for me at the altar.”That’s — “Why did you leave?”Despite the question, she thinks she knows. Even now, the urge to slam her lips against his and draw the blood from his throat with her fingernails sets all her senses aflame. She wants so many things, in the sound of his voice. To hear him love her again, to hear him whimper, to hear his dying breath. He laughs, an elegy onto itself, and it explains more than every single word he has managed to say yet. “It’d probably sound prettier if I said I was scared of the commitment, yeah? Or that I had some kind of, I don’t know, glorious mission I needed to uphold. Maybe I found god, thought celibacy was for me instead, and joined the convent.”He’s stalling. “Tell me the truth, Vallech.”“Right-o, ma’am. Shrey. Sorry.” He rubs the back of his head awkwardly, and Shreya wonders if this is his attempt at kindness, once more. Or fear. It must be the latter. “Because the thought of a lifetime with you terrified me more than the thought of a lifetime without you,” Vallech finally answers, grief on his lips. It is so deeply felt, along the way he stares at his hands. In the gesture, Shreya thinks she can understand why she loved him, and why that wouldn’t have been enough. Somehow, even if she can’t remember anything about him or who she was with him, it still hurts as badly as a spear through her chest. It is a torrent of understanding, louder than the urge, and the need for something — for him to bleed, for her to repent the Father’s forgiveness, for her to just save them both the misery and grab the knife. A win-win situation, sacrifice for the Father in the same gesture as her freedom, absolute. “I’m sorry,” is all she can say instead. “Yeah, I had a feeling you’d say that,” he replies, and sighs again. “I am too.”But he shakes his head, looks at his boots, and pushes himself out the table before looking to her again. "But we can't change the people we were, yeah? Only thing to do is be here now."[attr="class","prism-meta"] [attr="class","prism-notes"]prompt - 3, beloved | yet another pair of npcs from a campaign i dm-ed for my rl friends, this time in dnd, with the added bonus of me getting too attached to them that i made one of them my dark urge playthrough in bg3 and hc'ed a way to keep their dynamic in her backstory. the image isn't rlly an fc since i don't have art of her, but it is someone's durge and it feels thematic [attr="class","prism-tags"] CEL [attr="class","credits"]made by gimmick[googlefont="Assistant:400,700"][googlefont="PT Serif:400,700"]
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last edit on Jun 30, 2024 17:11:52 GMT by CEL
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