Valo watched the transformation within his friend, with tear filled eyes. A deep horror manifesting within him. And what perhaps hurt him more than the ordeal, more then his own fear, was the resection on his friend's behalf. The very rejection of him, of Valo. Was he really that disgusting a man to be discarded so cruelly? Did he bring that much misery upon Corneliun? The feeling, like a million knifes that have been thrust though his heart at admirable a velocity, had established it's ascendency over the artist. It paralysed him, brought him to the very edge. The threshold where even he would shed tears.
That paralysis had not lasted for long for alas Corneliun's response was that of flight. An explosion of movement that startled the naked artist, sending him over the edge of the bead and thudding against the floor with great an impact. A painful whimper upon his lips as his mind strived to gather the shattered pieces. A whimper which Corneliun would have heard just as he grasped for the door knob and fled into the space beyond. Alone was Valo. Alone in his misery and his pain.
He lay there for a moment, surges of pain pulsating within his head, not only from hangover but also from the impact against the floor. Painful it was, at that. Eyes wide open. Mind not quite comprehending the situation. As if they were angelic shrouds, the sheets wound themselves around him, somehow missing the parts of the man which sought mostly to be covered up. Motionless. The air settled into silence in his solitude. A reluctance to even acknowledge that despite his current emotion, time was still ticking. It had no curtsy to half so that the artist would revel in this moment of misery for eternity. Time still carried on mercilessly, spitting upon the puddle of a fool on the floor, molten in his shame, tears snaking down the sides of his face. How had he ended up in this? Perhaps the visit to Ahnatep was his life's single worst mistake.
Alas, after what was perhaps an impossible length of time, dragged out mercilessly; sluggishly had the artist rolled over onto his side. Arms clenching over his head, feeling for signs of blood. And when no such moist warmth was found, he shifted further from the pathetic foetal position into what was only more pitiful horizontal one. Curled up in his anguish. Forehead pressed against the cold floor which soothed him a little, if only just. The inability to rise for the paint in his head seemed to tear him apart. There he lingered, whimpering quietly, crying, wholly and properly crying a river of black tears. He had not allowed him self to cry like this every since he was a young child. But much like a child, now he cried, swallowing the tears, choking upon them as if there was no stopping to this. Silently he wept until his hair became dampened with the salty moisture and the pain finally subsided and he was able to lift his forehead from the floor and look about himself. Briefly study the interior environment within which he was no longer welcome.
He must have looked like the very physical manifestation of the meaning of the word pitiful. Sitting on the floor, shrouded in bed sheets, hunched over in helplessness, arms loitering in surrender, looking about him self like a blind man. Hair dampened into thin crimson threads about his reddened feature. Shadows beneath his eyes that, as far as this was possible in human terms, could render his appearance that of a dead man, so deep they were and so pale he was. A former shadow of his elegant and beautiful self. A man of glass, now shattered upon the floor, unable to gather himself up.
In may aspect Valo was the very representation of feminine, having grown up around moment with no male role model and very few male friends. He felt so passionately that often his hart would burst with emotion. Felt so profoundly and concerned him self with more than his fragile self could handle.
He brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them in a tight cocoon within which to immerse himself. Never again would he be able to look Corneliun in the eyes. Too much shame had been thrust upon him with such devout cruelty, too much bad air between them now. In fact he wished never to even see the man again, never to speak to him, with nothing but the painful memories of how terribly their wonderful friendship had ended at his own hand. An armageddon of his own making. And as time rolled of, there was nothing left for the artist to do but to make himself scarce thus having dressed himself and gathered his belonging, Valo finally slung the bow over his shoulder and took one last moment to absorb what it was that was left of their bond. Valo and Corneliun, to be no longer.
With regret in his eyes, the artist glanced at the rocks, the shutters, the disorderly bed where he'd remember laying his lips upon those of his dear friend. Forever would he remember that soft sensation, that strange pleasure within the act. It was so unlike kissing just any woman and with the abrupt banishing of such thought, Valo found him self wishing that he could to it once more. If only one. But to be able to embrace the man and kiss him. A surge, a need almost to do so. Thus, with utmost determination he cast the thought to the wind but somehow, though no fault of his own, it clawed back into his mind. And every time he would throw it out, it returned like the mongrel stray dog who had been fed once thus clambered with desperation upon the gates on salvation in hope for yet another meal. How he detested his own mind sometimes. How he cursed his inability to control it.
Valo took a couple of deep breaths. Each time inhaling with the elevation of his stomach rather than his rib cage. That is how he breathed during meditation and that precise tidal breath is what brought him calm and clarity when he needed it. A salvation of his own. And each time he exhaled, the air would be expelled from his lung with utmost gentleness. And with each breath his mind would clear and his composure returned, even if a solemn. He needed this, a self induced drug, to get him though the next few steps. For his greatest phantom lingered just outside the door and facing him one last time would be the most difficult thing Valo would ever do.
Summoning the entirety of his inner strength, the artist finally twirled the door knob. A moment of pause. He pushed on the wood and groggily, ever so groggily, it swung ajar with a painful moan. Beyond was the light of dawn upon the dishevelled artist and the ball at his feet which was Corneliun.
Ah how Valo wanted so simply carry on. To simply place one foot in front of another until these steps carried him far away from all this. Fate however had other plans in store and perhaps the artist had completely lost control over his own body and partially his mind, but he towered above the half blood, blocking out the sun. For moments he lingered there in silence, surrendering to some invisible puppeteer that pulled his string, until the bag from his shoulder dropped into the dirt and he swallower hard.
The next motion was not thought out, for Valo would have never believed he was indeed capable of such conduct. Yet somehow he was powerless. Silent and powerless. The previous fear, the pain of rejection swept over him. In fact all thought was swept from his until his mind was indeed void of thought. Thoughtless. Jaded by a sudden craving which was too elaborate to control. And in seconds he crouched to Corneliun's level and his hands ceased the man's face, forcing hi to look up into Valo's eyes. But those green emeralds were not the precious sparkling ones that gazed upon the half blood with such adoration, or the jubilant ones of the drunken fool, or the muted ones of broken doll Valo. These were something else all together. A predatory gleam, a stern one as his pin sharp gaze penetrated those amber ones which belonged to his shattered friend. If there was at all a moment when he could have stopped himself, that was right then. But stop he did not.
Holding Corneliun's face firmly, Valo's lips met his for only a frayed moment. Just one more kiss before parting.
In an instant that was all over and the artist recoiled, snatching up his things at once and taking a fair few steps from Corneliun. The distance, a gaping hole, growing wider by the chime. The expression on his face solemn, intricate patterns of blood red veins sprouted from the corners of his eyes but no tear was shed. He merely trembled subtly but with that final last look he turned his back on the friend he once had. A wish to now escape him self.
