Cutting Off [Solo]

[Seven Xu]

"Spilt blood cries out to me. It speaks of life and death. It sings of sins and blessings. Every drop is precious, but not all cries are holy." Spring 85, 511 AV A gasp pulled Seven out of a deep sleep and he rolled over onto his back, kicking off thin blankets and exhaling in an exasperated sigh. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat and was panting, a particularly alarming dream that was quickly fading from his short-term memory had jolted him out of his slumber. It wasn't the first time it had happened recently. At least once a week since he had settled in Syliras, night terrors had interrupted his sleep and left him exhausted the next morning. Seven's hands lifted to his sticky forehead and he brushed back damp bangs before sitting up, resting tired arms on slightly bent knees and staring at the dying embers in his hearth. It was getting too warm at night to be lighting fires, he decided, flipping his pillow and pulling off the cotton shirt he was wearing. The shirt was tossed carelessly onto the floor before Seven collapsed again, laying on his back with arms folded behind his head, stern gaze focusing on the ceiling. His breathing had slowed as panic and the memory of whatever had startled him abated. While it was nearly pitch black in the apartment save for the orange-red glow of coals in the hearth, the half-blood could examine heavy wooden rafters above him quite clearly. A mouse ran across one beam and escaped through the tiny hole in the roof that would otherwise let in a bit of moonlight with the relatively fresh air had the sky not been completely clouded over. "It's too petching humid here," Seven hissed at the unimposing ceiling, rolling over onto his side and allowing one arm to dangle off of the side of his single bed to touch the moderately cooler floor. Sheets peeled off of his sweat-moistened back and he pushed blankets further off of his pale body with his feet. In the company of others, Seven maintained his polite facade although when he was left on his own there was no need for such etiquette. It wasn't likely he was going to get back to sleep any time soon by the feeling of how easily his eyes stayed open, and how difficult it was to keep them closed. "Now what do I do." the teen grumbled, cheek pressed against the soft pillow. A moment's pause, then a hand slid from his stomach downward to pick thoughtfully at the waistband of his boxers before pushing far enough to reach a cropped hairline. A barely audible moan escaped his dry lips before he yanked his hand away, wrinkling his nose. No. Seven cursed himself, shifting and finally settling on his stomach, warm air breaking cool over the sweat on his back. Bloody pervert. Sleeping was hard, but the slow realization that he did not want to be alone anymore was harder. I'm not really alone, he reminded himself. But something certainly is missing. Moments passed and Seven forced his thoughts to drift towards his family back in Lhavit. Did they miss him? He had been gone for ... nearly three seasons now, a birthday, and Lhavit's breathtaking season celebrations had passed in his absence. A hand reached back to rub the crimson crown on his shoulder and he finally managed to close his eyes for a significant few seconds.

[Seven Xu]

Sleep remained to be an unreachable goal as Seven spent the next twenty chimes tossing and turning in his small bed before finally, defeated, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood to cross the cool hardwood floor barefoot. Silent steps found him at the squat wooden table where the only two books he owned laid open, pages exactly where he had left them days ago. "Ah," Seven wrinkled his nose as he guided himself into a chair and ran his hands over the paper of The Viratassa in front of him. Humidity had ravaged the book's pages leaving the majority of the parchment slightly wrinkled, and the book wouldn't close properly. "I'm so careless." The albino chastised himself as he flipped to the back cover and ran his fingers along the paper that was peeling from the taught leather. That isn't right. Seven arced a brow, index finger sliding along the spine of the book. The peeling parchment in question did not appear to be attached to the spine at all. In fact, as Seven's prying finger slid easily beneath the sheet, it looked to be glued on long after the book had been published. Humidity had pried the page loose, and with a bit of gentle coaxing Seven managed to peel it off completely. As he removed the addition, Seven noticed a neatly folded envelope hidden in his book. With a final tug of the foreign paper, weak glue gave way and the envelope slipped off of the leather bound tome, floating safely to the floor. Seven. The letters jumped off of the page and sent a chill down Seven's spine. That was his name written in coal black ink on the envelope. Leaning over, Seven stretched his arm forward and grasped the envelope between his thumb and index finger, lifting it off of the floor and setting it down gingerly on the table as if it were profoundly fragile. That was definitely his name. Plucking it up after a moment's thought, Seven turned the envelope over between his pale, trembling fingers. It was closed in wax with Lhavit's seal. His heart thumping in his chest and blood rushing feverishly through his ears were the only sounds Seven could hear as he broke the seal and removed a neatly folded letter. The paper was thin, a bit wrinkled, and ink had bled through to the other side. Unfurling the palm-sized letter, Seven's pupils grew large as he deciphered Lhavitian script he immediately knew belonged to his father's hand. Seven, By the time you read this I pray you have gotten far along enough on your journey that you cannot simply turn around and run back to the mountains. You deserve better than Lhavit, son, and while your sisters and I will miss you immensely, I had to ensure that you flourished and made the best of what you have been given. That being said, there are some things you need to know. Things I kept from you, things that eventually pulled us apart - and for that I will never be able to apologize enough. Your forgiveness is something that I can merely beg for. Your mother's name was Nesyria Plicata. She was a Symenestra-Human half-blood from Kalinor. I was married - to your step-mother - when I met her. Three seasons after a night of passion, you entered our world. Nesyria loved you, Seven. She loved you with all her heart. Unfortunately, you could not return to her Web. I raised you in Lhavit thinking you would be able to live a happy Human life here with me. I was naive. And yes, Seven, she returned to Kalinor. There was no band of merchants, there was no fantastic voyage to Syliras. Please understand, son, I did this for you. I am running out of room on this small parchment and time - you will be awake soon. I beg, make something of yourself. I love you. Your Loving Father, Zhao Xu

[Seven Xu]

The words seemed to hang in the air when Seven repeated the letter aloud, over and over, each time his voice sounding more ragged than the last. His heart thumped in his chest cavity and his breaths were becoming shorter as his vision clouded over and head went light. Rage was boiling in his belly. Pure, unadulterated rage; a feeling he had never truly felt before. Far stronger than any trivial vexation, it festered inside of him and made him quake uncontrollably. "Is this a sick joke?" Seven mumbled incredulously as he shook his head and a cackle rose in his throat. Tears were stinging his eyes and in an attempt to blink them away, dropped onto the letter and swirled and distorted the black ink. To any onlooker it would be difficult to tell whether Seven was laughing or crying; in fact, Seven wasn't even sure. Shoulders sagged, and trembling fingers loosened on the letter letting it fall to his feet before he hunched over the table, forehead pressing against the rough wood and his faltering will power gave way to a full-body, shuddering, wailing lament. She isn't here. He lied. He lied to me. "Petching bastard!" Seven yowled, thin fingers digging into splintering rough wood as he stood and upset the rickety table in one swift flurry of paper. The lantern that had sat on his tabletop crashed to the hardwood floor. It shattered, glass and oil spilling out beneath Seven's feet. He barely acknowledged the jarring noise as he glared down into the inky darkness at oil-stained parchment. Maps, sketches, and books lay in a glassy, oily mess at his toes. This isn't happening. Tears rolled down Seven's porcelain cheeks and his knees trembled beneath his weight. Giving in, Seven dropped to a squat and wrapped his arms tightly around his legs, surveying the wonderful mess he had made. Star charts lay in ruin before him, his map of Syliras was bleeding into an unrecognizable, oily mess before his eyes. A few long chimes passed as Seven simply stared absently forward, tears continuing to stain his vision; every once in a while an involuntary gasp or whimper would escape him. Finally reaching forward with a labored sigh, balanced precariously on his toes, Seven began to salvage what he could of his work from the careless mess he had made. A small, wrinkled piece of paper caught his eye and he pulled it from the lantern wreckage. Kendall's drunken poem. Scanning it, Seven's stomach turned and he shook his head slowly. His friend would be leaving soon. This is all he would have to remember him by. The awkward prose produced the faintest smile on Seven's pale lips as he reached up to place it safely on the wooden chair at his side. As he shifted back to the mess, his mismatched nails caught his gaze. They were a testament to his dirty blood; while Seven had always been content with who he was, it was because he had a loving family that had accepted him without question. He had always had that safety net. A net that had now rotted with age and frayed apart, and the letter on the floor an arm's length away had been the harsh reality he slammed into. Now I'm just a freak. Seven decided, vision once more becoming blurry as he began to tremble, hands balling into fists carelessly against the hardwood floor allowing glass to pierce and sting his knuckles. Seven hissed and grit his teeth as scarlet blood swirled and stained the wood beneath his hands. And I'm alone.

[Seven Xu]

A bell had passed and Seven had managed to compose himself long enough to right his table and sweep up what he could of the glass, dumping it into a bin nearby along with whatever paper he had ruined beyond repair in his fit of rage. Surveying his small, dank apartment, Seven slid a foot over the oil-stained floor with a look of disapproval and regret before roughly grabbing his father's letter in his blood-caked fist. "Careless." He stared down at his hands as his back hit the soft mattress of his single bed. Spilling blood needlessly, it went against the Symenos text that laid innocently on his table again. The book that had hidden such a terrible secret from him - no. Don't blame the book. Seven rolled his eyes, wiping the blood from his still-stinging knuckles off on the paper in his hands. The book. Seven's crimson gaze snapped to attention and he stared vehemently at the blood-smeared letter. Viratas. Seven mouthed the word as a notion that just bells before would be unthinkable entered his mind. Tears burned the corners of his tired eyes again and he hauled his grief heavy body back up to hunch over his knees. Hands began to shake again with the realization of what he was about to do but he managed to lift a finger to his pale, warm lips and placed it beneath a needle-sharp canine. It only took a bit of pressure to break the skin on his fingertip and draw fresh blood. The blessing may not have been appropriate for the situation, but it was the only one he had memorized. The decadent Symenos language rolled off of his tongue as he pressed his bleeding finger to the center of the folded letter. "Moz seh krevas dav'ene obris zhevat." May this blood give greater life. Keep my sisters safe and let my father grow old and wise. Wherever my mother is, may she live a full and happy life. The phrase was repeated, again and again, each time Seven's tears threatened to crack his voice and falter his speech. Then, a shaky bastard child slid out of his bed and crept towards the hearth where coals still burned, still making his small apartment too hot in the humid coastline night. It had been the first time Seven had openly prayed to Viratas. With a heaving sigh, he tossed the letter containing his father's last words to him onto the glowing red-orange coals. Almost immediately, the paper caught flame. Seven stared intently at the fire as it hungrily consumed the paper within seconds, leaving only a burnt mess of ash in its wake. It is done. Seven fell back to sit on the floor as he stared into the hearth. Physical ties were easily severed. It would take time for the emotional wounds to heal. Seven managed to open his mouth again to whisper to the smoldering paper. "Goodbye." Tired, thin fingers grasped for the fragile iron hatch in front of him and the orange glow of fire faded on his face. A short, restless sleep would grab on and hold him in that spot, bare back pressed hard against the uncomfortable hardwood floor. - END -

[Archon]

Illumination of Development Dra-Seven +1 Cleaning Lores: Pain of betrayal, Doing something wrong for the right reasons, Moving on, Religion (Viratas) Care to see more? : Nothing really to explain Notes: A great solo! I just wanted to wrap my arms around Seven and help him to feel better. Thanks for sharing it with me.