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Title: all that remains
fandom: Ars Magica
square: historical roleplay
word count: 838
summary: In the dark, among the dead, there is only one choice remaining: to break or to freeze. In the kingdom of the dead, a god's unwilling bride considers his options and the part he must play.
content notes: non-consensual sex, considered suicide, attempt at inducing Stockholm Syndrome: adult character (22) with a fifteen-year old's body.
In the dark, among the dead, there is only one choice remaining: to break or to freeze. All other choices are illusion, Lycoris knows, the rest of his choices taken from him, and he's silently stripped away the facade, little by little, with the calm, disciplined logic his parens taught him, because otherwise, the false hope might break him. There are no other choices here: break or freeze, die or survive. Suicide is no escape: if he dies, than he will belong to Hades forever.
Survival is acceptance: he's realized that, now. He can waste his strength fighting against things he can't change, can't save himself from: he did that when he first was kidnapped, struggling futilely against a god. If he is a bird furiously beating its wings against the cage, then he'll break when he has nothing left, shatter and then there will be nothing left of him and he'll never be able to escape here, will never even consider the possibility of escape. Or he can accept, passively endure, and wait because even gods will make an mistake, everyone does when they are too certain of an outcome.
And so he folds himself into pieces: he has practice being charming and sweet, even to people he hates, even to people he fears, it's the most perfect of the masks he's worn as a diplomat and spy, assassin and wizard, draws Persephone's skin over his own because he knows what Hades wants, more than anything, and if he can play the part than perhaps the god of the dead won't look too closely.
Lycoris accepts the gifts - the ghosts of flowers (and refuses to think of his garden), books and vis-and silently puts them to use, studies the magic in them, pretends to smile and laugh at jokes that he doesn't find at all amusing (not the first time he's done that), doesn't say a word about the chains put around his wrists and ankles, collar around his throat, though he knows the symbols, too, the subtle magic that Hades is trying to invoke, and his blood runs cold as he tries to consider possibilities to counter it. Folds himself further down and into Persephone's skin, her role, closes his eyes and endures.
He can feel himself freezing: better to freeze than to shatter, he tells himself, but he was never warm to begin with and he doesn't think he'll ever be warm again, no memory of warmth, only an eternity of cold. Hades caresses him, reaches for him with cold hands as he lies there passively and doesn't struggle, and he doesn't feel anything: it hurt the first few times, though he didn't cry (he hasn't had tears for half his life, too cold to weep) and just lay there blank-faced and silent, but now there's not even the echo of pain, or fear.
(his heart is freezing, or whatever he even had left of it)
The symbols, the pattern, come clear in the dark, in the silence: even as he folds Persephone's skin over himself, passive acceptance as survival until he can unweave the magic enough to find himself a way out, Hades weaves him into the repeating story, a substitute bride for the equally unwilling one he lost and then the resigned realization, helplessness that chills him even more than he already was, that he can't break himself out of this, cannot save himself: he isn't powerful enough by far to directly challenge Hades's magic which backs the narrative and the god is careful to not make any mistakes, any loopholes for Lycoris to exploit on his own.
He cannot free himself, but neither can he be kept there forever: the pomegranate is a constant reminder of what Hades wants and Lycoris will not give. His body might not be his own but his heart and mind are still, frozen and untouchable behind passive acceptance and blank-smiling serenity, utterly benumbed: he could either freeze or break, and breaking means losing himself utterly, staring up with adoring, blank eyes and his heart never again his own, and forever his.
The only freedom Lycoris has is to deny Hades that last, deny him the love he wants and is trying to wear him down, break him and twist him into feeling, false and false (no god is worth his worship, much less his love) but yet true: he will never see sunshine again, however slim the possibility of another coming for him, if he loses his heart.
He does not dare think of the possibility of anyone daring to come for him, veils it in cold and impossibilities, breaks more false hope beneath the weight of reality, but moment by moment, resignation and waiting time, he can't help but consider sometimes.
Lycoris thinks for a moment of Nicolae and bows his head, veiling his expression with his hair, and thinks of Orpheus, of Pirithous, lets the words and the stories and the inevitable ending fill him with cold, and does not dare to hope.
fandom: Ars Magica
square: historical roleplay
word count: 838
summary: In the dark, among the dead, there is only one choice remaining: to break or to freeze. In the kingdom of the dead, a god's unwilling bride considers his options and the part he must play.
content notes: non-consensual sex, considered suicide, attempt at inducing Stockholm Syndrome: adult character (22) with a fifteen-year old's body.
In the dark, among the dead, there is only one choice remaining: to break or to freeze. All other choices are illusion, Lycoris knows, the rest of his choices taken from him, and he's silently stripped away the facade, little by little, with the calm, disciplined logic his parens taught him, because otherwise, the false hope might break him. There are no other choices here: break or freeze, die or survive. Suicide is no escape: if he dies, than he will belong to Hades forever.
Survival is acceptance: he's realized that, now. He can waste his strength fighting against things he can't change, can't save himself from: he did that when he first was kidnapped, struggling futilely against a god. If he is a bird furiously beating its wings against the cage, then he'll break when he has nothing left, shatter and then there will be nothing left of him and he'll never be able to escape here, will never even consider the possibility of escape. Or he can accept, passively endure, and wait because even gods will make an mistake, everyone does when they are too certain of an outcome.
And so he folds himself into pieces: he has practice being charming and sweet, even to people he hates, even to people he fears, it's the most perfect of the masks he's worn as a diplomat and spy, assassin and wizard, draws Persephone's skin over his own because he knows what Hades wants, more than anything, and if he can play the part than perhaps the god of the dead won't look too closely.
Lycoris accepts the gifts - the ghosts of flowers (and refuses to think of his garden), books and vis-and silently puts them to use, studies the magic in them, pretends to smile and laugh at jokes that he doesn't find at all amusing (not the first time he's done that), doesn't say a word about the chains put around his wrists and ankles, collar around his throat, though he knows the symbols, too, the subtle magic that Hades is trying to invoke, and his blood runs cold as he tries to consider possibilities to counter it. Folds himself further down and into Persephone's skin, her role, closes his eyes and endures.
He can feel himself freezing: better to freeze than to shatter, he tells himself, but he was never warm to begin with and he doesn't think he'll ever be warm again, no memory of warmth, only an eternity of cold. Hades caresses him, reaches for him with cold hands as he lies there passively and doesn't struggle, and he doesn't feel anything: it hurt the first few times, though he didn't cry (he hasn't had tears for half his life, too cold to weep) and just lay there blank-faced and silent, but now there's not even the echo of pain, or fear.
(his heart is freezing, or whatever he even had left of it)
The symbols, the pattern, come clear in the dark, in the silence: even as he folds Persephone's skin over himself, passive acceptance as survival until he can unweave the magic enough to find himself a way out, Hades weaves him into the repeating story, a substitute bride for the equally unwilling one he lost and then the resigned realization, helplessness that chills him even more than he already was, that he can't break himself out of this, cannot save himself: he isn't powerful enough by far to directly challenge Hades's magic which backs the narrative and the god is careful to not make any mistakes, any loopholes for Lycoris to exploit on his own.
He cannot free himself, but neither can he be kept there forever: the pomegranate is a constant reminder of what Hades wants and Lycoris will not give. His body might not be his own but his heart and mind are still, frozen and untouchable behind passive acceptance and blank-smiling serenity, utterly benumbed: he could either freeze or break, and breaking means losing himself utterly, staring up with adoring, blank eyes and his heart never again his own, and forever his.
The only freedom Lycoris has is to deny Hades that last, deny him the love he wants and is trying to wear him down, break him and twist him into feeling, false and false (no god is worth his worship, much less his love) but yet true: he will never see sunshine again, however slim the possibility of another coming for him, if he loses his heart.
He does not dare think of the possibility of anyone daring to come for him, veils it in cold and impossibilities, breaks more false hope beneath the weight of reality, but moment by moment, resignation and waiting time, he can't help but consider sometimes.
Lycoris thinks for a moment of Nicolae and bows his head, veiling his expression with his hair, and thinks of Orpheus, of Pirithous, lets the words and the stories and the inevitable ending fill him with cold, and does not dare to hope.
