In the night she asks, “Why did you make me your champion?” and all the answers that come to mind are dissimulation. But she knows me too well to deceive her and so I answer honestly. “Because you are nothing,” I say. “You are no one. You have no name; Mage isn’t your real name, and even the first name I had for you is no longer yours. You are nameless, homeless, ageless. That makes you freer than us. Tanim and Daren are bound by who, by what, they are; the Sun and Moon, brothers and lovers. I am bound by who I am and always will be; my name is not so easily cast aside as yours was. Yet you cannot be bound by anything now. You’re free. That’s why it must be you. That’s why I need you.” I lay in the dark for a while, then add, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I meant it to be this way. It’s just, we all have roles to play. This is yours.” She doesn’t reply. I don’t think she minds, though. She’s walked so many roads for me, and this is just another. Really, I chose her because she has always been my champion. That is who she is.
through fire and steel
the Brotherhood delivers
[ My girlfriend has turned me into an Assassin’s Creed fan and a totally shameless Ezio fangirl. I could watch him stab guards for hours. ]
If you are any city, you’re
New York Las VegasAngeles Soddom Gotham every city that runs on vice, every city full of dark alleys and broken glass, every city that smells like cigarettes and old whiskey and desperate sex, anonymous sex, bruising sex, that doesn’t want to know your name or your secrets because here you’re no one, you have no past and no future, you are every city where the nights last for years and the days taste like yesterday’s hangover.
If you’re any city, you’re Pripyat, city of dust and shadows, of crumbling walls and ghosts in filmy windows, a city so long abandoned it feels unreal, impossible, frozen in the second the world went wrong, an unwanted reminder of there-but-for-the-grace-of-God-go-we, and yet still some brave souls cling to your outskirts, desperate to remain in the place they once loved, to eke out a meager life beside you, even as your corruption slowly alters them from the inside out.
That’s what I thought.
I keep cutting off my hair and picking at my skin and pulling at my eyebrows and it’s not because I’m mourning because I’m not and it’s not because you’re gone because you’re not so it must just be that sometimes you have to rend your clothes and smear your face with ashes you just have to wail and beat your breast you know?