Expatriate Darkleer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aim_exorable) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
vatheon2012-11-03 01:57 pm
aim_exorable) wrote in vatheon2012-11-03 01:57 pm
Entry tags:
13 ♐ When you can't cover up mirrors
Who: Darkleer, along with Disciple, the Grand Highblood, and anyone else who tries to pay him a visit
When: Throughout the week
Where: Darkleer's room
Status: Open to a few
Style: Whatever
Warning: Some descriptions of gore spoken by a douchebag nightmare
Ever since Monday night, Darkleer hadn't left his room. He hadn't let others come, either. It probably didn't help that he had barricaded the door, left Summoner outside to be cared for by Dural and the robots. He... He couldn't trust himself with his unconscious matesprit. He couldn't trust himself with the boys, either, or anyone else he knew.
How could he?
Not when, at night, a vision of himself covered in blood and toying with gory trophies whispered to himself about how easy it would be to kill them all, how good it would feel. Not when, in the morning, Darkleer couldn't stop obsessing over it, driving his thoughts around in circles. Sometimes, speaking with others helped. It almost felt as if the other stopped talking to him, stopped toying with his own much longer hair, but Darkleer was half sure that was just in his head.
Sometimes he feels guilty, thinking of the boys, but...
He couldn't be trusted.
So in his room he stayed, trying to ignore thoughts that had mocked him for a very, very long time.
When: Throughout the week
Where: Darkleer's room
Status: Open to a few
Style: Whatever
Warning: Some descriptions of gore spoken by a douchebag nightmare
Ever since Monday night, Darkleer hadn't left his room. He hadn't let others come, either. It probably didn't help that he had barricaded the door, left Summoner outside to be cared for by Dural and the robots. He... He couldn't trust himself with his unconscious matesprit. He couldn't trust himself with the boys, either, or anyone else he knew.
How could he?
Not when, at night, a vision of himself covered in blood and toying with gory trophies whispered to himself about how easy it would be to kill them all, how good it would feel. Not when, in the morning, Darkleer couldn't stop obsessing over it, driving his thoughts around in circles. Sometimes, speaking with others helped. It almost felt as if the other stopped talking to him, stopped toying with his own much longer hair, but Darkleer was half sure that was just in his head.
Sometimes he feels guilty, thinking of the boys, but...
He couldn't be trusted.
So in his room he stayed, trying to ignore thoughts that had mocked him for a very, very long time.