As Above So Below

[wishmadeinfire]

Who: Ashura and Anyone
What: Ashura is returned from his ghostly state and now finds himself facing the reality of his loss
When: Tuesday, August 26 (Parantural Day 6)
Where: His room
Rating: PG-13 (for traumatic horror)

 

Everything hurt. Hurt and hurt and kept on hurting - especially his chest, where his scars where. He felt them first, felt his blood tugging at the edges of the long, ragged thing as his heart beat. Ah, his heart was beating. That wasn't right, was it? Why was his heart beating? Wasn't he... a ghost, just before? Or he was dead, he was sure of that. He had seen the sword thrust through his chest and felt the pain of it and been crying tears of blood and... He felt his gorge rise and stopped, clapping a hand to his mouth to keep everything inside as he struggled to make his brain accept what had happened, that he was returned to the land of flesh because of course he was. The Castle wouldn't let him go nearly so easily, would it? He reached up his hand to touch his chest, surprised not to feel any sort of open wound, but then, why should he? Frankly, he would have felt better if he had felt something - oozing blood, newly puckered skin, the hot sting of infection, anything. That he should have no physical remnant of all of that... it felt wrong. Oh yes, the two scars he already bore weighed on him as they always did, but did he not deserve more even now? It wasn't right, that he should flitter about as a ghost and come back whole. Yasha did not. Yasha was still trapped, a fragment... Or maybe he was like Yasha now. A soul tied to an earthly plane, unable to move on no matter how much he wished for it, no matter his own despair. It was fitting, then, that he could not move on, as Yasha could not because of his own selfishness. Shifting painfully, Ashura tugged at the corners of his robe, wanting to see if there was anything there, even a red mark. He looked down - well, he thought he had. It was dark. Were his curtains drawn? He frowned, but he did not think so. He could feel the heat from a beam of sunlight that always came in through that window, felt it burning his ears. He lifted his head, turned it this way and that - all black, nothing but black. He waved his hand in front of his face and he did not even perceive the shadow of its passing. Even in a darkened room, he should have seen that much. He merely sensed the rush of air he created touching his cheeks. Gulping, he reached his hand forward, groping across the smooth wood of his vanity, finally touching upon the familiar shape and texture of his journal. Swiftly he flung it open, not caring what page it was. "This is Ashura. If anyone is awake and can hear me, could you please come to my chambers? I am in need of aid. Immediately would be preferred." He tried to keep his tone calm, but inside he was more than a little worried. Because the king was very sure he had gone blind.