FALLEN | rowan whitethorn x oc

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE - orcus has a terrible sense of humour

Long ago, I was told that if I ever needed your assistance, you would answer; that all I had to do was call for you, to wish to find you, and I would. I did.

And it didn't save my life, it saved hers; and by doing so you saved my heart.

Moons and clouds have passed since then, yet I find myself in need of your wisdom once again. In need of your sight, in fact, for I have fallen. Deeply. Uncontrollably. And it is now immutable. It will exist beyond the lives of all beings. Regardless, I have no doubt you had already prophesied my current position long before the birth of the bane of my soul. Perhaps even before I was born.

And that's exactly why I can only call for you, why I need your knowledge so strongly. Since only you can foretell the changing of the seasons and the rhythm of one's heart.

Once I told myself I would never surrender, but I have succumbed. I know the future is only in the hands of those who created it, I know beings like myself have no business knowing what is to come. Yet, I fear I will never rise again from this new found darkness unless I acquire what I request.

You must already know what it is I so desperately need. Perhaps the answer to my question was written aeons before I even decided upon writing to you; its response merely waiting for you to send it through our lands. Either way, those are all insignificant queries.

It is no hardship for me to be her friend. I find only joy in her friendship and trust, but I cannot stop myself from wishing for more. I cannot stop my soul from crying for its other half or my heart from being greedy for her love. It is a war already lost, although I wish I could be the strong fighter everyone thinks of me. I wish with my entire being I could stop myself from grieving the unhappened, and from feeling the dissatisfaction of a life I am most grateful for.

I wish her platonic desires were enough for me; but they are not. Not anymore, at least.

You must understand, I cannot help but wonder if one day I will silently endure this pain as she finds someone else to love, or if -miraculously- I'll be able to truly be all her heart asks for.

You already know what essence of the future I wish to be revealed to me, I can only hope you will grant me this selfish wish of mine and put a stop to this most eternally aching war I've been battling.

-With hope as a knot in my throat, your friend.

-

Where war looms, death follows; where hatred rests, poison lays; and where love blooms, life is to persist.

-The response to the question I predicted, from your acquaintance.

-

Lorcan stared at the simple piece of paper that had birthed part of the hell he was now living. If he had to place the blame on a being for causing the despair he was bottling inside of his body, he could start with his mother. For being so naive as to lay down with the piece of shit that was his faceless father. He could then shift it all to the condescending, elitist pure-blood Fae he'd had the misfortune of encountering when he had been nothing more than a child.

His skin sometimes itched with the memory of the rocks they'd thrown at him. His bones sometimes ached with the reminiscing of the ones they'd broken as they beat him. And, most times, his shame still lingered as he reminded himself of what he was.

Therefore, Lorcan could also blame the author of the letter -that was now nothing more than a crumpled piece of paper he wanted to see turned into ashes- for the predicament he was now in. Outside, a white wolf snarled at some soldiers for their posture, its fangs glistening with saliva and the last rays of sunshine still illuminating the day. The wolf's claws came out and scratched at a rebellious student. Perhaps the wolf's reaction was uncalled for, but not utterly unprecedented.