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An Angel's Respite Chapter Ten
Alexander finally understood the saying. 'Isolation is any man's greatest weakness'
For the sole reason of, coming home to someone isn't the worst thing in the world.
Alexander would of course, never say this, but it doesn't stop him from thinking it.
For as much as the idea bugs him, like a persistent fly buzzing around, he has to admit—he doesn't mind having Wilbur or Hester around. Maybe it started when he came home to Hester making food for him, or hearing him softly hum to Wilbur, maybe it was from one of the rare times where he would come down to quietly read with them, but the two are almost like, the missing piece of a puzzle he didn't know he missed before.
He reminds himself that they will eventually go their separate ways. That this is not permanent and to not get attached. So he doesn't.
He doesn't really know how to communicate with others well—he was a military captain after all, having the smallest possible information on people. Hester seemed to understand this well, he always gave Alexander space when he needed it, other times becoming cocky and light-hearted telling stories. Alexander couldn't even comprehend how to do that, people were the thing he knew the least about—other then how to torture them, mentally and physically.
He was known for being good at both.
He doesn't know how long, until he would trust someone with something as difficult as his past proves to be. His title was known by so many people—hearing the same stories, stories that turn to rumors, then after that legends, fairy tales, myths, folklore, twisting them into something far more destructive and gruesome than what actually took place.
Most of the time he was portrayed as the villain in these stories.
He would disagree.
In others, the things he did were counted for as atrocities.
With this, he would not disagree.
When he discovered this about people—how fear can change their views and opinions so quickly, how some may have views that are built up from generations worth of storytelling, stories that were made from fear, the way they say he killed without a second thought how he was an unloyal mindless warrior, burning and destroying the towns and people in them who got in his way.
Here is the truth: He originally wanted to make his way through life as merely a footsoldier, a pawn for the throne, that's all he wanted to be, a loyal and obedient servant.
Here is another: His opinion has changed over time, him wanting more for himself then merely a faceless nameless person to be killed in a war.
Here is one final truth: He didn't mind filling the role as someone to be feared as a way to be respected, now being known as a weapon who is always on the winning side no matter the cause, just enjoying the plans and schemes to make it happen.
The last one is a story he is currently trying to erase.
He could feel when he became too much like the stories, becoming someone who killed thousands without a glance, becoming a mindless warrior destroying anything and anyone who got in his way—just like the stories, however, the stories never said how that affected him.
He stopped sleeping, he could never sleep. It started off as one thing then the next until he was swarmed with memories and thoughts, hearing things that weren't there. Then they would wake up, and begin to fuss.
«»«»«»«»«»
What's wrong with him?
Who cares? He's fine.
Can't even get a good night's sleep, Gods.
What's going on?
«»«»«»«»«»
The stories also never told one key detail, he was forced to live with monsters in his own head, with thoughts and feelings and an insatiable appetite to kill. So like any normal person, he applied to the army.
They have been with him since he could remember, seeming to never leave or quiet down, constantly telling him they're opinions and ideas, never having the luxury of truly being alone.
He knows they get loud when they don't get what they want.
It never stopped him however.
The sky was nice showing not even a puff of a cloud, the moon shining brightly above them. However Alexander knew better, this was the calm before the storm, he had to collect water and kindling before it hit. He didn't realize it before the sun had set, now starting his chores he had procrastinated on, the longest storm had been two and a half days with a warning, luckily he had enough food, and wood to conserve heat that time, but just barely.
With two extra mouths to feed and more that needed heat, he would need more than last time.
Hester came along and so did Wilbur, Hester and Wilbur seeming both to finally understand their new surroundings and taking accustomed to the weather, the three began collecting wood and water—well Hester and Alexander did, as Wilbur ran around in the snow. After the crops needed tending to, the snowy field was their main source of food.
Hester decided to do it as Alexander looked after Wilbur, the boy put yellow flowers in his hair, the yellow flowers were the only thing that sprouted in the chilled conditions around the mountain, Alexander mostly used them for elixirs—to Wilbur however, they had a completely different purpose. Wilbur quickly ran away to grab more flowers as Alexander obediently stayed sitting on the damp ground, Hester laughed at him. His hair originally being in a long intricate braid that flopped over his shoulder now having small pops of color around it.
Wilbur returned with a decent amount of flowers Hester looked up again and descended back into a fit of laughter as Wilbur clumsily squishies and folds the flowers in his hair. He can't help but hear the soft silence being filled with something he knows only he could hear, something familiar.
«»«»«»«»«»
Why are you just sitting there?
What is he doing?
Why are you letting that child touch you? It's odd.
Who's the kid?
«»«»«»«»«»
"Shut up" He hisses at them, Wilbur momentarily stops what he's doing, Alexander opens the palm of his metal hand showing the yellow flowers he was holding, Wilbur takes some, continuing to ruin his hair even more.
For a while they were quiet—the monsters—they liked the charm of being in a small cottage, having all of Alexander's attention. They enjoyed the books and stories he would tell them, legends, or events that had happened to him they always settled down to listen to. (Even with them knowing most of them)
They found it amusing, the awkward domestically everything was compared to the conflict and warfare they—Alexander included—had experienced their whole lives.
However some days, they become loud, Alexander knows of this. It's to be expected to miss the past, as they angrily growled at his heels. They were his constant companion on his blood stained path.
There is little blood to spill in the snowy mountains, precisely the reason he went there. A mandatory break he put himself on, a way to try and leave the dangerous shadows that try to bite at him behind.
This is one of those nights, when they miss the past, well more of the bloodlust that the past offered. Still he can't help the grimace that flickers past his features from they're constant hunger, their roar of wanting something he couldn't give anymore, it was never his to give in the first place.
"Is everything alright, mate?" Hester said across the field, he didn't realize he was hiding his face.
"I'm going inside." He said quietly, he didn't know if Hester heard him—and didn't care.
Wilbur fussed as he got up dusting the snow from his legs he walked to his house trying hard not to hide his face or grimace but keeping a hand on his forehead as a futile attempt to try and stop the persistent mocking laughter he heard, trying not to worry Hester—or worry was the wrong word, more like alert Hester that something was wrong.
Alexander likes Hester—he really does, he likes how childish, he is, his original sharp tongue dulling into something more playful, Alexander seeing the warmth behind all the things he says now—seeing that there not to bother him but instead have morphed into something more genuine, trying to push him to open up more.
However he doesn't trust Hester.
Not yet.
And Hester doesn't trust him.
They call that even, they both don't trust each other.
Some lines neither were willing to cross, one of those lines being each other's past, having the least possible information they would tell, this included some of Alexander's special little habits—like talking to himself, technically not himself, the monsters grew angry when he ignored them. And that's all he had been doing for weeks, constantly hearing what Hester was saying instead—they didn't like Hester for that reason and as he opened the front door to the cobblestone basement, they reminded him of this once again.
«»«»«»«»«»
Why are they still here?
You should have killed them when you had the chance.
Not the kid, but you should kill the bird.
Just kill something, you used to all the time!
«»«»«»«»«»
He staggers as he holds the door frame trying desperately to keep himself grounded as he feels, them seemingly attack his mind as he puts a hand to his temple trying to stop them.
He closes his eyes trying to block out the pain and instantly regrets it. His vision filled with what they want to see, the middle of a broken, destroyed field covered with musk of war and decay, Alexander standing alone with blood and triumph around him the two turn one in the same at that moment, his teeth bare, feral, wild, divine looking.
He stumbles grabbing hold of the cold dead oven knocking over some left out bottles, they fall to the ground and smash against it and for a few seconds they become quiet as the remedies begin to stain the floor with a fine red liquid.
It reminds them of blood.
«»«»«»«»«»
It won't be long until you give in.
It won't be long until we feast.
«»«»«»«»«»
They whispered in a sickly sweet tone, making Alexander's panic ten fold at the thought of hurting Hester.
"Starve" Alexander has half the mind to say, in response, some laugh at the threat, others scream at him with rage, he takes it all the same.
«»«»«»«»«»
Just go outside, they're right there!
You've done this so many times what's two more going to do?
They will leave the moment they don't need you anymore anyway!
«»«»«»«»«»
"Please, please stop." Alexander whimpers, feeling more like a child than ever before, slowly sliding down between the oven and the wall of ingredients, letting the flowers in his hair drop to the floor around him as he puts his hands to his ears.
He knows this feeling like the back of his hand, how could he not? He knows the roar of their hunger the sting as they attack him—trying to force him to do what they want, they desperately gnaw at his temple, he knows the feeling and knows it never gets easier, still suffering the same consequences from when he was a child, still making the same decisions—the same mistakes—from when he was younger. He truly was just that, a child.
They screech, laugh, and yell at him all swirling into a deafening roar of emotions as his surroundings seem to melt away turning the world from the cold dark brewing room into a mixture of deep blood red.
As the world around him slips out of view, no longer feeling the cold ground below him or the wood of the cupboards beside him, they speak again.
«»«»«»«»«»
Don't worry, it will be quick, they won't even know what happened before it's too late.
«»«»«»«»«»
They say gently and delusionally Alexander clings to it like a lifeline.
The world spun as he became lost in his own head, not hearing or seeing the outside world and for a moment it was comforting for as much as he hates the sensation, the pain he feels, the noises he hears, it wasn't a new experience it was a feeling he had gotten use to the first thousand times. All he had to do was lock himself in here for a few hours and just let it run its course, let them throw their tantrum, let their anger die down and then they'll be satisfied for another weeklong starvation, all he had to do is wait, and not see anyone.
"Alexander?"
Alexander's head snaps up to see Hester looking stunned standing in the doorway, the moon's light leaking through his silhouette, his wings almost covering the light completely as he looks down at him.
He seemed terrifyingly human, and terrifyingly pray.
Alexander stayed still, eyes narrowing, him still being squished between the oven and the cupboards pushing himself farther away from Hester, he didn't want to hurt him.
Hester's face represented something akin to fear and pity, he didn't need his pity he needed him to leave, Hester and Wilbur needed to go somewhere nowhere far, just nowhere near him, not now at least.
"Hes't-er
He choked out trying not to look at him instead burying his face in his chest curling in on himself.
"Go s'tay ou-tside, or ups'tairs."
He slurred, trying to keep Hester safe from him. Hester didn't move.
The careful mask Alexander originally placed was gone, crumbling into dust, he was beginning to fall apart practically splitting from the seams, as Hester cautiously stepped closer to him closing the door. Alexander started to shake from the stress of everything, having someone close to him was dangerous for Alexander and Hester, he didn't know what he was capable of when he was in this state. Like his mind was broken he didn't know what would happen, he didn't know anything anymore.
«»«»«»«»«»
He couldn't do anything if he tried, you could have killed him so long ago!
Just kill him already! The boy can be next.
Poor little birdy trapped in a cage will you be our dinner?
You should have done this ages ago, why delay the inevitable?
«»«»«»«»«»
Hester looked around at the scene he found himself in, Alexander seemingly clawing at the walls then the smashed jar on the floor, then at the trapdoor where they could both hear Wilbur grab at the couch out of boredom.
"How can I—"
"You c-can't."
Alexander snapped at him, the silence was piercing for Hester, however the monsters in return laughed at the moment mocking Hester for his foolishness, Alexander wouldn't say it but he agreed, how could he possibly help? Alexander lived with this his whole life—which granted was about half of Hester's it seemed—but no one knew about this curse, people spent lifetimes trying to at least make it manageable to live with, what could Hester do? What could he even do?
«»«»«»«»«»
Aw, look someone's finally told him the truth.
What an idiot he thought he could help, well I suppose he could. . .
You really do like surrounding yourself with infuriates don't you?
Poor birdy he can't seem to help, how adorable.
«»«»«»«»«»
Hester moved closer, seemingly worried, Alexander felt Hester's hand on his shoulder it felt like there were pins and needles coming from the spot.
"Don't t'ouch m-me."
Alexander's blood boiled from the monsters continuous taunting. Looking at Hester the word 'cursed' being written all over his face it was as clear as the sun in the sky, 'I know' Hester's face said 'I know you're cursed' Alexander knew he was being dramatic but he could practically see his mouth form the word or hear him bit his lip as he almost says it. Alexander has no proof Hester had found out—the monsters plied, practically drowned Alexander with thoughts of how Hester could have found out—he didn't tell the monsters that he thought and worried the same as them—they would have to figure things out on their own like Alexander. The monsters couldn't read his mind; he had to either write it down on loose parchment or say it out loud to them—both in Alexander's opinion were annoying and both he would rather do alone.
So if Hester knows, then he's doing a great job hiding it.
«»«»«»«»«»
They both know too much! You have to do something!
You should cut off his wings, he doesn't use them anyway!
Let's lock him in a cage. He has the wings to be a birdy already.
Maybe we should lock the kid up instead, wouldn't that be just fun!
«»«»«»«»«»
Hester slid gracefully over to the broken glass examining it as his hand was thumbing the old stone oven. Pointedly ignoring Alexander's warnings and snapping at him.
Alexander didn't know which was more annoying.
Hester kneeled down cautiously beside Alexander again, leaving plenty of room almost like Alexander was a wild animal and for the most part he felt like one, having all his emotions replaced with the sheer will to survive, his body shaking uncontrollably at every slight movement or sound making his fight or flight command go off. He didn't feel safe—he wasn't safe, not anymore.
A small part of Alexander wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, it used to be so easy when this happened—it never happened to begin with when he was in the army, mostly from him always being out in the middle of some mindless war somewhere. He went place to place mercilessly killing, it was so easy to forget they were real people, so easy to forget that they could be just like him under different circumstances. He always shunned those thoughts away, why start caring about these faceless nameless people now?
What would be the point?
There is, in Alexander's mind, no excuse, no justification, no redemption, for a man who kills everything he touches.
Alexander could feel Hester's eyes on him, he felt like he was burning with every second that passed soon he would be ash. He continued to hide not looking to see Hester, his hair originally being tied up now falling messly covering his vision keeping his arms and legs close to his chest as he tried to sink into the floor away from Hester.
"Please-e"
Alexander slurred out.
"Please l-leave."
He heard Hester sigh then his wings pop as he stood up, the ladder creek under his weight as he closed the trapdoor quietly, the monsters reaction mercilessly.
«»«»«»«»«»
What are you doing? You could have killed him!
Gut him already!
Why let him live? What's the reason?
When did you become so stupid?
Rip him from limb to limb!
«»«»«»«»«»
"Why?"Alexander asks softly it becoming less of a question for the monsters and something for himself, but not a question he really wanted to think of, -why let them live?- He's tired of fighting a part of him already resigning, he looks up and sees a small glint of something.
He waits for his eyes to adjust and sees shears, it was there for when Alexander needed to clip something off for brewing—like cutting off the tops of flowers, leaves, stuff that would get in the way of the potion and so on. The shears glinted again as if the Gods themselves wanted him to take it.
He wouldn't. He won't. He can't.
He would never, not in eons. He's hurt so many people and he will never feel their pain, he has seen them rebuild the things he has destroyed, mourned the people he has killed and left broken in his wake. Wanting to scream at them, the other wanting to warn them of the ever looming shadow of death he brings with him, maybe—even a small part of himself mourning what he himself has destroyed, seeing beautiful valleys in less than a day become filled with corpses and rivers running slick with blood.
He will never.
He would not give in to this fight, even as they tried to attack him, he was not going to hurt anyone, not anymore. He would endure a lifetime of this to know that Hester and Wilbur are alright, -why?- He doesn't know yet, maybe never will but he would do anything to keep them safe.
So he stayed sitting on the ground, knees close to his chest keeping his head down, letting the monsters swallow him whole as the world once again slips from his fingertips leaving him floating, practically drowning without a parachute.
He lets it happen, willingly falling into the hands of the unknown, allowing the monsters to take their rage out on him instead, burying the idea of fighting and instead—like with real combat—taking on a defensive approach trying to hold them off until they become tired.
He couldn't hear what any of them were saying, their voices overlapping one another, but one voice rises above the rest, the words ringing loudly in his ears making him feel nauseous as it becomes a high pitch wailing, making his head pound like he was being hit, they said dangerously calm to him.
«»«»«»«»«»
Old habits die hard.
«»«»«»«»«»
Alexander doesn't remember what happened next.
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Art by Celia 🎗️ on twiman.net
Alexander's characters is inspired by a lot of people but the most prevalent ones in his character arc are The Skulltaker from WarHammer, Kratos from God Of War and most importantly, Technoblade (no, not from Ninjago, like the streamer)
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For the sole reason of, coming home to someone isn't the worst thing in the world.
Alexander would of course, never say this, but it doesn't stop him from thinking it.
For as much as the idea bugs him, like a persistent fly buzzing around, he has to admit—he doesn't mind having Wilbur or Hester around. Maybe it started when he came home to Hester making food for him, or hearing him softly hum to Wilbur, maybe it was from one of the rare times where he would come down to quietly read with them, but the two are almost like, the missing piece of a puzzle he didn't know he missed before.
He reminds himself that they will eventually go their separate ways. That this is not permanent and to not get attached. So he doesn't.
He doesn't really know how to communicate with others well—he was a military captain after all, having the smallest possible information on people. Hester seemed to understand this well, he always gave Alexander space when he needed it, other times becoming cocky and light-hearted telling stories. Alexander couldn't even comprehend how to do that, people were the thing he knew the least about—other then how to torture them, mentally and physically.
He was known for being good at both.
He doesn't know how long, until he would trust someone with something as difficult as his past proves to be. His title was known by so many people—hearing the same stories, stories that turn to rumors, then after that legends, fairy tales, myths, folklore, twisting them into something far more destructive and gruesome than what actually took place.
Most of the time he was portrayed as the villain in these stories.
He would disagree.
In others, the things he did were counted for as atrocities.
With this, he would not disagree.
When he discovered this about people—how fear can change their views and opinions so quickly, how some may have views that are built up from generations worth of storytelling, stories that were made from fear, the way they say he killed without a second thought how he was an unloyal mindless warrior, burning and destroying the towns and people in them who got in his way.
Here is the truth: He originally wanted to make his way through life as merely a footsoldier, a pawn for the throne, that's all he wanted to be, a loyal and obedient servant.
Here is another: His opinion has changed over time, him wanting more for himself then merely a faceless nameless person to be killed in a war.
Here is one final truth: He didn't mind filling the role as someone to be feared as a way to be respected, now being known as a weapon who is always on the winning side no matter the cause, just enjoying the plans and schemes to make it happen.
The last one is a story he is currently trying to erase.
He could feel when he became too much like the stories, becoming someone who killed thousands without a glance, becoming a mindless warrior destroying anything and anyone who got in his way—just like the stories, however, the stories never said how that affected him.
He stopped sleeping, he could never sleep. It started off as one thing then the next until he was swarmed with memories and thoughts, hearing things that weren't there. Then they would wake up, and begin to fuss.
«»«»«»«»«»
What's wrong with him?
Who cares? He's fine.
Can't even get a good night's sleep, Gods.
What's going on?
«»«»«»«»«»
The stories also never told one key detail, he was forced to live with monsters in his own head, with thoughts and feelings and an insatiable appetite to kill. So like any normal person, he applied to the army.
They have been with him since he could remember, seeming to never leave or quiet down, constantly telling him they're opinions and ideas, never having the luxury of truly being alone.
He knows they get loud when they don't get what they want.
It never stopped him however.
The sky was nice showing not even a puff of a cloud, the moon shining brightly above them. However Alexander knew better, this was the calm before the storm, he had to collect water and kindling before it hit. He didn't realize it before the sun had set, now starting his chores he had procrastinated on, the longest storm had been two and a half days with a warning, luckily he had enough food, and wood to conserve heat that time, but just barely.
With two extra mouths to feed and more that needed heat, he would need more than last time.
Hester came along and so did Wilbur, Hester and Wilbur seeming both to finally understand their new surroundings and taking accustomed to the weather, the three began collecting wood and water—well Hester and Alexander did, as Wilbur ran around in the snow. After the crops needed tending to, the snowy field was their main source of food.
Hester decided to do it as Alexander looked after Wilbur, the boy put yellow flowers in his hair, the yellow flowers were the only thing that sprouted in the chilled conditions around the mountain, Alexander mostly used them for elixirs—to Wilbur however, they had a completely different purpose. Wilbur quickly ran away to grab more flowers as Alexander obediently stayed sitting on the damp ground, Hester laughed at him. His hair originally being in a long intricate braid that flopped over his shoulder now having small pops of color around it.
Wilbur returned with a decent amount of flowers Hester looked up again and descended back into a fit of laughter as Wilbur clumsily squishies and folds the flowers in his hair. He can't help but hear the soft silence being filled with something he knows only he could hear, something familiar.
«»«»«»«»«»
Why are you just sitting there?
What is he doing?
Why are you letting that child touch you? It's odd.
Who's the kid?
«»«»«»«»«»
"Shut up" He hisses at them, Wilbur momentarily stops what he's doing, Alexander opens the palm of his metal hand showing the yellow flowers he was holding, Wilbur takes some, continuing to ruin his hair even more.
For a while they were quiet—the monsters—they liked the charm of being in a small cottage, having all of Alexander's attention. They enjoyed the books and stories he would tell them, legends, or events that had happened to him they always settled down to listen to. (Even with them knowing most of them)
They found it amusing, the awkward domestically everything was compared to the conflict and warfare they—Alexander included—had experienced their whole lives.
However some days, they become loud, Alexander knows of this. It's to be expected to miss the past, as they angrily growled at his heels. They were his constant companion on his blood stained path.
There is little blood to spill in the snowy mountains, precisely the reason he went there. A mandatory break he put himself on, a way to try and leave the dangerous shadows that try to bite at him behind.
This is one of those nights, when they miss the past, well more of the bloodlust that the past offered. Still he can't help the grimace that flickers past his features from they're constant hunger, their roar of wanting something he couldn't give anymore, it was never his to give in the first place.
"Is everything alright, mate?" Hester said across the field, he didn't realize he was hiding his face.
"I'm going inside." He said quietly, he didn't know if Hester heard him—and didn't care.
Wilbur fussed as he got up dusting the snow from his legs he walked to his house trying hard not to hide his face or grimace but keeping a hand on his forehead as a futile attempt to try and stop the persistent mocking laughter he heard, trying not to worry Hester—or worry was the wrong word, more like alert Hester that something was wrong.
Alexander likes Hester—he really does, he likes how childish, he is, his original sharp tongue dulling into something more playful, Alexander seeing the warmth behind all the things he says now—seeing that there not to bother him but instead have morphed into something more genuine, trying to push him to open up more.
However he doesn't trust Hester.
Not yet.
And Hester doesn't trust him.
They call that even, they both don't trust each other.
Some lines neither were willing to cross, one of those lines being each other's past, having the least possible information they would tell, this included some of Alexander's special little habits—like talking to himself, technically not himself, the monsters grew angry when he ignored them. And that's all he had been doing for weeks, constantly hearing what Hester was saying instead—they didn't like Hester for that reason and as he opened the front door to the cobblestone basement, they reminded him of this once again.
«»«»«»«»«»
Why are they still here?
You should have killed them when you had the chance.
Not the kid, but you should kill the bird.
Just kill something, you used to all the time!
«»«»«»«»«»
He staggers as he holds the door frame trying desperately to keep himself grounded as he feels, them seemingly attack his mind as he puts a hand to his temple trying to stop them.
He closes his eyes trying to block out the pain and instantly regrets it. His vision filled with what they want to see, the middle of a broken, destroyed field covered with musk of war and decay, Alexander standing alone with blood and triumph around him the two turn one in the same at that moment, his teeth bare, feral, wild, divine looking.
He stumbles grabbing hold of the cold dead oven knocking over some left out bottles, they fall to the ground and smash against it and for a few seconds they become quiet as the remedies begin to stain the floor with a fine red liquid.
It reminds them of blood.
«»«»«»«»«»
It won't be long until you give in.
It won't be long until we feast.
«»«»«»«»«»
They whispered in a sickly sweet tone, making Alexander's panic ten fold at the thought of hurting Hester.
"Starve" Alexander has half the mind to say, in response, some laugh at the threat, others scream at him with rage, he takes it all the same.
«»«»«»«»«»
Just go outside, they're right there!
You've done this so many times what's two more going to do?
They will leave the moment they don't need you anymore anyway!
«»«»«»«»«»
"Please, please stop." Alexander whimpers, feeling more like a child than ever before, slowly sliding down between the oven and the wall of ingredients, letting the flowers in his hair drop to the floor around him as he puts his hands to his ears.
He knows this feeling like the back of his hand, how could he not? He knows the roar of their hunger the sting as they attack him—trying to force him to do what they want, they desperately gnaw at his temple, he knows the feeling and knows it never gets easier, still suffering the same consequences from when he was a child, still making the same decisions—the same mistakes—from when he was younger. He truly was just that, a child.
They screech, laugh, and yell at him all swirling into a deafening roar of emotions as his surroundings seem to melt away turning the world from the cold dark brewing room into a mixture of deep blood red.
As the world around him slips out of view, no longer feeling the cold ground below him or the wood of the cupboards beside him, they speak again.
«»«»«»«»«»
Don't worry, it will be quick, they won't even know what happened before it's too late.
«»«»«»«»«»
They say gently and delusionally Alexander clings to it like a lifeline.
The world spun as he became lost in his own head, not hearing or seeing the outside world and for a moment it was comforting for as much as he hates the sensation, the pain he feels, the noises he hears, it wasn't a new experience it was a feeling he had gotten use to the first thousand times. All he had to do was lock himself in here for a few hours and just let it run its course, let them throw their tantrum, let their anger die down and then they'll be satisfied for another weeklong starvation, all he had to do is wait, and not see anyone.
"Alexander?"
Alexander's head snaps up to see Hester looking stunned standing in the doorway, the moon's light leaking through his silhouette, his wings almost covering the light completely as he looks down at him.
He seemed terrifyingly human, and terrifyingly pray.
Alexander stayed still, eyes narrowing, him still being squished between the oven and the cupboards pushing himself farther away from Hester, he didn't want to hurt him.
Hester's face represented something akin to fear and pity, he didn't need his pity he needed him to leave, Hester and Wilbur needed to go somewhere nowhere far, just nowhere near him, not now at least.
"Hes't-er
He choked out trying not to look at him instead burying his face in his chest curling in on himself.
"Go s'tay ou-tside, or ups'tairs."
He slurred, trying to keep Hester safe from him. Hester didn't move.
The careful mask Alexander originally placed was gone, crumbling into dust, he was beginning to fall apart practically splitting from the seams, as Hester cautiously stepped closer to him closing the door. Alexander started to shake from the stress of everything, having someone close to him was dangerous for Alexander and Hester, he didn't know what he was capable of when he was in this state. Like his mind was broken he didn't know what would happen, he didn't know anything anymore.
«»«»«»«»«»
He couldn't do anything if he tried, you could have killed him so long ago!
Just kill him already! The boy can be next.
Poor little birdy trapped in a cage will you be our dinner?
You should have done this ages ago, why delay the inevitable?
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Hester looked around at the scene he found himself in, Alexander seemingly clawing at the walls then the smashed jar on the floor, then at the trapdoor where they could both hear Wilbur grab at the couch out of boredom.
"How can I—"
"You c-can't."
Alexander snapped at him, the silence was piercing for Hester, however the monsters in return laughed at the moment mocking Hester for his foolishness, Alexander wouldn't say it but he agreed, how could he possibly help? Alexander lived with this his whole life—which granted was about half of Hester's it seemed—but no one knew about this curse, people spent lifetimes trying to at least make it manageable to live with, what could Hester do? What could he even do?
«»«»«»«»«»
Aw, look someone's finally told him the truth.
What an idiot he thought he could help, well I suppose he could. . .
You really do like surrounding yourself with infuriates don't you?
Poor birdy he can't seem to help, how adorable.
«»«»«»«»«»
Hester moved closer, seemingly worried, Alexander felt Hester's hand on his shoulder it felt like there were pins and needles coming from the spot.
"Don't t'ouch m-me."
Alexander's blood boiled from the monsters continuous taunting. Looking at Hester the word 'cursed' being written all over his face it was as clear as the sun in the sky, 'I know' Hester's face said 'I know you're cursed' Alexander knew he was being dramatic but he could practically see his mouth form the word or hear him bit his lip as he almost says it. Alexander has no proof Hester had found out—the monsters plied, practically drowned Alexander with thoughts of how Hester could have found out—he didn't tell the monsters that he thought and worried the same as them—they would have to figure things out on their own like Alexander. The monsters couldn't read his mind; he had to either write it down on loose parchment or say it out loud to them—both in Alexander's opinion were annoying and both he would rather do alone.
So if Hester knows, then he's doing a great job hiding it.
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They both know too much! You have to do something!
You should cut off his wings, he doesn't use them anyway!
Let's lock him in a cage. He has the wings to be a birdy already.
Maybe we should lock the kid up instead, wouldn't that be just fun!
«»«»«»«»«»
Hester slid gracefully over to the broken glass examining it as his hand was thumbing the old stone oven. Pointedly ignoring Alexander's warnings and snapping at him.
Alexander didn't know which was more annoying.
Hester kneeled down cautiously beside Alexander again, leaving plenty of room almost like Alexander was a wild animal and for the most part he felt like one, having all his emotions replaced with the sheer will to survive, his body shaking uncontrollably at every slight movement or sound making his fight or flight command go off. He didn't feel safe—he wasn't safe, not anymore.
A small part of Alexander wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, it used to be so easy when this happened—it never happened to begin with when he was in the army, mostly from him always being out in the middle of some mindless war somewhere. He went place to place mercilessly killing, it was so easy to forget they were real people, so easy to forget that they could be just like him under different circumstances. He always shunned those thoughts away, why start caring about these faceless nameless people now?
What would be the point?
There is, in Alexander's mind, no excuse, no justification, no redemption, for a man who kills everything he touches.
Alexander could feel Hester's eyes on him, he felt like he was burning with every second that passed soon he would be ash. He continued to hide not looking to see Hester, his hair originally being tied up now falling messly covering his vision keeping his arms and legs close to his chest as he tried to sink into the floor away from Hester.
"Please-e"
Alexander slurred out.
"Please l-leave."
He heard Hester sigh then his wings pop as he stood up, the ladder creek under his weight as he closed the trapdoor quietly, the monsters reaction mercilessly.
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What are you doing? You could have killed him!
Gut him already!
Why let him live? What's the reason?
When did you become so stupid?
Rip him from limb to limb!
«»«»«»«»«»
"Why?"Alexander asks softly it becoming less of a question for the monsters and something for himself, but not a question he really wanted to think of, -why let them live?- He's tired of fighting a part of him already resigning, he looks up and sees a small glint of something.
He waits for his eyes to adjust and sees shears, it was there for when Alexander needed to clip something off for brewing—like cutting off the tops of flowers, leaves, stuff that would get in the way of the potion and so on. The shears glinted again as if the Gods themselves wanted him to take it.
He wouldn't. He won't. He can't.
He would never, not in eons. He's hurt so many people and he will never feel their pain, he has seen them rebuild the things he has destroyed, mourned the people he has killed and left broken in his wake. Wanting to scream at them, the other wanting to warn them of the ever looming shadow of death he brings with him, maybe—even a small part of himself mourning what he himself has destroyed, seeing beautiful valleys in less than a day become filled with corpses and rivers running slick with blood.
He will never.
He would not give in to this fight, even as they tried to attack him, he was not going to hurt anyone, not anymore. He would endure a lifetime of this to know that Hester and Wilbur are alright, -why?- He doesn't know yet, maybe never will but he would do anything to keep them safe.
So he stayed sitting on the ground, knees close to his chest keeping his head down, letting the monsters swallow him whole as the world once again slips from his fingertips leaving him floating, practically drowning without a parachute.
He lets it happen, willingly falling into the hands of the unknown, allowing the monsters to take their rage out on him instead, burying the idea of fighting and instead—like with real combat—taking on a defensive approach trying to hold them off until they become tired.
He couldn't hear what any of them were saying, their voices overlapping one another, but one voice rises above the rest, the words ringing loudly in his ears making him feel nauseous as it becomes a high pitch wailing, making his head pound like he was being hit, they said dangerously calm to him.
«»«»«»«»«»
Old habits die hard.
«»«»«»«»«»
Alexander doesn't remember what happened next.
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Art by Celia 🎗️ on twiman.net
Alexander's characters is inspired by a lot of people but the most prevalent ones in his character arc are The Skulltaker from WarHammer, Kratos from God Of War and most importantly, Technoblade (no, not from Ninjago, like the streamer)
© Unavailable
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