[fancypost bgcolor=; border: 0px; width: 425px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12px; text-trasform: lowercase][font=arial]"Ronan."
Snow danced around the hiisihound's black form, falling serenely from the sky like leaves in autumn. He was like a dark splotch of ink in the middle of a white field, a stark contrast among all the snow. And the snow wanted desperately to change that, falling on top of the male in an ever thickening blanket, causing his pelt to look like the galaxies had fallen down and merged with his soul, like space itself was a part of his fur. He lay there, unconscious and unresponsive to the cold that kissed his skin, oblivious to the blizzard around him. He was dead. Dead in his own mind. Stuck in a never ending coma yet again as his spirit and mind slowly faded. He had died - the cold of the blade that had pierced his stomach and his heart was still there, transformed into the very blizzard that was around him now. Yet he wasn't dead on the inside yet. Once again a greater force by the name of "father" was keeping him in a state similar to limbo. Not quite dead but definitely not alive.
"Wake up."
A loud, pained gasp escaped the canine as suddenly a sharp pain slammed him awake, forcing the breath back into his lungs at full force. His icy blue eyes opened up, and despite the shock and surprise in them, they were vacant and dull. The eyes of a man who was already dead. Ronan didn't even have time to analyze his situation before the wind starting shrieking around him, tugging and whipping at his pelt, fighting alongside the snow to bring him down and suffocate him. He was suddenly painfully aware of the cold. Of the pain. A silent snarl formed on his maw as he struggled desperately to get onto his paws, to try and orient himself, to try and find a safe haven....
"I'm not done with you."
A whimper escaped his throat as an even greater pain and pressure formed in his temple, forcing him back down and into the mercy of the storm. He clawed desperately at his head, trying to dull or numb the pain, but still it held on and persisted. The snow was starting to blind him, and it didn't help his already panicked and disoriented state. Everything was too white, too bright. Everything looked the same wherever he tried to look, and a blind panick started to crawl up his spine and into his throat, causing his breathing to come out shallow and in pained gasps. He was suffocating. This was how it felt to die in your own mind, this was how it was going to -
"I won't let you die."
A black shadow formed in the horizon, menacing and dangerous. But it was the only thing that Ronan could focus on, the only thing that brought relative safety despite the ominous air around it. Even as his words sent a shiver up Ronan's spine, the hiisihound found himself crawling towards no other but his father. To no other than the one who was putting him through this torment. No other but the one he hated. The one he loved. Yet despite how much he was struggling to move forward towards the man, he didn't seem to be getting any closer. He was stuck perpetually in the same place, his father forever out of reach.
"PLEASE. HELP ME!"
Ronan tried desperately to crawl through the blizzard to get to him, to claw his way forward. It didn't work, and Lirim smirked down at him. Suddenly he was towering above the hiisihound, and an involuntary whimper escaped the male as he felt all control over his limbs leave him, and he fell still once again, the blizzard soon covering him in a freezing blanket of snow. He could scarcely raise his head, and after minutes of trying he finally gave up, squeezing his blue eyes shut.
He felt a hand on his head, and if left to his own devices he would have instantly flinched back. But he was frozen, quite literally, and could do nothing as his father stared down at him, soulless eyes digging into his skull. The snow didn't dare touch his black cloak and suit, didn't dare approach him fearing that he could destroy it with a flick of his wrist. Indirectly, Ronan himself was the reason this was happening, for he feared that if he fought back that something bad would happen.
They sat like that for a while, Ronan quite literally feeling like a dog infront of his father who had taken a human form in his mind. It's exactly how he wanted. Exactly how he saw his own son. A low growl escaped Ronan and his eyes flashed dangerously, a new life suddenly forming in them. Yet his father only smiled sweetly down at him, continuing to pet him. "Help yourself," he murmured out sweetly, and suddenly he was gone in a flurry of shadows, the snow quickly taking his place.
Ronan was alone again in his own head, the blizzard raging around him furiously, screaming at him to fight. But he couldn't. The will to fight against Lirim was long gone from his bones, and he could do nothing but curl up into a tight ball in the snow, a tired sigh escaping his parted jaws. He wasn't even going to cry. He didn't feel like it. He felt numb and empty and tired, and all he wanted was the storm to swallow him up and end it. He wanted to die, and yet his father wasn't even giving him that. After all he had gone through he didn't even want a happy life. He didn't wish for one because he knew it was impossible. He just wanted no life. He wanted everything to end, so that he didn't have to hurt no more. And so the hiisihound dropped his wings to his sides, fell into the blizzard and let it cover him, let it bury him. He let it take him, with a quiet prayer to whatever gods were listening. Please, let this be the end.
[hr]
It was strangely warm, a sharp contrast to the freezing air he had felt only moments ago. There was no snow around, no pain. The birds were singing in the early morning light and instead of snow caking his still form it was dew. Yet despite the serenity, as Ronan slowly regained consciousness he couldn't help but feel his stomach drop, a sick feeling of nausea running through his body. He didn't want to open up his eyes. He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to go back to whatever hell he had been in and stay there, where he belonged. The sun wasn't welcoming. It was another fucking reminder that he was still plaguing this earth. It was a constant reminder that he was still here, and that as long as he was here that he was dangerous.
"Fuck you..." Ronan weakly wheezed out as he felt more and more strength enter his tired limbs. Yet despite knowing very well that he could get up and walk back to camp at that moment, he didn't. He stayed on his side, eyes squeezed shut as he desperately tried to will himself away from here, tried to pretend like he didn't have to wake up and face himself and his actions again. A good hour passed by like this, and despite the effort he had put into making himself disappear, all Ronan got from it was a headache that seemed to resonate throughout his whole body.
He had no choice, it seemed. He could go kill himself again but he already knew it wasn't going to work. Lirim's words resonated in his head, only adding onto his pounding headache. So he had to face another day. A groan escaped the canine's parted jaws as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, and it didn't take him too long to realize something was different. The weight and pressure on his back and head were suddenly gone, and a frown tugged at Ronan's lips as he rolled his shoulders in discomfort. Something was off. With a snarl Ronan twisted around, eyes widening in shock as they caught sight of the lack of appendages on his shoulders. And the fact that his whole body was both a different color and shape. In a blind fit of panic the male stood up, rushing over to a nearby river, almost falling into it as he halted infront of it. His suspicions were proven true. His birth body was dead, then. Apparently it was too hard to revive it, or find a body similar. Not even Lirim could do it. So now, he stood in a German Shepard body, much different than his previous one. He actually looked...
Normal. Still intimidating, but normal.
A deeper frown etched itself onto his maw as he spun around to take himself in, then turning back to the river Ronan jumped up in surprise as his eyes turned from their previous olive green color to a pure black one. His whole eye, not only the pupil, was the same inky black as his. He didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. With a low growl the German Shepard slowly backed away from the river, only to end up turning around and swiftly running back to camp, a turmoil of emotions dancing in his black eyes. At least they weren't soulless - though that was something Ronan failed to see. All he saw was yet another way that his father controlled him.