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crazkoala

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       Fate fell to his knees at the cliff’s edge, body jutting above the large void of space between him and the ocean. His heart both wanted to stop, right then and there, and rip itself from the bonds that tied it in his chest. He watched in frantic desperation as Ivory continued to plummet to the ocean below.

       Reaching into the depths of his soul, he formed amplified whispers on his lips, speaking more hurriedly than he ever had before. In a single white flash, the light came and went, and the wind continued in typhoon gusts as the griffon leapt from the cliff, wings folded in a dive. Fate watched, horrified, as Ivory’s frail form hit the crashing waves with a muted splash. Nausea caused his stomach to turn and he felt the energy drain away both from the power of his incantation and terrified disbelief.

       In a state of shock, he was silently aware of the griffon pulling out of its dive only to begin circling the water in vain effort. Its miserable screech of despair cut through him, unleashing the countless emotions that resided dormant within Fate. “IVORY!” Fate bellowed, arm stretching out its insignificant distance to grasp her hand in his. “IVORY!!!” he called again in desperation, gasping for air that didn’t seem to be there at all. He collapsed, overcome by sorrow, and allowed his tears to consume him. “IVORY!” his voice was hoarse, rubbed raw from the volume of his shouts.

       The griffon cried out again, its piercing timbre mingling with the echoes of his own shout. “Ivory!” he called again, the life within him now seemed meaningless. Weakly, he pushed himself upright, feeling dizzy at the overload of emotion. He stood, stumbling, unbelieving. “NO!” he bellowed, head thrown back, shoulders sagging, chest heaving. He felt each breath rip at his withering lungs. “DAMN YOU, WISTERIA YOU MALEVOLENT WITCH!”

       Blinded by his rage, he staggered toward the forest a few steps, before turning slowly to face the edge of land. Fury boiled within him, giving Fate newfound energy. He burst into a sprint, setting aside the pain and replacing it with fierce determination. He was being foolish, but he didn’t care. Only fools fell in love. Vaulting over the solid boundary of his sanity, he arched his back into an elegant dive, slicing through the air like the blade of a knife. The wind whistled around him in a rush, the ocean swelled to greet him. A defiant cry met his ears, and he suddenly found himself crashing into not the surging water of the ocean, but a solid form. His eyes widened, stunned as the immense pain devoured him. Fate felt the silk of feathers on his naked chest, and remembered the distinct feeling of defying gravity before he let consciousness slip from his lifeless grasp.

       The sharp sting of a beak on his wounded shoulder roused him. Fate sat up with a jolt of remembrance, Ivory, but had forgotten the pain all too early. It threatened to drag him back down but Fate defied its will. Lips drawn in a silent snarl, he rose to his knees to be greeted by griffon’s concerned eyes. It cooed sadly, nudging him slightly on the side, wanting him to look at something. Fate let his head fall in renouncement. He yielded to his sorrow, allowing silent tears to slip from his eyes unchecked. She was gone… The only thing that was left to him worth living for…

       The griffon’s relentless beak bit into his skin, drawing blood. Fate glared at it. He then realized, after opening his thoughts, the griffon wanted him to look behind… At the sight, his heart sputtered before igniting with new resolve. Sprawled across the white sand of the beach to which the griffon had brought him, was Ivory’s mangled form.

       A shuddering sigh of relief coursed its way across Fate’s body before his agony was immediately replaced by overwhelming panic. She was soaked and the wind lashed around her. Her skin had lost all color and looked waxy; lifeless. And blood…

       Stumbling under the pain that seemed to be everywhere in him, he closed the distance between them. Crimson liquid pooled in the diamond sand and saturated the fabric of Ivory’s dress. So much blood. Uncertainly, Fate pressed an ear to milky skin of her chest. Her heartbeat resided there, weak and nearly inaudible, but it was enough to put Fate into action.

       Calling the griffon over, he removed the saddle bag from its back and begin to rummage through it for his tunic. He pulled out the navy cloth, tattered but sufficient, and tore it into broad sections. Thoughtlessly, he ripped open the seams of Ivory’s dress girdle, and ignoring her naked indecency, he examined the extent of the damage taken.

       A deep gash to her right hip was the source of the blood; it seeped from the open wound freely. Tenderly, he raised her into his lap and began to bandage the wound. Her unconsciousness must have been a result of both the loss of blood and the shock of impact to the water. Drained both emotionally and physically, Fate began to cry.

       He stood, called the griffon over, and mounted it. And with Ivory Draped limply in his arms, they took flight. Rage coiled within him—a deep hate for Wisteria. The witch had torn him away from his home, killed his only family in front of his eyes, and threatened the things he loved so she could gain her meaningless power. But this had gone too far.