On some level, Dilan knew. He knew that he had become what he had always fought against. A monster so consumed by anger and bitterness and heartache that he shut his entire self down and acted. Only acted. It hurt. In the beginning, when it first happened, it hurt so badly that he rejected all that he could. Shut himself down, rejected everything that was Dilan and threw himself into being Xaldin. It was better to be this new entity, this new person, than it ever had being Dilan. It was liberating. Intoxicating. He was his own man, delighting in what he did, even the hurt he caused. Cast away all love and compassion. Crush it. Destroy it. Cut it down like it...she...had cut him down.
It still ate at him. He had to keep Xaldin at bay now, keep him from flooding his newly reformed heart with guilt and despair. Consciously? He held Xaldin back not because of guilt, but because he had convinced himself that "Xaldin" was someone who had nothing to do with himself. The schism hurt his heart just as his sore back hurt. He couldn't face what he had done, or why he had done it. He couldn't.
"In the dream? Fear. Panic. It was...survival. Him or me. And I felt helpless. I knew I couldn't win against him. So I ran." He sighed. "Now? Still shaken. How do you expect to win a fight against something like that...? It was a dream. But Aeleus...damn him, I wish he would let me sleep."
Dilan took a deep breath. He knew his own body. This was going to hurt. He forced his arms up, grimacing as the pain flared from his movements. He grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled it up, over his shoulders, hanging it over his neck before he let his arms drop, letting out a relieved breath as the pain faded.
If he knew what his shoulders looked like, he wouldn't be so calm. His shoulder blades were heavily bruised, deep purple and indigo, the surrounding skin red and irritated. Odd swelling stretched from the base of his neck to nearly his sides. In the very center of each shoulder blade, something was pressing against his skin from the inside...something that looked like the leftover end of a spear that had been broken off, irritated and overly warm from his sleeping position.
Something being wrong was definitely an understatement.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2015-07-20 02:01 am (UTC)It still ate at him. He had to keep Xaldin at bay now, keep him from flooding his newly reformed heart with guilt and despair. Consciously? He held Xaldin back not because of guilt, but because he had convinced himself that "Xaldin" was someone who had nothing to do with himself. The schism hurt his heart just as his sore back hurt. He couldn't face what he had done, or why he had done it. He couldn't.
"In the dream? Fear. Panic. It was...survival. Him or me. And I felt helpless. I knew I couldn't win against him. So I ran." He sighed. "Now? Still shaken. How do you expect to win a fight against something like that...? It was a dream. But Aeleus...damn him, I wish he would let me sleep."
Dilan took a deep breath. He knew his own body. This was going to hurt. He forced his arms up, grimacing as the pain flared from his movements. He grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled it up, over his shoulders, hanging it over his neck before he let his arms drop, letting out a relieved breath as the pain faded.
If he knew what his shoulders looked like, he wouldn't be so calm. His shoulder blades were heavily bruised, deep purple and indigo, the surrounding skin red and irritated. Odd swelling stretched from the base of his neck to nearly his sides. In the very center of each shoulder blade, something was pressing against his skin from the inside...something that looked like the leftover end of a spear that had been broken off, irritated and overly warm from his sleeping position.
Something being wrong was definitely an understatement.