GOT (regular):Horse riding

I cannot ride my dragon for my poor Viseryon is dead. I cannot soar through the clouds and fly on a dragon's back but I can enjoy looking at the scenery. I can enjoy the wind whipping at my face as my steed runs faster. I can smell the earth as it is and relish the smell of nature surrounding me. I can praise the gods for their marvelous creation.  I feel grateful, somehow, to have survived for as long as I did, so I could enjoy Life.  I miss my best friend. I miss my dragon, but I found a new way to feel free. I found a new way to be /me/. 

Klasma: Disgust

Klasma: "Disgust." 

(It's a little flash forward. It takes place after Klaus' rescue.)

Neela looked at her shoulder. It was still healing from the injury inflicted upon her by the werewolf she fought a couple of days earlier. It stung, more than the witch had ever wanted it to hurt but it reminded her of her own mortality, and in a way she welcomed the wounds and the pain caused by it. She was alive, after all, and the curse could not take it away from her. Her golden eyes set upon her reflection in the mirror and the witch found herself biting at her bottom lip. It had happened again, after all these decades spent hidden and in control, Nëela let her anger take the best out of her. During the rescue, the only desire she had was to decimate her enemies and rescue Klaus. In the midst of the fire, she could have hurt Klaus himself if she had not been brought back to reality. How could she still be storing that much anger? How could she still be a danger to those around her? 

Her eyes swelled up and she could feel tears quickly fill them. Was it what her curse had reduced her to be? A bloodthirsty creature that could only feel relief when she inflicted pain? She had no remorse during her rampage, quite the opposite. She was elated by the sounds of pain and agony she earned by her actions because, to her, her enemies were the recipients of her pain. She was happy because they would feel what they made her feel when she thought Klaus had abandoned her. Still, that part was true today. It was also true that the witch hated to give in to her impulses and wreak havoc. All this blood, all this pain... It didn't make her feel good once her hunger was satiated. Instead, she felt shame. She wanted to crawl back into the darkness and keep her power in check.  Did that make her a monster? Her reflection thought so, given the tears that were now rolling down her cheeks. Nëela ran her hand through her curly pink locks, holding a fistful of hair before she slowly started to sob. She was a healer, yet she couldn't stop killing wherever she went. She couldn't stop because she had to defend herself and those she loved.

"Was it the real curse you cast on me, Supreme? Did you want to force me to take lives rather than save them? You must be laughing where you are... laughing because you force me to lose myself a little more every day...."

She whispered to her reflection before the hand that was holding her hair gently laid against the glass. It wasn't her loneliness nor the fact every single creature would reject her. It was the fact she would have no choice but to kill if she wanted to survive. The whole point was to make her life a living hell where she would be forced to go against her very beliefs in order to stay alive. how cruel of a punishment. How cruel...

-TBC-

Doya; A hunter's life

//All the usual disclaimers :)

"A hunter's life is a lonely life, Oya."

Sarah's voice kept saying this sentence, over and over again in Oya's head. She was applying some cold meat on her bruised face while staring at her own reflection in the mirror. Sarah's voice repeated Oya's mantra as if it was her own and god that was irritating. That was irritating Oya because it was true regardless of the side of the World. She used to look at her past with colour-tinted glass, parading around spouting how much better life was in Cameroon because hunters were acknowledged and sought after. the society was aware of the supernatural because it was in their culture. Legends, Myths and older religions were still prevalent to the point that it was an honour to be a hunter and a necessity. Hunters were tools, however, and while they could have families, they couldn't escape their duty. They couldn't become something else, they were stuck in this life. So she stopped gloating about how much better life was outside of America because it ended up being untrue.

The hunter's life was a lonely one. It was a life of sacrifice and pain, a life of Dilemma. Oya was familiar with it, with violence and pain. With tears that she couldn't cry anymore and those, she couldn't contain. She stared at her bruised face in the mirror and inspected every bit of it. She looked at the swollen lips and left eye, she looked at the cuts on her cheeks, chin and the larger stitched wound on top of her forehead. Oya looked down to her body, only covered by a sports bra and a pair of grey boxers. She stared at her gunshot and stabbing scars, the deep traces of the Asanbosam claws that covered both forearms, the bruises on her sides mind-absently feather touched her belly, where the most intimate scar of them all was due to a potion she drank to save a life. It was a shitty life, for whoever would look at it. She couldn't have the white picket fences life Sarah was having. Sarah opted out of the hunter's life a long time ago so she could have a family. Oya couldn't.

All of those she loved died. It felt like the universe had said so. Her family was decimated by a demon and yet Oya felt guilty for something she had no control over. She felt guilty because her brother -who became the vessel of the demon- argued with her the day before he disappeared because he wanted to prove himself. If he had not left, maybe he wouldn't have died. If he had not left, then maybe, their mother would still be alive. Oya made her peace with those events, but the absence of her family became painfully obvious as time went by. Two years went by since then but Oya felt like they were dead yesterday. It became more and more difficult as she was seeking guidance for the choices she was making and those she wanted to make. Like Sam and Dean.Oya chose to live with them since they found her at this vampire nest and rescued her. She chose to spend time with them, share her life with theirs, allow them in her heart. But they were in danger with her; Oya was convinced. She worried they might die because of her and that was one of the reasons she always had packed bags in her closet. Bags she unpacked after a while because she started to catch feelings for...

A hunter's life is a lonely life. That was true. There was no room for romance, no time for love. Oya tried that only to have it bite her in the ass. Her beloved fiancé abandoned her when she became infertile. The minute he realized he couldn't father children he became distant with her. Witnessing the death of her love was excruciatingly painful for Oya, having to fight him after he got possessed was even worse but all those traumas were bound to happen when your line of work was to deal with supernatural creatures. Fabrice died and along with him, Oya's desire to love and be loved. Or so she thought. It all was shattered when she met them. When she met him. Deep down she was aware of how he made her feel, the gentle blush, the silly smile, the genuine laugh. But there couldn't be a "us", there couldn't be a "them"...Because Oya knew, the minute it would be, then everything would be over. He would die or maybe she would die and the story would rinse and repeat itself.

A hunter's life is a lonely life. She could tell. The brothers both have been through a lot and even after she learned some of it, Oya wasn't aware of the worst. They didn't tell her everything but Oya didn't need to know. She knew pain when she saw it and she did see the pain in both brothers eyes. Sam and Dean knew what "loss" meant. They had lost everything too, family, lovers, and even life. They were themselves souls with a greater purpose than Oya could ever imagine. They were special, she knew it. Forged by Death, strengthened by Pain and sharing a bond she refused to break. Sam knew, she told him already that she would put her life in line to ensure both of them kept each other. She could sacrifice her life in the snap of a finger if that meant preserving the brothers. She was willing to die for them... She put the warmer meat on the sink and curled her fingers into fists. What could she expect from her life if not more pain and misery? She found joy in her job, in hunting actual powerful supernatural beings and defeat them. She found a purpose in this life and defined herself as a tool in service of mankind because it was easier to think of oneself as one rather than a being capable of emotion. What good could it do anyway? What good could it do to dream of something a little better than what she had? What good could it do to want more from this shitty life? What good could it do to want him?

To love him?

To need him?

he fell out of love -angst/sad-

He fell out of love

A/N: Bear with me, please. I thought my up phase would last longer but I guess it only lasted a week. I am in a pretty bad phase right now but all I can do and write is what I have in my heart. I can't do more. Please bear with me.

xxxxxxxxxx

I watched it at the best seat, no really the best seat.

I watched as he started to grow distant with me and then requested more and more space.

I gave it to him, his space, thinking I might have been asking too much from him.

Yeah, whose fault would it be if it wasn't mine? I clung to him, I needed him too much.

So I gave him space, a lot of it.

I watched it at the best seat, no really, the best seat.

He used to hug me, kiss me goodbye and comfort me when I wasn't alright.

I saw him stop caring too much. He didn't ask anymore how I was feeling.

He didn't want to know. How could I blame him? He's been doing this since the first day.

So, I decided I wouldn't let him know how I felt and keep it to myself.

He didn't have to watch my drama unfold in front of him. He didn't need to worry anymore.

We used to eat together too, but always he would make excuses not to sit with me at the table.

He was avoiding me and there was nothing I could have done to prevent it from happening.

I tried and tried so hard to ignite the fire that linked us together, restore the old flame between us.

I couldn't grab his attention anymore, I couldn't kick start our love again...

So I watched it slowly decay. I watched it die like a nurse at a patient's bed.

He stayed with me because of his sense of duty, he told me later.

He wanted to make sure I didn't break when he would leave, that I would be okay.

That was... that was yet another blow. He pitied me, what else would that be if not pity?

What did that say about me? That I couldn't handle him leaving me? That I was too fragile?

I succeeded in making the man I was in love with, a prisoner of his own relationship. Well done!

My heart ached for him. It bled at night because even when we were sleeping he still was distant.

He still didn't want to hold me, he became a complete stranger with a face I used to know.

I wanted to touch him, kiss him, hug him. I was still burning with desire for him but he had stopped.

He was like a beautiful fruit hanging on a tree that I would never be able to reach anymore.

He was... he was... rejecting me as if I was not desirable anymore to him.

I couldn't blame him though, but, he used to make me feel like the most beautiful woman ever.

He used to make me feel like I was the only one on Earth and now... now I just felt like garbage.

It wasn't his fault, he simply fell out of love with me. It happens you know? It does hurt though

I would never have thought I would have to experience it again, with him, but I was wrong.

Frozen as I was, it took me several months to realize that I was holding him back.

I ate alone, drank alone, slept alone... I still lived with a man whose heart was closed forever to me.

It all ended so brutally, I didn't understand how he could so quickly fall out of love with me.

Yet, when I thought about it, all of them quickly left me after a while, so it must be me. My fault.

I caged him up, the man I was supposed to love the most on Earth. I caged him up.

Freedom is the best gift you can give to someone you love, so I had to give his freedom back.

So I lied.

I had to let him go and he wouldn't go if he wasn't sure I was doing okay. So I decided to pretend I was doing okay. I stopped moping around when he was around. I started to smile more.

I worked really hard to make him feel like I moved on from him so he could go. He bought into it.

So I helped him pack his stuff, kissed him goodbye, wished him good luck, called him a friend.

But when I closed the door and looked at the empty flat I now lived in, it hit me hard, like a truck.

I let him go. It really was over.

I never thought I would have to experience it once again, not with the man I loved this much.

But it became clear that it couldn't have gone another way, it had to end up like this.

He fell out of love with me like so many before him and maybe more after him.

But unlike the others, I noticed it way before it became too critical and I took action.

I tried to save our relationship but it was useless, so I did what I had to do: I let him go.

Alone in that flat, I could finally accept my own feelings, my true emotions.

I didn't have the energy to do more but sit on the floor and contemplate my life.

See, he might have been gone but he loved me the best. He genuinely loved me.

So, in a way, I should feel lucky to have experienced it shouldn't I?

Love is a tiresome game, one I keep promising myself to never play again.

It's a freaking Russian roulette where Pain is the only thing at the end.

I feel like I'd rather take a bullet and end everything, but the beautiful moments hold me back.

I simply laid there, against my front door, wondering what I would do now that it was over.

But all I could think about was that he fell out of love with me

and I didn't... ohno.... I didn't.