ORIGIN

((private between Beast/Clover, but if anyone else has a reason to join, feel free to ask!))

The young white lion was sleeker than he had been, but his coat was still smudged with dirt. He still lingered in the shadows of his garden, though he now also spent a great deal basking in the beauty of Clover's gift. The white doe--the only one who had ever been kind to him, and a godsend after Vazi's cruelty--had left him a glowing stone about the size of her head. The plants seemed to grow better in the light it gave off, and Beast often spent hours merely lounging beside it, half-closed eyes drinking in its bright purity. It brought him happiness. It represented kindness: the kindness the white doe had brought. It symbolized hope in a dusty, dark world. Mercy in the midst of cruelty. Innocence, without ignorance. Of course, he didn't quite think these things through in those words; rather, he knew it made him happy, thought it was "nice" when so many things were not. And so in between his careful tending of the vines and reeds, or the magical growth he patiently meted out bit by bit to the berry bushes and long grasses, Beast often rested here. He'd even created a sort of shrine, around it, or perhaps it could be better-called a sanctuary: a clear ring of soft mossy earth, where a few lions could have lain comfortably, and around which a thick wall of greenery grew. There were several ways in and out, but once inside, one couldn't see much bar the little thicket and the glowing orb within. It was peaceful, quiet, a little shelter, and the young white lion loved it. He lay there, half-drowsing, and wondered if the white doe might someday visit again. ______________

@Clover

His mind raced with the ugliness that poured forth from Clover, that dripped from her words. She was dead? But... she didn't look dead. Was that what all the black stuff was? His fear still gripped him, his terror, but it wasn't for himself--it was for Clover. He hadn't been afraid for himself. "You died...?" he asked softly, horrified. And then she was calling him a coward--did she blame him? He'd always taken blame; he knew he was filth. He was used to being trampled for things that were not his fault--torn apart, beaten, bruised. But for once, he felt the need to protest--not out of his own pride, but because he wouldn't have let her be harmed, if he could have helped it. "I'm not hiding, I... I am taking care of my garden--I would have come..." but his voice was trailing off into a frightened whisper. She could hardly make him feel worse about herself--Vazi had torn that part of him away long ago. He had no pride. No feeling of self-worth whatsoever. He was filth; that was just how it was. Those words passed by him with no effect, bar a little twinge--a little grief that it was Clover saying it. Oh, he still hurt. Her words still ripped at him, still tore at his soul, but probably not for the reason she'd expected. No--he pitied her. Horror and grief for Clover welled up in him, and as the darkness descended over them both like a cloak--one which brought cold, and not warmth--he didn't shrink away. Wide pale eyes seeing nothing through the black, he lifted his nose to try and touch hers, even as she leaned down over him. She was ugly. Everything about her had become ugly. And he felt terrible for her. Terrible--and afraid. But what could he do for her? He didn't know. He couldn't grow her, like his plants--couldn't tend this sickness that wilted her life and spirit. She had spoken of the way that light worked the same way, and he had practiced, tried to learn--maybe he could do that, at least...? Keeping his head close to hers, touching, if he could, he closed his eyes and focused. He remembered what Clover had been, and he tried to push that darkness away from her. Maybe... he could heal whatever had been done to her? Maybe he could fix whatever Hasira had inflicted? He was still filled with fear, grief, the emotions threatening to tear him apart, even as Clover hissed her hatred. But he didn't know what else to do, but try. A gentle glow began to shine from the white lion, reaching up for Clover through the shadows... trying to find her. Wherever she'd gone. ______________

@Clover

She could taste Beast's horror like a fine wine, bitter and rotten to her tastebuds, swirling around her mouth, and it was delicious. She could get drunk off of it, for how intoxicating it was to her. But something else inside it ruined the taste, something sweet fouling it all up. There was pity mixed in, and some measure of hope, and it made her so hideously angry that at the same time the spell was worked on her, she struck out at the lion with her hoof, aiming for their eye but hitting their cheek instead in her blindness. She screamed,the shadows burning within her eyesocket, and at the same time she was physically damaged, so to was her core attacked with this absolutely beautiful image of Bartos staring at her in awe, laughing and smiling at her. Everything everything EVERYTHING was burning inside with the light and beauty and the raging sea inside was screaming and tearing at her inner walls, threatening to crumble the castle down, and the prison cell in which the mind was held was left wide open. The shadow was clutching her head, and didn't see that she was at the helm, her bright soft yellow eye blinking away the sludge that surrounded it like bad mascara and eyeshadow gone wrong. "Bartos," One word spilled from her, her pure, sobbing voice wracked with pain. The shadow tried to control this boiling mess, but the insane sea wouldn't listen, rushing to her and trying to tear her apart while the mind was safe in the light, and she couldn't hear the shadow screaming in agony and rage. "......."

@Beast @Bartos

The adolescent white lion flinched as the hoof cracked out at his face, and thankfully it didn't split him, didn't tear his wide, pale eye from its socket. Instead it found his cheek, lancing pain, sending him rocking back. Dispersing the light he'd been gathering. Yet Clover didn't seem to notice. All Beast saw was the white doe covered in roiling black--yet it seemed that somehow, beneath the surface, a storm raged. She choked a word he didn't recognize--Bartos--a name? Fear battled within him against the gentle awe he held for the doe, the love he'd gathered for her the way he loved his plants. He wanted to help her, to cleanse her, to grow her--what had Vazi done? With a soft cry of pain at the kick to his face, he cowered down and gathered himself again. He wasn't sure he had it in him, but he had to try. He had to keep trying, as before, to not give up; she had gone out of her way to show him kindness, and he wouldn't turn on her now. This isn't her, he thought again. Something has her. Maybe this shadow was an illness, after all. He pushed again, pulling on all that gentle warmth coiled up within him, trying to send it streaming out into the darkness in the form of glowing light. In the form of magic. It would take time; the pain had stamped his power back, and so he spoke, voice gently curious... trying to find out what it was that caused her such anguish. And trying to buy time. Maybe Clover herself could keep the shadows at bay. "Who is... Bartos?" Beast asked softly. ______________

@Clover