' The wind. A horrible thing that works deceivingly with the trees, passing secretive messages between the leaves.
It's pulse eerily in time with mine, but not thumping for my life, but slowing it down trying to bring me closer to my acquaintance, death.
Feeding me with the sickly tune of melodic bird song, that brings me inescapable joy, no matter how much I resist its manipulative tactics, the woods still has my deepest happiness, claiming it since I was a young boy.
But for as long as the hollow wind blows through the looming beech trees, the trees I cannot deny are my saviours in this cruel world, there will be no complete rest for my mind, the rest I crave so deeply. ' - Elias Everlore.
Introductions are pointless, something Elias had never truly believed in, as he never stayed around long enough to receive a relationship with the people he interacted with, it was easier to remain distant and avoid attachment. However, when he had laid his eyes on the rebellious girl, all he wanted was an introduction.
He gravitated towards the girl, something that truly never happened. His great detest towards all living things plagued him with a dislike towards everything that moved. He couldn't tell whether he welcomed this gut feeling that definitely made him uncomfortable, but it seized his attention with the thrill of this unknown sixth sense.
In the small village, overgrown with houses, but seemed so at peace, that the tightly packed environment felt more like a hug. Cobblestone paths, leading in all different directions clumsily designed, and roughly placed however the thought gone into it by the people of the village was evident.
Elias, cautiously walking on the cobbles, highly aware of the humiliation he would face if his slender body was to fall infront of all the new eyes casted upon his tall figure. He was used to eyes on him, he knew was attractive, almost big headed. His Jet black hair, always perfectly styled. The perfectionist he was shone through his entire appearance, a habit he had inherited from his father, the father that now was merely a memory, the most prominent reminisce of him being Elias' up tight aura. His pale skin contrasting with his menacing hair, he never purposely avoided the sun, he presumed it was the shadow of bad luck that kept his skin colourless, matching his soul.
Although Elias thought highly of his physical appearance his emotional well being was his biggest weakness, and he knew this. So he did everything he could to put on a smile, a mask to cover the swamp of insecurity behind his icy eyes.
The market was bustling with young and old, a cheery atmosphere that made Elias feel sick. He could feel the beady eyes peeling off of him, although he hated to admit it, people had found a more interesting sight. It was busy, however a significant amount of people seemed to be gathered in an area by what appeared to be a fruit stall, annoyingly, the crowd had already congregated before his eyes could meet the victim of everyone's stare.
His curiosity easily got the best of him, not that he objected, and began to make his way to join the attentive crowd.
Being taller than the majority of the bustling mob, most of which being women which helped, he was able to clearly see the commotion. He could ok hear the raging voices before he had even gotten to the rest of the nosy villagers.
A little girl, a timid vulnerable looking child cowered behind another, biting her nails, her cheeks wet with meaningful, emotional tears, her eyes were frightened, still puffy from her sobs. The main attention was on the Older girl, maybe 18? The resemblance between the two was uncanny, both sharing the same lush blonde hair, the same peachy skin tinted with a red glow.
He watched the older girl getting more and more livid with the Man, much bigger and stronger than her, whether she was brave or foolish to challenge the man he couldn't tell yet.
The harmless but bitter words shot from her mouth, her brows furrowed casting fury in her eyes. With no hesitation between each sentence of menacing anger, almost like her breath was too slow for her temper. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, the slightest [and what seemed to be the only] show of self restraint. Her attempt to contain her language was unsuccessful, still spitting cruel insults, at the man who's frustration was vigorously growing.
Elijah watched the man's body language grow, grow in humiliation, embarrassment and irrational anger. Something that was so dangerous in the hands of an immature man. He watched his weight shift very slightly, as he glared at the girl yelling in his face. He watched as his hand flew in the air, the momentum of wrath powering its swing.
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