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Disclosing One's Identity [Closed - Syre]
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Post by Cion on Nov 26, 2021 23:47:23 GMT
Fading echoes of a soothingly warm touch traversed outward, giving way to the numbness of an innermost reality. The black vista enshrouded in silence dissolved into hazy silhouettes that slowly melted into unrecognizable amalgamations of their true self. A past lost, the unconscious present, and the indeterminate future intertwined like fabric, forming a single whole. As the volatile fibres it was weaved out of, this cosmos was without continuance, unbound to causality, memory and reason. It was as elusive as the souls who forged them, even those who clad themselves in a veil of order and reliability. Out of its core, an avatar manifested itself to witness and perhaps comprehend its own creation. It was as its world a mere effigy, lacking shape, detail and tangibility. The incandescent incarnation had no sway over its surroundings, nor truly itself. Its initial movements were out of sheer impulse, driven by the fleeting laws it was bound to. It familiarized itself with its environment, though only briefly to become a part of the tale it contained. It sensed without perception, touched without feeling, and took the first step without moving. Within the limited infinity were reminders - adulterated fragments of multiple lives hovering in the aether. Beyond the manifestation's reach these remnants were well-nigh indistinguishable from the nibulous horizon. Inhabiting these pieces were oily shades, most of which invoking a response to their whispers, despite not belonging to where they were. Although they were not, from the embodiment's ephemeral point of view they were all beckoning solely for it. However, it did not respond, as it was not what it was meant to do. It had no volition to defy the destination, nor was it acting on its own accord. Neither was it capable of recognizing its set path. Yet, indeed not aware of this unfathomable circumstance, it was not alone on its purportless journey. The conscience was always a specter that accompanied the spirit, but this time it was a frozen shadow chained to the husk it comprised. Merely the burden had a form and purpose unshackled to the chaos, and maybe it were these restraints that granted it the freedom to break itself, and its unknowing warden, free from unclarity.
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Post by Syre the BlackGatomon on Nov 27, 2021 22:30:26 GMT
Vast. Grand. Fragmented.
In Cion's slumbering mind, the dream was fantastical, but unfocused. Broken strands abstractly connected the unknown past to the present, and then onward to the uncertain future, a dark void surrounding the fox's perspective from all angles. As grand and open as it was, it could also be paradoxically constraining. A claustrophobic sense of being trapped between a forgotten past and an unknown future - and for all of Cion's strength, there was little she could do about it. Perhaps this dream was a common existential crisis - one that appeared more often with age?
As often happened with dreams, there was a 'skip', like a needle dancing over a record. Cion would assume her own visage as the avatar, and the moving cosmos of her storied history would be confined to paintings, both old and new. The infinite dark expanse took the shape of a darkened gallery, each painting held on the wall as an exhibit, held away from her by velvet rope.
"My, my... isn't this a familiar one?"
Cion's own voice filled the space. And right where there would have been no-one earlier, if Cion took a second look, she'd see herself: an Arniomon, both with the platinum band on her tail and that scarf wrapped warmly around her neck. She looked up towards a recent memory, of both the fox and the feline failing to make in-tact sushi. The painting was vivid, memory recent, as this 'Cion' gave a soft smile - looking briefly into a worn, ancient piece of film held in her palm.
"Once again seeking fulfillment. Once again 'finding my purpose'. Once again seeking to fill the heart..." She blinked, and turned, looking right over her shoulder. Right towards that 'avatar'.
"It's a comfortable 'song and dance', isn't it?"
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Post by Cion on Nov 28, 2021 0:03:30 GMT
In a realm that was bereft of cause and effect, there was no difference between a chain that was continuous and one that was broken. To the embodiment which was confined to its rules and lack their of, they were the same and thus non-existent. Yet as the fleeting shapes and sour notes performed their erratic dissonance, something had altered their status quo. Unknown to the manifestation, it was the frozen shadow that she cast, for though it had become a facet of this innermost world, it had not its origin here. Instead, it came from a great desire that was... assuaged.
Due to that which followed its every step, the repeating story that was meant to be told was disrupted. In lieu thereof were innumerable others, not unlike mementos littering a graveyard of what used to be, and what never did. They were as unreachable as in life, but... there was a shift, sudden and vivid. Where there was sensing without perception, the inception of an ego formed itself within the center of the incandescent avatar. Acts felt conscious even if they were uncontrolled, and the environment attained a faint touch, permitting a slight understanding.
Its... her movement became more herself, wary but firm as the grasp of dismayed curiosity engulfed her spirit. It was in the same moment as the burden her form had carried had unshackled itself from her. And it was in this crucial instance that she was confronted with that which had inhibited her since the loss of everything she once was. Beyond uncountable trials, meaningless triumphs, anguish of mind and obsession was the entity that had nurtured and channeled these scions into a personification of her own design.
They were her, and she was them.
Similarly was the muffled fragments of a voice that beckoned her to listen. Although it was hers, it was not of her. It wielded the shape she had forged, as it too was its to bear. After all, thus was decided upon. The remnant they beheld was sharp and vibrant, a contrast to the blurry gradients that surrounded them. A sense of warmth and belonging overcame her - a rare nostalgia that was savored instead of dreaded to witness. It was but a single moment, yet it was forever worthwhile to be a part.
Or was it not? This idea was challenged by her other, directed towards an unclear destination.
She stopped, paused, almost consciously so, an urge driving her to find an answer for a question answered differently too many times. Her voice replied without speaking, consideration and deliberation replaced by most truthful impulse. "Unfulfillment... that is out of which I was born. To undo and overcome what I am was always my impetus. But nothing sufficed; and there was never comfort in this - only in those that made resignation bearable... her, and him..."
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Post by Syre the BlackGatomon on Nov 28, 2021 0:42:17 GMT
"Of course, of course. That is what they are to you, after all."
Even as Cion spoke through thought alone, the specter answered as calmly as ever, hearing the fennec's thoughts with absolute clarity. And with those words, the Arniomon gave a small smile, once more giving that picture her full attention, a longing look in her eyes. "Her, a brilliant knight enraptured by your presence. Him, one that could share their heart wholly with you... there's nothing better, of course. True love, true happiness, an etching forever on your heart..."
The specter turned, that calm smile on her face, nodding towards the avatar. She held up the piece of film in her hands, and showed it towards Cion. There was a picture of Syre, a wide smile on her face, clearly filled with love and admiration for the fennec. Holding the picture between her fingers, she'd turn it around, showing one of Owen, the Gaomon, the film slightly faded and yellowed out - a love held once, and passed.
"Truly, nothing better."
The smile faded, as the picture turned sideways, concealing both images, before she would flick it out onto the ground. And as that 'one photo' hit the ground, against all logic, it spread out into several more, like one haphazardly throwing a pack of cards on the floor. Several photos - at least tens of them - were spread out wildly on the floor beneath them.
The clear image of Syre. The faded image of the Gaomon. And several more, with varying levels of decay. Some still had remnants of shape and ink, borders of forgotten shapes, hints of forgotten horizons. And the deeper down the deck that Cion would look, the film would be completely blank, faded completely away to decay.
Lost to time. Forgotten in the deepest recesses of Cion's past lives.
"And truly, nothing more fleeting."
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Post by Cion on Nov 28, 2021 10:56:08 GMT
"On mine... but not theirs."
That was the gift of her clarity, which too often was a curse filled with regret. It had always been an innermost desire to stay herself - growing past her limitations, but never forsaking her identity. She had witnessed what decay transcendence imposed on too many... from mere yet innumerable true monsters to wardens of singular apathy. She trod their path, but rejected a destination. There had to be another, actual purpose, something that could bend the fulcrum of their reality and emend it lastingly. Perhaps this ambition was noble, but the desire itself was unquestionably selfish.
And its price was monumental. To behold someone cherished in the next life, recalling journeys and their emotions so vividly, yet knowing nothing in and of them had remained... and having to let them go, because there was no other option. She had found acceptance in all, but why him? Was their vow, and their time together, meaningless, if it was alone her who continued to truly comprehend both? And were their current roads better than what should have been? These were questions she recognized would be bereft of answers, but she was unable to not ask them.
Kneeling down to examine the riven mosaic, to become fully aware of its contents, her hand swayed to caress each fragment tentatively. They were frail like wintered leafage, irremovable cracks and stains so easily imposed by a notion with a single sentiment. Every image was one moment in a voyage spanning a time-frame even she was no longer capable of grasping. Yet through deterioration she saw them clearly, as if experienced a second ago. The flaws and darkness existed, because those they originated from did not anymore - forever lost, except within her.
At the bottom of the canvas was her derivation, three irrecoverable mirrors of blackened ichor, faintly radiating flames - those which had forged her. The tenebrous reflection was of her varying selfs, layered in between those she had never encountered leaving their imprint on her. But unlike who she esteemed, their legacy and her heritage were not of love. Their fires were unfulfilled, burning with hate, longing and death. She was not them, but they had touched her core as parents do. She was aware of this, and sometimes made her wonder who she was before, untouched, and would have been without.
Looking up, well-nigh an active act to witness the other, she tilted her head slightly - a fully conscious deed inside the fog of obscurity that guided her. "Yet we are not fleeting. We are too... etched." She responded in hushed whispers, almost speaking, believing to fathom what it was that interacted with her. It was the least comfortable 'song and dance', yet the most persistent.
... The schism of possibilities ...
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Post by Syre the BlackGatomon on Nov 29, 2021 4:31:45 GMT
"Quite right. Our history is a long and storied one. We could hardly call our own existence 'fleeting'."
The specter answered, hearing those innermost thoughts and those hushed whispers with upmost clarity. That ancient mosaic and ancient pictures spoke to that truth: of a Digimon well beyond her years. However, this 'Cion' did not sound convinced, sounding more like she was dryly stating the facts. There was no comfort in that thought, no comfort in her words. For as much as Cion was eternal:
"In that same sense, we are the most fleeting of all."
The specter reached down, and plucked up one of those ancient pieces of film, a brief glance given to its front and back, before simply flicking it aside. "Completely forgotten. Lost to time - an inevitability that will fall upon all of these 'cherished' memories'." And once more, the threads of the dream led to an 'impossible' shift: away from the gallery, and into a darkened basement. Those photos that were once upon the floor now sat scattered above a dusty, ancient cloth. And as the Specter started to pick up those pictures, perhaps a feeling of dread would begin to grow in the Arniomon's heart.
Something was being uncovered. Hidden away by these 'distractions', such that she didn't have to look deeper - and as the last picture was plucked away, the Specter grasped at the edge of the cloth, and pulled the end away. Beneath it was an old, wrought, rotted wooden chest, with a secure bolted lock protecting the inside. And only as Cion looked at that lock, would she notice that she held its matching key in her left hand.
As if she always held it. And as if she knew why she had locked this away.
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Post by Cion on Nov 29, 2021 17:43:54 GMT
An individual was as much a product of other people's memories, as they were their own. Thus, from a point of view, her counterpart spoke the truth. To the world, she in many ways was the most fleeting, not those who lost themselves. How easily had her sense of self been broken by the cessation of the bonds she had held close to her heart. She had clung tightly to their shattered remains, desperately yearning for the impossible, and trying to mend it herself in vain. And instead of acceptance, she had sought denial and abscondence.
Fleeting indeed...
But inevitable? The avatar was unsure. She would like to believe that perpetuity was achievable, and had attempted to accomplish it before, though the result was evidently an absolute failure. It was a topic she had once briefly discussed with her dearly beloved, and ever since had striven towards peace of mind, without lasting success. She had formed deep attachments with her and others, and was masking a great effort pretending to not be afraid of losing them. In fact, there were few woes surpassing this anguish. She experienced little dread in cataclysms, but this innermost disquiet? It was unbearable.
And it was with these dreaded eventualities that her thoughts became manifest in this realm of tranquil strife. This manifestation was a literal prison of the mind, yet she was the warden wielding the key. It was natural, for everyone was ultimately alone to tend to their spirit, as powerless as innumerable were to find contentment. She was content in her 'distraction', and was willing, if not glad, to indulge herself in it forever. These indulgences were simply necessary to maintain the soul. There was nothing wrong with yielding to them... was there?
As the incandescent animus arose, its empty eyes started equally emptily at the rampart she had intentionally erected. She comprehended its purpose, and fathomed what resided within. In fact, they and the key itself were one and the same. What were they? Sentiments - sorrow deteriorating into odium, then pride, then ambition, then zeal... yet they were but sorrow all the same. They were buried far underneath bliss, but the cloth had always been worn and torn. To witness them, and herself, so clearly despite her hazy perception, sufficed to make her pause.
However, perhaps instinctively so, her gaze swayed directly towards the image of utmost important. It did not matter were it was, or if she could actually see its contents. It and its warmth were there, right by her side. Her kindred spirit was there, and she believed to know her. She was her radiant flame, and the harrowed specter had unconditional faith in it. What would she say and think?
"We are not defined by our worst..." She uttered once, then again, repeating it seemingly indefinitely to calm her agitated core. She did so in hushed whispers, frail and aggrieved, but her belief was adamant.
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Post by Syre the BlackGatomon on Dec 1, 2021 15:08:23 GMT
Cion's confidence was quick to fray. Her wisdom, her rank, her power - none of that mattered in the vestiges of her own mind. None of that mattered when she was forced to confront herself. This Specter, this undue influence, had forced its way inside and drew Cion to the darkest confines of her mind. She was made to question those assumptions that made her feel secure, and made her sane with such a long life.
"Surely, if I just look for it, I can find something eternal!" It was a hopeful thought, but not one backed with fact, all of Cion's experiences pointing to the opposite. "We are not defined by our worst!" Those repeated, uttered words were but the final truth that Cion had in her head, to try and convince herself - but the specter was hardly so kind. She stepped forward to the avatar, and rested her hand against Cion's own, curling her fingers around that key.
"Our worst is but our honesty. Our worst is our own thoughts, unfiltered." Those words might cut deep, and as the specter spoke, behind her, and behind that box, a well-lit, stained glass visage of Cion's recent life appeared behind her. Her missions, the Gaomon, the BlackGatomon, even squabbles with Metal Drive and her fight against Greed, all sprawled apart the well-lit mosaic. Visible in full for such a brief moment... but then, piece by piece, like lights turning off in a black-out, each pane would darken, and fade away into a jet-black background.
Everything she currently knew, destined to fade. As it had happened before, and as it would continue to happen, countless times in the future. Eventually, all would fade to darkness. What remained was the avatar, the key around her neck, the specter...
... And that one, ominous box. The silence between it all remained harrowing.
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Post by Cion on Dec 2, 2021 17:17:14 GMT
In a sense, the avatar did not resist as the specter approached it, dragging her into an unrequited embrace. There was no point in attempting physical defiance, as everything in this realm of swevens and veracity was but one whole fabric expressed as uncountable meshes. Yet her mental obstinacy was different. Still lingered the singular sentiment of Syre and her believed approach to such woes, radiating like a beacon which she heeded unconditionally. If her true self was in fact her worst as her counterpart stated, then it was by its own omission asinine to adhere to it.
"Then why not indulge in blissful ignorance, as we have done incessantly?" She asked, genuine curiosity mixing with rhetoric dismissal. If a lie yielded an infinitely superior outcome, even if the facade was breached occasionally, then was it not worth welcoming it? In fact, was it not perhaps wise to abandon herself to it? In most instances, pain and anguish were fleeting, so what reason was there not to pretend as if hers were not the same? If it meant the preservation of her bliss, and more importantly that of her dearly beloved, then it seemed to be the ideal modus operandi... not?
These and similar sentiments were the smoldering ichor interlinking the scar tissue of her fractured soul. She had recognized them as such, and accepted them. Thus she beheld her entire existence with this very lens, and as the memories faded to nothing but, it shattered without falling apart. So stuck in the past had she been, so willingly attached to her kindred spirit, that intentional apathy had made her blind towards her reality's fragility. No... there simply had to be more than the call of the void. If not, what was the point in anything? Why seek, and strive, and fight...
Engulfed in darkened silence, the incandescent embodiment stepped through the ether of her other, slowly approaching the deepest abyss of her mind. She knelt down, dreamily caressing the container with her free paw, not unlike a motherly figure tending to her offspring. However, there was no smile on her muzzle. There was no expression at all. Instead, there was a memory. She remembered that her love had encouraged her to find and pursue her own dreams as well. She wanted them to be equals in freedom and support of each other.
If anyone knew how to channel her ardent zeal into something fruitful and uplifting, then her knight in shining armor. Thus, with a nod, they key was inserted. The ease of this act was the antithesis of her persistent resistance - a single deed in the face of innumerable previous. "We are not defined by our worst..."
The lid steadily shifted upwards by itself, within its dent the focal point of her gaze. It was but a mirror reflecting her self, overlapping and enmeshed with the specter in perfect uniformity. No matter the denial and subterfuge, there was but a singular truth.
They were her.
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Post by Syre the BlackGatomon on Dec 5, 2021 18:06:58 GMT
"You know the answer."
The specter's words met that question head-on, a smirk at the edge of her lips. "It is not a question to be pondered. To face ourselves, to face our words, is to be alive. When one turns to ignorance, they turn away from themselves."
Those would have been the last, trailing words that Cion would hear from the specter. As the world darkened around her, as her mind started to focus and trail on a single point, she would be left truly along. Amidst her own psyche, on her knees, before that box containing the truth.
The truth, as cryptic as it could be. The lock turned, the box opened... and Cion faced her own reflection in the mirror, held on the top part of the chest, in the otherwise empty container. Her own anxiety stared back at her, and she was made to reflect. And slowly, Cion would start to feel a deep chill.
Like the deepest winter, or maybe even the vast depths of space, a chill would sink into her fur, through her muscle, and to her very core, such that she might even struggle for breath. Left alone, her thoughts echoed back around her, incessantly, slowly picking up in volume.
'We are not defined by our worst.' 'We are not defined by our worst.' 'We... are not defined by our worst...' 'We are not defined by our worst!' 'We are not defined by our worst!'
An unending cacophony - broken by only a single word:
"Cion... Cion!"
The chorus came to an end - and as Cion stirred, she'd see her. Syre, a hand right on the Arniomon's shoulder, carefully but strongly shaking her awake. The ring, sparking with a red electricity, was held right in Syre's palm, a sheer look of concern in the eyes of the fox's love.
Sheer concern. Sheer love and understanding, unquestioning, as she looked down into the fennec's distressed eyes.
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Post by Cion on Dec 5, 2021 20:15:09 GMT
She was not defined by it...
As Cion stirred in more ways than one, the veil around her was torn asunder abruptly. She had borne witness of what she was supposed to, even if it was a fading echo etched into her subconsciousness. Perhaps this was merely the first of many truths and their effects on her, but this had to suffice for the time being. She of all people knew how easily she was overwhelmed when confronted with the hardships of reality, particularly her own. Masked by poise and obstinacy, she was someone suffering both directly and vicariously.
And it was with these certainties that true awareness returned to her, if slowly. Numbness pervaded every wintered fiber of her corporeal form. Splayed claws firmly gripped the environment to attain a sense of stability. Her pulsating tinnitus drowing out everything else was steadily vanishing, leaving volatile silence. Though so often calm as a mother's temper, her core had the rhythm of a searing storm that attempted to force its way out of her chest. Her breath, if not rapid, was similarly tense as mild air whizzed past her trembling lips and keen teeth.
And it all of this, she hardly comprehended what was transpiring.
Sitting in an angle, maybe having suddenly risen from her dream, her consciousness gradually reclaimed control over the senses that were at its disposal. Blurred shades enshrouded in nocturnal shadow, as well as indistinct noises, became clearer to her. She was cold, but did not shiver, for on the outside there was a familiar, soothing warmth. Staring into nothingness for an arduously long moment, her aureate gaze eventually shifted to the source of her cozy bliss.
"Syre... I..." The silver fennec stumbled over her words, thoughts not yet unequivocal enough to be formed into something comprehensible. In fact, she herself so far lacked the understanding of what had just transpired. The haze separating both realms still lingered, leaving her mind in tranquil agitation. Looking down, away from her dearly beloved and closing her eyes, faint movements governed her body, as if forcing itself to arise.
Her stance however did not change. She found security in her spouse's touch, and she gladly indulged in its comfort. Such was her nature.
"Has... something happened?"
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Post by Syre the BlackGatomon on Dec 9, 2021 19:03:21 GMT
The darkness stirred.
The ice-cold feeling that shook her down to the core slowly faded, as the vast, infinite darkness that Cion found herself in gave way to the blurry visage of a pillow - and soon, of that concerned feline looking right down towards her. Of course, the fennec was dazed, roused right from her deep sleep - and perhaps a little confused of her surroundings.
It would take Cion a minute to 'wake up'. And while she did, as she sat up, Syre would lean in and give the fox a firm, brief hug.
Did something happen?
"Something happen? Cion, just look at it." She slipped back, and held her bare palm out - that crimson electricity still sparking from the edges of the ring. "This sound woke me up - and the way you were squirming in your sleep? I just couldn't leave you alone, hun." The cat sighed, put the ring on the end table, and gave a nod towards the fox.
"Are you alright? I mean... you looked pale as a ghost, love."
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Post by Cion on Dec 9, 2021 20:15:52 GMT
As soon as the soothing radiance of her darling's touch enveloped her, it was as if Cion's mind was at once retrieved out of the abyss that was her numb slumber. Opening her aureate eyes and blinking rapidly for a second, she gently shook her head while sensing that her perception and full control over her corporeal form returned to her. It was an otherworldly experience, almost as if resurfacing from the depths of the ocean, but in the end it mattered little. She was where she was meant to be - where she belonged and desired to be.
Doing as instructed, the silver fennec faintly narrowed her gaze to focus on the subject at hand. It was nonetheless with a neutral expression that she beheld the detached ring swathed by crimson power. For a moment, she wondered if it was her own energy, or that of the artifact which continued to surge... perhaps both given circumstances. Not knowing what to say, she quickly concluded that it maybe was for the best to keep her distance from it; at least for the night. If she truly was squirming in her sleep, then she might not have sufficient endurance to actively attune to it during the day.
"I mean... my fur is always silver-white, not?" She asked rhetorically, a brief and frail smile masking her lack of certainty. It never hurt to savor some inappropriate levity, not? Sighing softly and well-nigh inaudibly, the vulpine lady leaned backwards against the cushioned wall of their shared bed. Folding her arms as they rested on her covered hip, her glances wandered in thorough contemplation. With merely shattered remnants of non-existent memories at her disposal, what was she supposed to think and voice?
Naturally, she remembered their joint vow to always share their burdens with unconditional commitment to the other, but she was simply at a loss for words. After all, how much of her inner world overlapped with actual reality - especially since she often cast the latter's contents aside? "I think I'm fine. But it appears that greed has already begun to attune to me, or vice versa... likely both. I rarely dream so vividly." She explained even-temperedly, honestly not certain how calm she was while resting in Syre's cuddle. Shifting her aureate eyes to face her, she tried to ease her concerns with a lingering simper. "What about you? Has it become easier for you to center yourself?"
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Post by Syre the BlackGatomon on Dec 10, 2021 16:28:30 GMT
This was hard.
There was no way around that fact, of course, and the two knew that this was going to be an ordeal from the very start. But this was how Cion looked and felt after just one night: thrown into a vivid dream and such a restless sleep. To see the fennec in such potential anguish tied up Syre's heart into a knot, and she couldn't help but try and alleviate that feeling!
Thankfully, Cion still seemed to have a sense of humor, grinning at Syre's choice of words. The feline blinked and gave a nod, helping Cion to lie herself down, Syre propping an extra pillow behind her back. She listened carefully to Cion's words: she felt fine in the aftermath, but 'Greed' had started to attune to her. Granted, it seemed like a difficult thing to describe, Syre tilting her head slightly at the explanation.
"... Well... I guess its not throwing off your data too much. I'm not as strong of a 'sensor' as dad is, but you do seem to still be, well, you." And that made sense: if the ring was truly a pure, evil corrupting artifact, then how could Syre wear it so freely? It led right into Cion's next question, the feline returning a defeated sigh. "I mean, sure - but, as weird as it sounds, I almost feel off without my ring. For a Gatomon..." She looked down to her tail, "... A ring is integral. I don't know a fancy way to say it, but all of our 'power' comes from it. Physical and elemental strength, the ability to Digivolve, all of that. Without it, its like there's a 'pit' in my chest that makes me only feel about half-full."
She shook her head. "I'm too used to being a Champion. I'll adjust, but it'll take some time before I feel natural as a Rookie again. But speaking of 'centering' yourself, how's your current form holding up?"
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Post by Cion on Dec 11, 2021 11:30:41 GMT
From the very first moment, the both of them knew that the joys of their bond required their dedication. This was naturally not solely bound to the crucial endeavor they were currently undertaking, but it had made them truly aware of this actuality. Their origins and present paths were unquestionably atypical, but perhaps it was precisely this dissonance that allowed their joint voyage to seem so miraculous. After all, if the two of them managed to savor blissful harmony within it, then what boundaries could possibly hope to inhibit them? This was at least a sentiment to Cion from which she siphoned reliance.
As always greatly appreciating the care and gentleness of her dearly beloved, the silver fennec found it not difficult to lean back into her pillowed backrest and relax her still agitated spirit. There were innumerable thoughts and notions conflicting inside her vivid mind, but when was this not her status quo? Well... she was not unaware of one solution she had discovered. Tilting her head sideways to perpetually gaze into her darling's radiantly amber eyes, she controlled her own breath and caused it to decelerate.
This would, before long, likely affect the rest of her corporeal form as well. Such was the effect of the only thing in life that actually mattered. It was but fortune that it was a most wonderful individual.
Nodding affirmatively, it was clear that the vulpine lady too believed that she was entirely herself. What in truth this self was... that was arguably debatable, but it was not a question that was of concern tonight. Regardless, her interest and passion for Syre was beyond this, or any other uncertainty. Listening attentively, it was not difficult for her to relate to the ideas that were conveyed. It was but natural that relinquishing something so integral as her artifact left behind a sense of emptiness. Nonetheless, she was immediately ready to provide consolation.
"You are understating your accomplishments - and more so yourself, Syre." She declared confidently, her soft-spokenly dulcet voice accentuated by a raptly proud smile. Slowly reaching out to her, she gently leaned her paw against her mellow cheek and affectionately caressed it. No matter the circumstances, Cion wanted hold her, just as she did for her. "The ring is merely a catalyst of your form. Everything you are, your power included, is entirely yours." She assured her, hoping to have provided a moment of inner peace and confidence.
Sighing inaudibly, her aureate gaze briefly shifted to behold her own corpus. Simultaneously, her mien altered to express genuine, if as always composed, fascination. Beside her steady deceleration of her core to reassume its tranquilized pace, she felt... conciliated. "Centered. Stable. I'm fine I think" She answered with a hint of sincere surprise in her tone. Given what had transpired, this was unusual, not?
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