everything goes wrong

The fire in Zerah's heart had never burned brighter, its glow filling every ince of his massive frame. But at a time like this, it didn't seem like a blessing. If anything, he found himself wishing more and more that it would just snuff out completely.

He had been holed up deep in the woods for about a week, not even caring that it held for him barely more shelter than could keep the rain off his head. There was nothing to do but wait for his azoth to cool, and to think about the course his pilgrimage had taken. Hope, the qashmal had said, was supposed to drive him, carry him through a path that would be painful but rewarding in an ultimate way.
But hope is such a delicate thing. With not even so much as the smallest light along the path, all he could see that lay ahead was darkness.

It had been this way from the beginning. From the moment he saw people, they immediately made it clear that he would never belong. They were inconsolable, neither music nor kindness nor good deeds would ever make him anything other than an outcast. Maybe this was to be expected, and he went on, undeterred.

Eventually, he did find companionship in another like him. Such a pretty little thing, troubled but trying her hardest to find the right path. Fennel saw in him the hope she needed to follow her own pilgrimage to the end. For a few, blissful seconds, it seemed like maybe something would go right. That the brutal road they took might be worth it in the end.

It started slowly, a single fall of a domino that set everything crashing down. Something snapped in Zerah one day, when someone stole his guitar, his one outlet for expression. In the resulting struggle to get it back it was broken, the wood splintered and rendered unsalvagable.

Maybe Zerah knew, deep down, that not all was lost. That he could have gotten a new one. But after his short life had been filled with nothing but rejection, those people he loved so much trying so hard to tear him down and take everything from him, he could take no more. His humours turned caustic, and for the moment, all he wanted was to embrace bloody revenge.

It was cathartic and freeing, but it would soon become clear how much he'd lose. Fennel's heart was broken from seeing him fall so far, reminding her far too much of the dark places she herself had escaped from. So she simply disappeared one night, leaving nothing more than an apology resting on her hat, the one memento she gave to him in hopes that he might someday find his light. Suddenly, embracing anger and hatred didn't leave him satisfied. it left him empty, cold.

He vowed to himself he would work ever harder on his pilgrimage, enduring more pain and rejection with grit teeth until the loneliness became too much. Feeling he could trust no one else, he decided the best course would be to attempt to make his own friend. He built the images in his mind; a sweet little daughter, her youth protecting her from being judged too harshly by the world. Gathering those particular pieces didn't make him happy, but it would be worth it...

The final shock came, and she jerked to life. Only for her neck to split open into a toothy maw, leaping for his throat.

He put down his poor daughter that night. One more failure.

He was reaching the end of his rope. Nothing had gone right, nothing. Never had he expected any of this to be easy, but something had to give. Now, it was a race to simply get to the end, gain his mortality so all of this would be over with. No more suffering, no more struggle. His inner fire, satisfied by the intense stoking, still felt somewhat stagnant, but some part of him hoped that maybe it would be good enough. He didn't need to excel, he simply needed to pass. Then, he could finally have peace.

Finally, his azoth so bright he felt like a beacon in the darkness, he stood at that precipice, staring out into a world that *would* accept him, whether it liked it or not. He took a deep breath, and he felt the fire grow... and grow....

And then die.

There was nothing at the other end. His stitches itched and his chestpiece burned slightly. In his chest were only a few embers, barely glowing.

For the first time in his life, he felt weak. Standing there, completely vulnerable to a cold, dark world that would not console him in the time he needed it most.

So here he was. Now, there wasn't any more room for anger. Or sadness, or even relief. All he felt was an empty emotionlessness, as if he were completely hollow inside. What was left now? He honestly didn't know. And he knew that it was unlikely if anything would come to answer him.

He closed his eyes, and if nothing else the azoth seemed to understand. It quietly dimmed, and let him sleep.

Maybe, once he woke, he would be ready to try again.