Inked Wings

/ Kinkade’s POV /

The passage of time loses its sweet meaning, leaving one man with nothing in his name. It caresses your limbs, stretching your bones even further - when you are in my position.

My warning, my loss of temper from little times past…Threatening my subordinate brings a penalty. It usually leads to small consequences, overlooked with ease. Not, in my case. This is anything but my first mishap. The empty room Carina has thrown me in to rot, to race my own thoughts, to wait…is familiar. There is one in each station, each spaceship he owns.

The Riddleman. I wait for him to open the doors and to begin his sentence. The lilies latched inside my heart paled, their petals crumbling. The door beeps. Therefore, I stand straight.

Carina steps in alone, holding a deck of documents. She stops at the edge of the entrance, while maintaining her air of arrogance. Behind her, the snow light hides his room. Carina drives me away. ‘Go on!’ She is holding up her nose, in hopes of avoiding to breathe the air shared with the fall and the doomed.

Are you fond of the feeling? The sentiment inside your limbs as you enter a nest where you know - you will be picked apart. I am merely used to it, when it comes to the Riddleman. His method is peculiarly exaggerated and direct, compared to others’.

The light settles in my vision and fades. Now, I can see him clearly, the same as from the last time I stood with him within a short distance. His glad exterior is intact, worn with ease. His hands are placed, crossed under his head. A gesture which stems from trickery, or at its bare minimum, the intent of its manipulation.

I place myself at his feet, at the bottom of the platform elevating him. I bow, on one knee.

“No need for the bow, it might hurt your back.”

My head is buried low and I force it within limits, afraid my expressions would give my internal chaos away. I despise him to the bone, but need him just the same.

“Hello starlight…I’ve heard about your new, minuscule stunt. Beautifully petty.” His voice damps the deepest corners of this space we invade.

“I apologize. Without concern for my demeanor, and with the impression given of insolence and disrespect from my subordinate, I acted rash, on impulse.” I explain myself in a quick manner.

The Riddleman hums, pleased with the hidden shiver within my voice. His song goes slow, with bumpy roads transported here through a child’s verse. Little children hum in such a manner. There is no difference whatsoever. “How is your daughter?”

The ground is stolen from under my boiling being. Shattered, are these sounds. The obvious is not enough for him, he but must pry further, feeling a tingling suspicion: “She has not been around for a while, been busier than her Pops. Oh, it would be a dream to pay her a visit, catch her sin and direct her onto the right path.’

Jaw dislocated.

“That would be only natural, if she’s anything like her father. Like you, dear, she’s so many great possibilities. If she is, I want her…here.’ His pause rips my - apart. “Dearest. Eva.”

“I’m sorry!” My tone breaks, loud and separated, desperate. “I’m so, so sorry, I promise –“ I catch my breath. “I will be everything you need and more. I will be the things you see in me, you want in me. You trust me enough to have me as your hand…” My swallow rings, the bite of my tongue obvious. “I trust you enough…to only need me. You don’t need one more like me.” It’s naive, romanticized, pathetic, poorly worded…yet effective, because I give him what he wants.

He chuckles. “I’m only playing for a fool, starlight. Of course, you’re right, I don’t need another you. You are a near perfect fit for me, more than my other hands. From past and present.”

My eyes sting with rapid blinks. “I beg your pardon, Cardamon is far more deserving of the praise, no, the title –“ The title he’s always craved for.

“Yes, dearest Cardamon is so loyal, to the book and everything he does never crosses me, is on point…is picture and system perfect - but you know - that is not what I like. I much prefer the chaos of a person a stranger would never expect them to own. You, only you, my star.”

“Only I?”

“Raise your head.”

His eyes are daggers thrown my way. He means what he says, a fact which both sends me on a spiral but pulls my spine out of its place, only to pick it apart. His view clashes my state, then pulls onto my guts to fall out of my mouth. I fight the ill sentiment back.

He gifts me a knowing smile. ‘Keep your promise and I will be the one you trust.’

Hesitant, I nod.

“You are dismissed.”

28:11

Either wake it or kill -

The ghost pressuring my spine.

It’s far from a divine feeling -

The Quiet or The Cry.

The halls of this station prickle, frozen walls. I cannot combat the fill any longer. Precisely here, inside this vast garage, to - Light. Hard to process… I “feed the ducklings”.

Either wake it or kill -

The ghost pressuring my spine.

It’s far from a divine feeling -

The Quiet or The Cry.

A breakdown in this open space does not feel appropriate. Calm thyself.

My steps echo the fairly empty department. There are no ships awaited. I move outside, to the landing platform, larger than a sports court. Fairly small. Brushes of cold caress my cheeks, they stick the material hanging on my body and combine them one; they give me air to breathe. I inhale - the fresh current helps - my eyes falling closed. Another cycle away. Cardamon’s silhouette warms my mind. His sight - I want to see him.

This breeze reminds me of him. For now, it is enough.

My muscles care to rest.