Caelum
if you dream all day and drink all night
The pain was shattering.
It was consuming; it was all-powerful, never-ending - a pain that erupted like the angry fire of a volcano, destroying everything in its path. That heavy acknowledgment soured memories that her world was ending. Her carefully constructed lie was corrupting, unraveling. But if there was ever one individual she couldn't hide from, it was Syn. Absynthe that knew her as she knew herself. But, did she? So much time had passed, and she could see it in the tiny flickers in Syn's eyes. The inability to read her, to decipher her. To not know the anger Caelum wore so heavily was never directed outwards.
How could Caelum ever blame her?
It was her fault, Caelum's fault. Caelum blamed herself for everything. For not protecting Convallis better. For not being able to spare her kingdom. For the Autumn Court having to shut its borders. For her parents' murder. For . . . for him. For his death. For the cost of he, who was more important to her than anything else in the world. The stallion whose memory could still chill her to the bone or set her skin ablaze. The stallion whose smile haunts her dreams and whose death plague's her nightmares. The being whose sister now lived around Caelum's neck.
Would Syn ever believe how dark she'd gone?
How dark her being had corrupted, how far she'd fallen, how much her light had waned, and began to bleed red. She wasn't the light of summer; she was the haunting of the harvest moon. She was the patron of pain and suffrage. The drought to her people's land, the death to the fields. She was pathetic, she was cursed, she was hurting. And Syn's words didn't help. Syn seemed to be so focused on what she hadn't done, that for a moment, Caelum was overcome with agitation that she wasn't hearing the words she was speaking. And then, the winter fae said those words, and Caelum's voice rang out.
It rang clear, with a pitch to her tone that dropped it low.
Her snarl was back, her features almost shifting to something demonic - tricks she'd picked up from a demon lover. "Destined for darkness? I have danced with it. Embraced it so thoroughly, it stained my light. What positive soul do you think I have? Ask me this, Absynthe, how many lives have I felled? Not indirectly, but by my own hoof. You always see the promising filly you knew me as, but I am not her anymore. I have not been her in a long time. Yes, you rebelled, and like any rebellious child with the reigns suffocating you, you ran. No one can blame you for that. Even your father had admitted at one point that it was only to be expected. It is what your people, your kingdom does. The Winter Court rebels."
Caelum softened softly, her snarl gentling, her eyes warming.
"Cousin, there is much we don't know about each other any longer. Please, do not put me up on a pedestal, I shall only fall, and the suffrage you face will worsen. The higher you place us, the harder we crush you when we fall. And dearest, treasured cousin, I am the last soul you should put upon a pedestal." Because the sins she had committed, they were so much worse than the ones Syn wanted to put upon herself. And then her cousin paused her thoughts, her voice almost broken, but Caelum was smiling slightly, her gaze going skyward, "I did. Convallis. Little thing. Dunskin, with the whitest hair and the blackest wings." She spoke so softly, "He is with the mother, father, and Arson in the skies, dancing among the stars now. As all of our people do when their time comes to pass. I'd believe Calico is up there as well."
Trey returned to the ground.
She knew he wouldn't be above, dancing with the stars, not her Trey, of fire and darkness and devilish promise. She knew better than to think that of him. He might not have always liked his demonic side, but . . . when it came down to it, she knew he'd be causing his favorite brand of chaos deep below. Then her cousin spoke, and it was like shutters came down over Caelum, "I am." She admits, before shaking her head, "Not one I do not wish to tell you, to tell others. It is the one who hurts the most to speak about."
Her entire face was changing.
Her breath was fragile as the memories surged forward, the light touch of his muzzle against her cheek, kisses pressed to her forehead, her neck. The soft lingering touches, the heated look in his eyes. The way he could make butterflies erupt in her belly with one look. He was the one soul she struggled to talk about, the one name she spoke so rarely. Because talking to him in past tense brought up the memories of his demise, which was harder to take than any other death, she had wished for. So instead, she grasped to the words her cousin spoke, "I will not lie, I do not know what your parents may or may not do if you could try to walk through the gates. Not then, not now. But; I also know your parents loved you. They may have wished better for you, but they always loved you."
Her words were spoken so gently.
Perhaps it was her way of putting off talking of Tremaine; perhaps she just wanted Syn to see she wasn't at fault. Especially as trying to explain what happened, what had gone wrong in Caelum's life was difficult when Syn started to blame herself. Briefly, a part of Caelum wondered how others felt when she started up on the same exact lines. "It is not the kingdom that is precious; it is the lives that live within it. It is the people, those we want to help, to serve, and to protect." She spoke gently, her gaze finally turning back to her cousin, "Those we love, those we care about. Even your parents knew this. They may have an odd way to show it, but it is no less true for them as it was for my parents . . . for me. For you."
Caelum sighed, her gaze turning down to her glass.
"Absynthe, my anger will never be directed at you, not ever. You are my cousin, my beloved cousin; we were like sisters growing up. This anger, this hatred I feel, is for no one but myself." There was a pause, and for the first time, tears welled up in her eyes, "And, the one being I want to be waiting for me in the afterlife will not be there. Like all fae, I will fly up to join the stars, just as my parents did, just as you or I will do when our time is up . . ."
Her breath stuttered before the name finally slipped from her lips.
"Tremaine's soul went down below." His name was whispered so tenderly, so forlorn, heartbroken. But it was the acknowledgment of the name she hadn't been able to say yet, and with those words spoken out loud, the knowledge they would never cross paths again, Caelum's dam broke. Not just of the memories that were suddenly swirling in her head, but the emotions that came tumbling out, raw and painful, from the box she'd locked them in - as well as the tears now spilling down her cheeks.
It had been such a gentle, casual meeting, him glancing at her piece before finally asking for her help. She'd gotten through to him in a manner not even the teacher had managed, and when he'd finally completed the assignment the way the mentor had been wanting, he'd invited her out for a drink. She had eagerly accepted an offer before invisible little gremlins had made a wreck of things and yet only aided in bringing the two closer together.
It would be the first of many. "Tremaine Morgan . . . I . . met him shortly after my parents had sent me away. He . . . he was . . . Well, to put it frankly, he was my opposite. I was light to his dark. The fae and the demon. And yet . . . we fit together so perfectly. It was so perfect. Until it wasn't." She could still remember that night, the haunting laughter of those that ransacked the fair they had been at. How they had tried to hide, to find safety in the funhouse. How they had been found, how the mirrors all around them had shown the massacre that followed. How much he had stood, trying to fight, trying to defend. She fought like a hellion at his side, refusing to go down or hide behind him and instead of standing at his side. She remembered that cocky, self-sure grin that spoke volumes of how proud he was of her when they stood side by side when those other stallions had entered.
She also remembered the fear.
The fear that had haunted those ruby eyes as he begged her to run, to let him give her a chance to escape, and she couldn't do it. She couldn't let him sacrifice himself for her, and she swore to him, she'd be there, she'd be by his side. And then, he had fallen. She remembered watching him hit the ground, those eyes of his, so full of life going dull. She remembered racing to him, crying out in anguish as she begged him to get up. How she'd gone numb as she slid in his blood as it coated the floor. So numb, she hadn't felt the chains wrapped around her until she was being pulled away.
She'd been numb since that point.
"I lost him. I tried so hard, he and I both did, to fight off those who had come after us. They didn't even really know who I was. They just saw a price to be sold on the market. And . . . they had killed him to get at me. He was my everything, Syn. You do not get over love like that. He was more than just Arson. Convallis helped heal some of that pain, but then I lost my baby boy, and it all came spiraling back. You say I'm lucky for experiencing love, for having a child. But that love was short-lived. My child didn't even get to be old enough to even try grass for the first time. That's not luck; that's not a blessing. That's foolishly giving me a taste of something wonderful and then ripping it away."
Caelum collapsed next to her cousin, finally giving up the pretenses.
Tears fell freely at this point, and she buried her forehead against the mane of her cousin, curling into the younger fae's side as she wept, "I've lost it all, and every time it was my fault. If I had left when Trey begged me to, We might have both made it out alive. Had Calico and I been more careful, we might have been able to get away with helping others escape slavery. He and Convallis wouldn't have needed to die. If we had sent the freed slaves anywhere else to live life away from the masters that hunted them; anywhere but my home, then the Summer Court would have never been burnt down. Mother and father would never have died. None of this is on you, you were just a girl trying to find your own place in the world, and that is okay.
"It was my foolish mistakes, the choices I made.
"I'm the reason all those lives were lost. I'm the reason Convallis died so young. That my kingdom is in ruin. That Tremaine will never smile and call me 'babe' ever again. It's all my fault. So stop blaming yourself, please. Because it only makes it hurt more for me . . . and I'm so tired of hurting and being in pain, Syn. Please. Can we both agree we fucked up, even, and just leave it at that. Please. Stop trying to tell me I did good, or I tried to do what was right. And let's both be fuck ups. Because I don't want to be the perfect princess, I haven't been her in a long time. And damn it . . . I don't want to be her ever again. But I want to be me, the one who made the thrown room into a pool, the Caelum who danced with Trey beneath the moon and promised him I'd never leave his side. I want to be her again; I don't want to keep hurting and bottling it up.
"I'm tired of always blaming myself."
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Absynthe
Notes:
It was consuming; it was all-powerful, never-ending - a pain that erupted like the angry fire of a volcano, destroying everything in its path. That heavy acknowledgment soured memories that her world was ending. Her carefully constructed lie was corrupting, unraveling. But if there was ever one individual she couldn't hide from, it was Syn. Absynthe that knew her as she knew herself. But, did she? So much time had passed, and she could see it in the tiny flickers in Syn's eyes. The inability to read her, to decipher her. To not know the anger Caelum wore so heavily was never directed outwards.
How could Caelum ever blame her?
It was her fault, Caelum's fault. Caelum blamed herself for everything. For not protecting Convallis better. For not being able to spare her kingdom. For the Autumn Court having to shut its borders. For her parents' murder. For . . . for him. For his death. For the cost of he, who was more important to her than anything else in the world. The stallion whose memory could still chill her to the bone or set her skin ablaze. The stallion whose smile haunts her dreams and whose death plague's her nightmares. The being whose sister now lived around Caelum's neck.
Would Syn ever believe how dark she'd gone?
How dark her being had corrupted, how far she'd fallen, how much her light had waned, and began to bleed red. She wasn't the light of summer; she was the haunting of the harvest moon. She was the patron of pain and suffrage. The drought to her people's land, the death to the fields. She was pathetic, she was cursed, she was hurting. And Syn's words didn't help. Syn seemed to be so focused on what she hadn't done, that for a moment, Caelum was overcome with agitation that she wasn't hearing the words she was speaking. And then, the winter fae said those words, and Caelum's voice rang out.
It rang clear, with a pitch to her tone that dropped it low.
Her snarl was back, her features almost shifting to something demonic - tricks she'd picked up from a demon lover. "Destined for darkness? I have danced with it. Embraced it so thoroughly, it stained my light. What positive soul do you think I have? Ask me this, Absynthe, how many lives have I felled? Not indirectly, but by my own hoof. You always see the promising filly you knew me as, but I am not her anymore. I have not been her in a long time. Yes, you rebelled, and like any rebellious child with the reigns suffocating you, you ran. No one can blame you for that. Even your father had admitted at one point that it was only to be expected. It is what your people, your kingdom does. The Winter Court rebels."
Caelum softened softly, her snarl gentling, her eyes warming.
"Cousin, there is much we don't know about each other any longer. Please, do not put me up on a pedestal, I shall only fall, and the suffrage you face will worsen. The higher you place us, the harder we crush you when we fall. And dearest, treasured cousin, I am the last soul you should put upon a pedestal." Because the sins she had committed, they were so much worse than the ones Syn wanted to put upon herself. And then her cousin paused her thoughts, her voice almost broken, but Caelum was smiling slightly, her gaze going skyward, "I did. Convallis. Little thing. Dunskin, with the whitest hair and the blackest wings." She spoke so softly, "He is with the mother, father, and Arson in the skies, dancing among the stars now. As all of our people do when their time comes to pass. I'd believe Calico is up there as well."
Trey returned to the ground.
She knew he wouldn't be above, dancing with the stars, not her Trey, of fire and darkness and devilish promise. She knew better than to think that of him. He might not have always liked his demonic side, but . . . when it came down to it, she knew he'd be causing his favorite brand of chaos deep below. Then her cousin spoke, and it was like shutters came down over Caelum, "I am." She admits, before shaking her head, "Not one I do not wish to tell you, to tell others. It is the one who hurts the most to speak about."
Her entire face was changing.
Her breath was fragile as the memories surged forward, the light touch of his muzzle against her cheek, kisses pressed to her forehead, her neck. The soft lingering touches, the heated look in his eyes. The way he could make butterflies erupt in her belly with one look. He was the one soul she struggled to talk about, the one name she spoke so rarely. Because talking to him in past tense brought up the memories of his demise, which was harder to take than any other death, she had wished for. So instead, she grasped to the words her cousin spoke, "I will not lie, I do not know what your parents may or may not do if you could try to walk through the gates. Not then, not now. But; I also know your parents loved you. They may have wished better for you, but they always loved you."
Her words were spoken so gently.
Perhaps it was her way of putting off talking of Tremaine; perhaps she just wanted Syn to see she wasn't at fault. Especially as trying to explain what happened, what had gone wrong in Caelum's life was difficult when Syn started to blame herself. Briefly, a part of Caelum wondered how others felt when she started up on the same exact lines. "It is not the kingdom that is precious; it is the lives that live within it. It is the people, those we want to help, to serve, and to protect." She spoke gently, her gaze finally turning back to her cousin, "Those we love, those we care about. Even your parents knew this. They may have an odd way to show it, but it is no less true for them as it was for my parents . . . for me. For you."
Caelum sighed, her gaze turning down to her glass.
"Absynthe, my anger will never be directed at you, not ever. You are my cousin, my beloved cousin; we were like sisters growing up. This anger, this hatred I feel, is for no one but myself." There was a pause, and for the first time, tears welled up in her eyes, "And, the one being I want to be waiting for me in the afterlife will not be there. Like all fae, I will fly up to join the stars, just as my parents did, just as you or I will do when our time is up . . ."
Her breath stuttered before the name finally slipped from her lips.
"Tremaine's soul went down below." His name was whispered so tenderly, so forlorn, heartbroken. But it was the acknowledgment of the name she hadn't been able to say yet, and with those words spoken out loud, the knowledge they would never cross paths again, Caelum's dam broke. Not just of the memories that were suddenly swirling in her head, but the emotions that came tumbling out, raw and painful, from the box she'd locked them in - as well as the tears now spilling down her cheeks.
She glanced in, surprised to see another in the room, but said nothing, instead of heading to her spot, pulling out the art supplies and glancing down at Arson's face. It's coming along lovely, Caelum. She had smiled thankfully at the older mare, one of her favorite mentors, one who knew the princess's story. She did glance curiously to her right, to the dark stallion who seemed to be struggling to figure out how to paint something, before finally focusing on her piece. Still, she couldn't help but glance over at the stallion, his demon wings pulled close to his body, and paint seeming to be splattered everywhere, including his face. A faint quirk of her muzzle, she spoke softly, not looking up from her work, "I'm not sure if you're aware of the concept, but the paint goes on the canvas, not yourself." He had laughed, friendly, as he replied, Yeah, but the brush can't seem to focus properly, especially when such a pretty lady is in the room, the poor thing's so distracted. He'd even stroked the paintbrush, as if to consol it, Tremaine Morgan, a pleasure to meet you.
It had been such a gentle, casual meeting, him glancing at her piece before finally asking for her help. She'd gotten through to him in a manner not even the teacher had managed, and when he'd finally completed the assignment the way the mentor had been wanting, he'd invited her out for a drink. She had eagerly accepted an offer before invisible little gremlins had made a wreck of things and yet only aided in bringing the two closer together.
The paint had begun to splatter, giggling heard from unknown creatures, and the stallion had growled in response, even as his focus had shifted - shifted to her, to make sure she was alright. She had squeaked in alarm. Suddenly paint was splattering down, pink slipping down his brow, over his muzzle and shoulders. She had been splattered with blue paint, and at that moment, the stallion had started to slip, barely catching himself, but in the process had unintentionally pinned her between the table and his own steady frame. She had blushed as she looked up at him before a slow smile had stretched across her muzzle, starting to giggle at the sight of him. The pink paint had splattered everywhere and was slowly dripping down his body, mixing with the blue paint that was covering her own. You are covered in pink, Trey! And yet she didn't even attempt to move from the awkward position they had been put into, even as she'd tossed her mane back, coating more of it in blue, We look dreadful! I do hope our mentor doesn't decide to come to check on your progress just yet. She had had to force herself to slide away from the table, briefly pressing closer to him in the process, before managing to slip around him, using her own shoulder briefly to help steady him back to his hooves. He had grinned down at her, with so much promise to his gaze, that the offer of a drink had certainly turned into a date.
It would be the first of many. "Tremaine Morgan . . . I . . met him shortly after my parents had sent me away. He . . . he was . . . Well, to put it frankly, he was my opposite. I was light to his dark. The fae and the demon. And yet . . . we fit together so perfectly. It was so perfect. Until it wasn't." She could still remember that night, the haunting laughter of those that ransacked the fair they had been at. How they had tried to hide, to find safety in the funhouse. How they had been found, how the mirrors all around them had shown the massacre that followed. How much he had stood, trying to fight, trying to defend. She fought like a hellion at his side, refusing to go down or hide behind him and instead of standing at his side. She remembered that cocky, self-sure grin that spoke volumes of how proud he was of her when they stood side by side when those other stallions had entered.
She also remembered the fear.
The fear that had haunted those ruby eyes as he begged her to run, to let him give her a chance to escape, and she couldn't do it. She couldn't let him sacrifice himself for her, and she swore to him, she'd be there, she'd be by his side. And then, he had fallen. She remembered watching him hit the ground, those eyes of his, so full of life going dull. She remembered racing to him, crying out in anguish as she begged him to get up. How she'd gone numb as she slid in his blood as it coated the floor. So numb, she hadn't felt the chains wrapped around her until she was being pulled away.
She'd been numb since that point.
"I lost him. I tried so hard, he and I both did, to fight off those who had come after us. They didn't even really know who I was. They just saw a price to be sold on the market. And . . . they had killed him to get at me. He was my everything, Syn. You do not get over love like that. He was more than just Arson. Convallis helped heal some of that pain, but then I lost my baby boy, and it all came spiraling back. You say I'm lucky for experiencing love, for having a child. But that love was short-lived. My child didn't even get to be old enough to even try grass for the first time. That's not luck; that's not a blessing. That's foolishly giving me a taste of something wonderful and then ripping it away."
Caelum collapsed next to her cousin, finally giving up the pretenses.
Tears fell freely at this point, and she buried her forehead against the mane of her cousin, curling into the younger fae's side as she wept, "I've lost it all, and every time it was my fault. If I had left when Trey begged me to, We might have both made it out alive. Had Calico and I been more careful, we might have been able to get away with helping others escape slavery. He and Convallis wouldn't have needed to die. If we had sent the freed slaves anywhere else to live life away from the masters that hunted them; anywhere but my home, then the Summer Court would have never been burnt down. Mother and father would never have died. None of this is on you, you were just a girl trying to find your own place in the world, and that is okay.
"It was my foolish mistakes, the choices I made.
"I'm the reason all those lives were lost. I'm the reason Convallis died so young. That my kingdom is in ruin. That Tremaine will never smile and call me 'babe' ever again. It's all my fault. So stop blaming yourself, please. Because it only makes it hurt more for me . . . and I'm so tired of hurting and being in pain, Syn. Please. Can we both agree we fucked up, even, and just leave it at that. Please. Stop trying to tell me I did good, or I tried to do what was right. And let's both be fuck ups. Because I don't want to be the perfect princess, I haven't been her in a long time. And damn it . . . I don't want to be her ever again. But I want to be me, the one who made the thrown room into a pool, the Caelum who danced with Trey beneath the moon and promised him I'd never leave his side. I want to be her again; I don't want to keep hurting and bottling it up.
"I'm tired of always blaming myself."
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Absynthe
Notes:
over men and momma's and miller lite
well then, we should be friends
art by bingo
