There was no nourishing milk or sweet honey for him to use. Not a single drop of soothing water or spiced wine. He had no blade in hand to cut away a lock of his aged hair, or a single flame of fire on which to burn the libations.
No, all there was were the golden blade of grass that bent beneath each step he made, the sky that held the sparsest dotting of clouds, and the chilled fall breeze that gently played with the faded cloak that wrapped around his neck.
These yellowed colored grasses were not the waving grasses of a prairie he once called home, nor were they an arid piece of land were billowing clouds of dust played beneath the sweltering rays of the sun.
However, at the very least, it was something.
Something more than scorched and ruined ground, burnt black and charred. It was more than a glade that no longer held any water within it, and more than a gloomy sky that lacked the familiar shape of mahogany wings. There was no sign of death here, no matter the lack of green around. It was better than where he had come from by far.
And yet.
This peaceful place was not home. This land and her Courts were not home.
It's not as if he had a home to begin with, though.
A souring thought, one that makes his lips twitch in discomfort as he walks, pursuing the new world he finds himself in. This, hopefully, will be the last one he has to familiarize himself with. After all, his life has been long, and the heaviness in his bones has noticeably grown. He is older than many and has long since grown tired. A year from now could be his last, perhaps, even tomorrow.
That's why he left.
It pained him to do so, for Avallac'h was not a man that gave up on those he loved and cared for. But with each stone he turned over, with each trail he followed, his hope dwindled until he could do nothing but accept.
Accept a reality he did not wish to.
The reality, though, is that there is a sandglass looming over him, casting a terrifying shadow that grows with each grain of sand that falls. It's why he needed to go, needed to find a sense of security in a Court despite his wandering heart.
There was still life in him, of course — plenty of it for his age, but Avallac'h knew the days were numbered. He couldn't continue to dream and wish.
As saddening as the thought might be, Avallac'h knew it was the truth.
Coming to a gentle stop, Avallac'h directs his ghostly gaze towards the southern horizon, eyeing the towering peak that acts as a quiet backdrop to the plains. It's a beautiful place, truly. Avallac'h can appreciate it easily and tries his best to simply forget for but a moment, but all his memories and pains are not things he can readily release and then pick up as he pleases. He carries them, all the time, no matter how much he wishes he didn't.
However, he does his best to enjoy the cool air that brushes his skin; lets himself bask in the gentle bath the sun gives him.
He will try, for once, to give himself something. Because this is it. He can feel it in his bones.
Fight Type: Battle Prize: 50 signos per character from Official Day Court Account upon completion of the thread Contact Made: Yes
Character #1: @Orestes Bonded: Sun Lion Magic: Solar Transformation Armor: No Weapons: No Current Health: 12 Current Attack: 8 Current Experience: 19
Character #2: @Tenebrae Bonded: No Magic: Shadow Forging Armor: No Weapons: No Current Health: 17 Current Attack: 23 Current Experience: 31
The sand seems thirsty.
It is the only way to describe them, baked as they are by the morning sun. Orestes does not know how many other combatants have gone thus far; only that from where he peers outside the iron gate leading into the Colosseum, the sands are newly raked. The heat wafts off them in nearly imperceptible waves. Already, a small bead of sweat works it way down his neck.
It is strange, to think, the Sovereign is about to battle for the mere friendly competition of it. He had not intended to enter the tournament—which he largely organised, in an effort to raise solitary among Solterrans and create an aura of competition within the Court—but when all was said and done the tournament was left at an odd number. Why not, he had said to himself. It will be good for the Court to see their Sovereign on the sands.
Now he is not so certain. A swarm of butterflies has worked its way into his stomach, and throat, and chest; he feels full to bursting with the sudden onslaught of anxiety. In a far-off life, one before this one, he had never been asked to fight true battles. And on the rare occasion he was, Orestes could become a sea dragon, or shark, or great and terrible serpent.
Today, he is only a man. There is an announcer out above the sands, inciting the crowd gathered in the Colosseum. And next… his voice booms, the one and only Sovereign of Solterra!
Orestes walks into the bright morning light, blinking it away. Ariel pads out alongside him, quiet and attentive to their surroundings. With the way the sun crests above the distant horizon, the Colosseum sands are almost perfectly divided into shadow and sun. It just so happens Orestes has emerged into the light, and his opponent into the relative shadow.
The crowd is jarringly loud. And who will our Sovereign fight, if not a monk from Denocte? There is a sort of astonished--perhaps even exaggerated--gasp from the audience. The other contestant enters the arena and Orestes recognises him, briefly, from the mountain. Yet that exchange had been brief and... no less violent, he supposes. Orestes tries not to think more deeply on that, however. Instead he smiles in a comradely sort of way from across the arena, and takes strength in the way the sun has thoroughly warmed his skin. With Solis rising behind him, Orestes feels the light pool and shift in his arcane tattoos. With, the Sovereign ducks his head in a respectful greeting, and takes strength from the vivacious life of the crowd. His people
Summary: Orestes waits to be called in. When called, he enters the Arena, looks around, and steels his nerves. He gives a respectful nod of his head to Tenebrae.
There are no limits to where an orphan boy will roam. He lets the winds guide him and roams, foraging upon berries and leaves as he goes. The boy bears no bag with which to carry fruit. But why does he need to when the magic of time is at his fingertips? If a plant is not ready to bear fruit. Leonidas charms it and like a spell it grows and flourishes, bearing fruit so an orphan boy will not starve.
It is the turning season that brings the boy to the edge of Terrastella. There might have been recognition in his gaze, that this is where he spent most of his early years - yet there is nothing like that within his eyes. Nimble and light the boy traverses the landscape. He is swift as a swallow with his gilded wings. The woodland has taught the boy well, he bears the fruits of a life int he woodland across his small frame. Vines rich and green wrap about his throat, in his hair ivy grows wild and free. The ends of his mane are sundrenched as if he somehow dipped it within sunlight itself.
Already his antlers are beginning to turn. Their gold is growing darker, parts turning to gold dust as autumn lays her command (to perish) across the land. Leonidas eats like a boy about to hibernate, yet his coat is already turning, readying itself for the cool winds that approach, chasing the summer warm away.
His nose brings him to the apple trees, an orchard overflowing. He skips a line of those waiting to enter. A feral boy has no idea of decorum. The orchard welcomes the time-boy in. It lets him pluck an apple from a tree and then another and another. It is easier to build a store now than exhaust himself by charming plants to bear him fruit in deepest winter. He takes no seed to replant, he does not know to. A stranger stops him and the boy bears his teeth, leonine. His sunbright eyes are already searching for an escape. He spots one and lunges, yet the stranger catches his wing. The boy cries, he howls lupine and outraged and hurting. Wildly he thrashes in the grip of the stranger, until he frees from his hair a wickedly sharp shard of a blade. Time magic glints along its fractured edge as the boy brandishes it threateningly.
On my body, the grace of shadows and in my heart: all Hells
He stops his magic and binds it within him.
Tenebrae is naked now as he steps out amidst the throng of the festival goers. All that adorns him is a mask across his face. It is painted as Lyr’s once had been. It is crimson and gold; ichor and mortal blood mixed, woven, intertwined. It is an elaborate guise, it twists and twines and weaves its way down his jaw, across his nose, over his lips.
So few had seen him when his shadows were not adorning his body that it is in unveiling himself of his magic that the monk begins to conceal himself.
He is reckless this night, uncaring and wanton. Temptation sings out to him. Her voice is sweet, her game wicked, dangerous for men like him. Yet something is restless in his soul. It is a wild colt, a cooped up lion. This Disciple tests his chains. He dares to live not as a monk, for just a night. Maybe that is the problem with taking the Sons as children? The Stallions they become may only ever crave a life they were denied.
Tenebrae craves.
No longer does the crowd part before a man with shadows as weapons and eyes lit by the light of the sun he had defeated. No, now they find no fear in his winter-skinned body. They find no fear even in the eyes that still glow, wicked, wild, hungry. Untamed shadows watch him from the darkness, they reach with whispering fingers for his body and wonder where his magic slumbers. They can feel the way night is ink within his veins, the way pitch black pools within his soul.
I learned I was impatient. The moment their sail disappeared below the horizon, I wanted them back. I quickly grew tired of being alone. I hated feeling like I was waiting for something to happen, something big and bad and dangerous. Something to justify how I stayed behind.
I learned I was not as independent as I wanted to believe. I learned my parent’s approval, once discarded with the roll of my eyes, meant more than I ever realized. And I realized exactly how much my sister’s companionship soothed my soul. Without them I felt so very small.
I learned countless other things about myself, things which I will not ruin by sharing. They were not all bad things, but I must admit--
I was very tired of growing up.
The funny thing is: the whole time they were gone, I never considered the possibility that they would not return. If I let myself think about that, even for a second, I would be ruined. Lost to despair. There were some bad thoughts, some really bad thoughts, which were the beginning of a downward spiral, and I knew this was one of those. But when the ship gently docked and I ran at full speed to meet it, all that pent up fear was unleashed with such force I thought I was going to vomit. What if they didn’t make it? What if they died, hundreds of miles from home? I don't even remember exactly how we parted ways, what my last words were. Whatever they were, they would not have been enough. They never could be.
I saw my mother jump overboard, all grace and fierce beauty pouring into the loving sea. My vision became blurry, my heart almost broke with fullness. I was so happy it hurt. A wild, beautiful kind of pain I could happily live inside forever. Still-- a panic was rising in me, barely contained. I needed to see my sister, or I was going to explode. My nervous energy was contagious and Furfur, pressed close to my side, began to howl. A heartbeat later, I raised my lips to the sky, inhaled deeply, and began to howl with him. It was, at the same time, a mourning and a summoning.
Fight Type: TOURNAMENT BATTLE Prize: Progression to round 2 of the tournament Contact Made: I personally haven't but it was announced by Syn
Character #1:@Dune Bonded: No Magic: Dream Walking Armor: No Weapons: No Current Health: 8 Current Attack: 12 Current Experience: 10
Character #2: @Amaunet Bonded: No Magic: Chaos Armor: No Weapons: No Current Health: 8 Current Attack: 12 Current Experience: 16
I dreamed of you in colors beyond seeing,
braided your name into the earth
When Dune read who he would be fighting, he choked on his own saliva.
Amaunet
He had never seen her name written before. He had only ever heard it; chanted like a lusty prayer for deliverance, the scent of sweat and blood heavy in the air, ground trembling as the audience stomped their bloodlust into the earth. He bet against her only once– never again.
Yes, Dune knew his opponent well, and he knew this would likely be his only advantage in their match. He had fought in the pit only a handful of times, with varying success. If by some chance she had watched him, it would not have been memorable. Dune was not a particularly strong fighter, especially in the pit. The streets favored him more, where he could use the environment to his advantage. In his pit fights the bay came, put his head down, and fought his hardest until the end. He could take a kick– no, that’s understating it– he could take a beating. But he couldn’t always give one. Worse, he had no magic to fight with, and working the crowd was above his head.
There simply was not much money to be made in the pits when you lacked both prowess and showmanship, and as a result he spent most of his time in more lucrative endeavors... Like betting on other fighters. Amaunet was a damn force of nature, and she had actually won him a pretty penny. The thought of fighting her deeply unnerved him. But he had been promised a reward just for participating– imagine that! a handout in Solterra?!– and he was not one to turn down free money. Anyway he had once been ambushed by three older boys and beaten to within an inch of his life, just for the fun of it. There was no way this could be worse than that... right?
The day of their match was just another day in Solterra: hot, dry, and dusty. The midday sun was so fat and heavy, Dune’s shadow was almost nonexistent as he stepped into the ring. Sweat was already darkening his skin. Someone immediately started booing, and in response his ears pinned in distaste. Across the ring his opponent stepped forward, supple and hungry. Keeping light on his feet, Dune braced himself for the whirlwind that was sure to follow.
@Amaunet I hope it's okay he knows her, let me know if there's anything I need to change <33
Summary: Dune gets scared, thinks about his history and capabilities of a fighter (or lack thereof) and steps forward, keeping light on his feet and waiting for Amaunet to make the first move.
Posted by: Elena - 06-04-2020, 10:04 PM - Forum: Archives
- No Replies
take this burden away from me and bury it before it buries me
There is a story about how a girl became a tree.
She had wanted to touch the sky and so the gods had made her a bird, with silver wings that glistened in sunlight and shone in moonlight. She flew amongst the clouds, and she would swear she could touch that endless blue sky with the tips of her feathers. If you asked her what it felt like she would say it was like freedom.
But oh she missed the ground, the solidness beneath her feet, the steadiness. So the gods made her a rabbit, with fur of snow white, and eyes of green like the grass. She scampered through the underbrush and slept in the fallen leaves. If you asked her what it smelled like she would say like when the seasons change.
Those green eyes had looked to the sky though, with the ground beneath her feet and she wished for the freedom it provided her. She went to the gods once more. “I want the sky and the earth.” She had told them with her voice as sure as ground and as airy as sky. “You cannot have both child, you must choose,” they had told her. But a girl of both worlds did not believe this so easily. She thought for a moment before an idea struck her. “So then make me a tree, so that my roots make always know the firmness of the earth, but still the coolness of the sky, and that the rest of me may live in between.” She had said and the gods gave it to her.
Elena had sat under a giant weeping willow with her mother as she told her this story. The same weeping willow her mother would be buried under not a few months later. “Is this her?” She had asked in lilting soprano tones. “Maybe,” her mother had responded. “Do you think so?” She had asked and Elena, always so eager to believe the stories she was told had nodded. “Perhaps we should give her a name then,” she says, looking to Elena with blue eyes that one day Elena would gain from her. “Ava,” Elena says, quickly, much too quickly. “Lets name her Ava.” Her mother nods. “Ava. Life.”
Elena has been fire since she has been young. Since she had stood hot and tall against the Snow Prince at such a young age, desperate to protect her cousin and her home against his wicked chill. Elena had been so unaware of her own bravery that day, or how Aletta had thought the child had blazed, and how she had admired the golden girl’s bravery. But today Elena feels anything but brave. The memory of him prods her like a thorn. Elena must always remember that she is glass, a thing to be sculpted and broken. After all, she lives in a world full of stone throwers.
For a heartbeat she forgets about him. (Maybe it is that easy.) As the bonfires surround her and the ocean accompany the crackle and flicker of the flames. The ocean has become her weakness. It croons to her the way the mountains once had. Silver blue eyes look almost amber in the glow of the fire light. Place your worries into the fire. She sighs, because she thinks, if it were that easy, maybe the fire that sits inside her, that is reflected in the marking on her shoulder, would have burned them all up long ago.
so take away this apathy bury it before it buries me
I dreamed of you in colors beyond seeing,
braided your name into the earth
It was a small wonder the honeybees had not swarmed to me in force.
Flowers in every shape, color, and size filled the bags on each side of my body. Almost all of them were purchased in bulk from Delumine, but there were a few desert beauties-- like fragrant sage, bundled and dried, and autumn-budding rosemary, with its little pink florets. The real Solterran exports were deeper in the bags, hidden beneath the shadows of lavish lilies. There a discerning eye would find peyote buttons, humble but powerful, and seed pods of poppy, from which (of course) a powerful sedative could be milked. Solterran specialties. The money-makers of tonight, with a little luck and the right clients.
The goods were not my product-- I was just the proverbial mule. But I did manage to squeeze in a few items of my own making among the rest. A wind-up bird, a small mosaic of sea glass, little trinkets and novelties like that. I was most fond of a bronze rose made of discarded clock parts, its petals blooming and unblooming with the twist of a gear. Technically they were all made of scrap and discard. Trash. But sometimes their whimsy caught the fancy of someone with too much money for their own good, and for a bit of coin my little creations found a happy new home.
It was my first time in Denocte. Kirk had been trying to get me to work the night markets there for ages. He was a trader of many things, only some of them illicit, and although he paid well it took humbling to work with him. Tonight he had me paint a golden eye in the center of my forehead. I didn’t ask why-- of course I never asked questions, and that’s why he liked me-- but I suspect it was a secret symbol, for those who knew to look deeper into my wares for the things that could not be openly advertised.
For a long time, I had no interest in leaving Solterra. But things were changing. I was changing, magic surging and growing in me until I was full to bursting with it. All the dreams I walked, all the dreamers I met… All the lives I did not live were knocking at the door.
They were knocking, and I no longer could ignore them.
Apparently the market stalls in Denocte were mostly stationary, for I caught a lot of attention as I ambled down the cobbled street beneath my veritable mountain of flowers. The evening was ramping up to a lively night, I could feel it in the air. Most people donned costumes, for what reason I was not yet sure. Kirk had forgotten to tell me it was a costume party, or maybe he did not know. Regardless, I had to take out a sack of coins and jingle it, so that the festive crowd would know my wares were indeed for sale and not some strange outfit.
I angled my body against the flow of the crowd, searching faces for interest or pity. I sold a handful of flowers to a young mare, then helped her make a crown of them. A sad looking man bought a single lily. Otherwise my pockets were empty. No sharks out yet, no big sales... but the night was still young, and I hopeful. The sky was still colored with the last light of the sun, a brilliant burnt orange, although a single bold star had emerged low on the horizon.
And then I saw her. My dreamer.
(I thought of them all as my dreamers but truth be told I was as much theirs as they were mine)
I never forgot a dream, but hers was one of the special few that haunted me. But did she remember? Through the crowd I pressed closer to her, jangling my coins in a poor imitation of the way other boys would yell “Flowers! Come get your flowers! Roses, tulips, tiger lilies!” I tried to catch her eye across the sea of strangers. And against all hope, all reason, I prayed to a god I did not trust in for her to remember me.
take this burden away from me and bury it before it buries me
The time between night and morning, the place between sleeping and awake, this is where we find Elena at her sea side home. She dreams of her family again.
It is her father and her mother, but they do not stand at the edge of the lake in Windskeep, but Paraiso. Her father is young, no older than two, her mother the same. Elena knows it is her mother, the blue in her eyes tell her all she needs. “Hello,” she says, sweet, honey, lavender, her voice holds a melody as if she were singing while she speaks. “Such a beautiful day isn’t it?” She asks him. “My name is Beylani. What do they call you?” It is in that moment realizes, she is seeing the day her mother and father first met. Magic. Elena knows this is the culprit the moment her father introduces himself as Benjamin. But why would magic bring her here? It is only when they move into the lake, swimming in unision, that Elena feels it. The overwhelming emotion that can only be described as attraction. It radiates from her mother and she knows that it is for her obsidian father. Young love. Puppy love. Whatever you call it, but it was that first blossoming of love all the same.
Elena awakes with a start. The images she had seen had been so crisp, the emotion had been so real. She blinks the sleep from her eyes, staring around her room with a racing heart. She rises from her bed and steps out into the fresh air of her sea side home. It is then another image hits her, falling over her blue eyes with such ferocity that she knows it is not a dream.
Marcelo. The man who had been a boy when he had volunteered to help raise Elena, the little orphan that she was. “It’s them! They are here!” He yells as she races forwards, sliding to a halt before Valerio, Lovelace, and Ruth—his mother. His mother was back. “Mommy.” He wraps himself around her, tears spill from his eyes as mother and son reunite. Elena knows the emotion before Marcelo’s own washes over her. Joy. Such joy. She knows because had she the opportunity to see her parents once more, her emotion would be much the same.
Blue eyes blink away the vision away. Why had this memory come to her? This memory, it was not her own, Elena had no right to see it, to experience, to feel it, like she had. It is then she realizes she has traveled outside of her home and is standing beside the sea. How did she get out here? The cold water hits against her legs and Elena spirals into another vision, as unrelenting as the previous.
Longing. Despair. Anguish. All for a lover who had left. “No, no, no.” Elena is surprised to see the silver form of Aletta, heavy with child as she settles herself down. Elena can see it now, this child is coming, and she doesn't wish for it to. This before Elena arrived in Murmuring Rivers, Elena would be born this very afternoon in fact, just hours after Lilli on the birthday that they shared. She did not want this child to come, not without Valerio, not without her love. Elena’s chest only further tightens with Aletta’s heartbreak when she looks with silver mare into the blue eyes of Lilli, Valerio’s eyes, legacy eyes. And how they both yearn to see them again. Aletta in Valerio, and Elena in Lilli.
Her chest feels like it is crumbling inside her. Elena, during that time period, had never realized how much Aletta had ached for the man the golden girl considered her godfather. Aletta had been a good leader, more than a good leader, but Elena had been so wrapped up in her own grief of losing her parents, of being forced from the only home she has known, had not realized the atlas upon Aletta’s shoulders. Elena knows that feeling now, of losing love, and her awe for the silver queen only grows. The sunshine girl is soaking wet, but no longer in the water, instead she stands on the grassy plains. The shadows of the trees hit her, but it is another memory, another emotion that blinds her.
Valerio stands there tall and proud, looking into the hazel eyes of the alabaster Snow Prince. Elena knows this scene well, she had lived it. The day Frostbane had come to claim her. The day he had failed. His words are sharp, and that is when she feels it. Anger. She had felt it too that day, but hers had been juvenile, hurt and grief. Valerio’s was protective, defensive, and Elena understood it, it was the same she felt when someone had threatened Lilli. “You will leave. Now. This will be the last time you shall step upon the lands of my family and leave unscathed. That is my promise to you.”
She remembers that day. The day Frostbane had come to claim her. She remembers Valerio had come to save the day as he always does. Elena had seen the winter in Valerio’s eyes that day, the first time she had ever seen such chill. And perhaps this is where Elena had learned to harness such a cold fire as that, as was within his eyes. She finds that she has traveled further, onto the outskirts of the capital. Her eyes are tired, her head throbs. No more, she wants to say, no more. She isn't sure what the purpose of all this magic is, she just pays to Vespera that this is enough. Though, her prayers are not so strong.
It is that same scene, but she feels not the rage from Valerio, but the fear from Frostbane. It is seen int he way he takes a half step back, the slight widening of his eyes, but it is what ripples off her skin and under her own that Elena is all to aware of what he felt like when the Guardian returned home, always showing up to protect Elena when she needed him most. “Well, well. If it isn't Valerio, the war hero of Windskeep.” Elena narrows her eyes. He speaks strongly, but she knows what he is, has always known, now she only has the proof. He was a coward.
Elena doesn't have any concept of time anymore, has no idea that this has been happening the entire day, an entire day lost in memories and emotions. The sun is setting and another vision falls over her eyes.
She knows this one, because it is as much a memory as it is a vision. Her small, golden body is unhinged with fear. ‘Run, Elena, run!’ her father yellows to her as he turns around to fight. He know he is going to die, he cannot beat Frostbane a third time. Elena cannot look. Blue eyes close and she turns away. The feeling that comes to her though is not fear, but bravery.
There is at last some reprieve (it is only fitting that the image of her father brings it) as she climbs up the cliffs she has landed beside. The bonfires send signals into the night air. It is comforting, not be alone in the dark. She stands there for how long, Elena isn't sure, it could have been only seconds, could have been minutes, hours even. It is long enough that crowds are beginning to leave, a few stragglers left behind. She should throw something into the fire. She realizes this is not the first time she has thrown worries onto flames, just the last light she had placed them inside had been the fire of her cousin’s heart.
This one hits her harder than the rest, until she is thrusted backwards knocking her off balance and is suddenly sent careening over a shallow cliff side with a devastating splash below. The cold water hits her but she can feel nothing but one singular emotion: love.
Lilli refusing to leave her side when the Snow Prince threatens them both.
Lilli and she in their clubhouse within a tree, talking about future plans and future adventures.
Lilli racing to her in the meadow, promising they would always be best friends forever.
Lilli snuggling beside her in Culloden, refusing to leave her side.
Lilli finding her in Hyaline underneath a starry sky.
Lilli crying for her when she left.
Lilli bringing them together with magic.
Lilli wishing her well.
Lilli, it had always been her cousin that had loved her most, when her parents left, all that they had felt had been poured into the girl who was more akin to be her crimson sister.
Love.
Elena is drowning in it. It fights its way towards her lungs, cleansing her body from the inside out.
Breathe, Elena! Breathe! A voice screams inside her, and the red haired image of Lilliana appears.
Elena smiles inside her watery dreamland.
so take away this apathy bury it before it buries me
take this burden away from me and bury it before it buries me
She hadn't thought of him in so long, which is cruel of her. Elena had always been cruelest to those least deserving. He had only wanted to give her his heart, and Elena could not even bother to hold it. But her eyes on this evening long to see him, to trace down the familiar curves and grooves of his handsome, smiling face. Yet, longing would get her no where. Altair would not come for her in Novus. This she knew already. But here she is, thinking of him once more when her eyes grow heavy with sleep.
She was tired.
(So impossibly tired)
She travels from one night into another as she shuts her eyes.
Another quiet night. A night that should have been eerie, perhaps, and possibly would be to someone that did not know the secrets of these lands like she does. The palomino girl had traveled from the safe walls of Paraiso and out into the land of ice and snow. The lair of the Snow Prince, his frozen domain. He had threatened her and her family, and if she had to choose between the two, she would choose her family each and every time.
This was where Altair found her. Elena should have known he would have come to her in her dream. He had shown up at the right time before, and he would do it again. He had taken her by the hand and told her she didn't need to do this, that she was stronger. And together they had sat on a mountain top all night in each other’s arms, the first time in a long time Elena felt entirely safe with him wrapped around her. (The wrong man wrapped around her.)
They watched the sun rise over the mountains.
“Can I see you again?”
And Elena says what she should have all those years ago.
“Yes.”
And then they run, they run where the Snow Prince will never find her, away from the life that would only bring her pain and heartbreak. They have each other and it is enough. Lilli finds them, her crimson cousin visits and Elena is thankful. And it is here, with Altair, that Elena finds the peace within her life and inside herself to live the life she had always told Aerwir she never wanted. They snuggle close like lovers and embrace like newly weds. Elena knows this is love and how she adores it. In this life she has never known Underworld, Tunnel, Tenebrae, or Azrael. She has never known the sharpness of lust, the sting of rejection, the pang of jealousy, or the hurt of toxic love. They live the life that fate had always dangled so far out of her reach, Elena could never spot it flying above her against the bright sun of her destiny.
They love, they have children, they grow old together.
They die.
But it is not as sorrowful as you would think. They die surrounded by those children they love so much, holding each other. They have said, when you die after a life well lived, well loved, it is just like taking a nap after such a long, beautiful day.
And then she wakes up.
Alive, but Elena’s head is reeling and she is unsure if she is well. She has seen a life she never lived, a life she never would. She wants to openly weep, but nothing comes. The crashing of the waves outside of her home tells her just how far from Beyond she truly is. Above the push and pull of the ocean, Elena utters his name just once, it has been so long and she wonders if it still tastes as sweet on her tongue.
“Altair.”
so take away this apathy bury it before it buries me
