☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
my blood will fill the ditch // my blood will bury the mountain // but for now it sits still in my mouth // just waiting on the tip of my tongue
In that dappled light, stripping away rocks for the space of minutes that seem to her like hours, Seraphina thinks that she sees Bexley Briar cry.
A single tear – hard to tell if it is inspired by rage or pain. She can’t blame her, either way. (She suspects that she would feel much the same, under the circumstances, at least when she was younger and felt much at all. Sometimes she envied her people and the ways they felt, all of those little pinpricks that were not pinpricks to them, the flickers that she could never quite coax to flame. This was not one of those times.) She looks up at her, slowly, reluctantly. Seraphina wonders if she can even believe that this is real. There is some part of the silver that does not.
“Acton and Raum. The – the spy.”
Seraphina feels a rush of something white-hot and inexplicably cold run through her like lightning at those words. Anger, maybe, or betrayal, or indignation. Some small, small part of her asks, childishly, how could they - how could they. She had not interacted with Raum, but she had been kind enough - just enough – to wait for confirmation before branding him a spy. (This was her fault. If she had just acted sooner, then…) And Acton. She remembers the gold-orange boy in the canyons, and her lips curl up at the edges as she chokes down a snarl. Seraphina had known, even then, that he was up to something. She had known that he would be trouble. She had known, and yet…and yet she had been hospitable, even as he had thrown barbs at her. “They will answer for this,” She says, softly, low venom brewing in the lilt of her voice; in the mouth of anyone else, it would have barely been perceptible, but any emotion blares out like a foghorn when she is the one who speaks it. Seraphina is not a vengeful creature, but she is just by her very nature, and some darkling urge inside of her insists, furious, that justice be done.
(Her kingdom’s justice, however, is vengeance – a hungry cycle, or a snake that swallows up its own tail. She wonders if there will ever be an end to it. She wonders if seeking out Acton and Raum for their crimes means bringing the cave crashing down on the heads of all of her people.)
“Can you stand?” She asks, finally, her eyes darting the length of her broken, twisted frame. It’s a miracle, she thinks, that Bexley even lives; the stones should have stolen her life from her. If she can stand, she can begin the agonizing process of walking her back across the desert, if she can walk at all. If she can’t…there are materials enough to try to make splints. She can’t carry her back, but she can’t leave her to go find help, either. (Or, rather, she won’t.) Thoughts of vengeance and Acton and Raum would have to be filed away until she had time enough to deal with them – for now, it was just Seraphina, a broken golden girl, and a desert merciless enough to swallow up the both of them.
my blood will fill the ditch // my blood will bury the mountain // but for now it sits still in my mouth // just waiting on the tip of my tongue
In that dappled light, stripping away rocks for the space of minutes that seem to her like hours, Seraphina thinks that she sees Bexley Briar cry.
A single tear – hard to tell if it is inspired by rage or pain. She can’t blame her, either way. (She suspects that she would feel much the same, under the circumstances, at least when she was younger and felt much at all. Sometimes she envied her people and the ways they felt, all of those little pinpricks that were not pinpricks to them, the flickers that she could never quite coax to flame. This was not one of those times.) She looks up at her, slowly, reluctantly. Seraphina wonders if she can even believe that this is real. There is some part of the silver that does not.
“Acton and Raum. The – the spy.”
Seraphina feels a rush of something white-hot and inexplicably cold run through her like lightning at those words. Anger, maybe, or betrayal, or indignation. Some small, small part of her asks, childishly, how could they - how could they. She had not interacted with Raum, but she had been kind enough - just enough – to wait for confirmation before branding him a spy. (This was her fault. If she had just acted sooner, then…) And Acton. She remembers the gold-orange boy in the canyons, and her lips curl up at the edges as she chokes down a snarl. Seraphina had known, even then, that he was up to something. She had known that he would be trouble. She had known, and yet…and yet she had been hospitable, even as he had thrown barbs at her. “They will answer for this,” She says, softly, low venom brewing in the lilt of her voice; in the mouth of anyone else, it would have barely been perceptible, but any emotion blares out like a foghorn when she is the one who speaks it. Seraphina is not a vengeful creature, but she is just by her very nature, and some darkling urge inside of her insists, furious, that justice be done.
(Her kingdom’s justice, however, is vengeance – a hungry cycle, or a snake that swallows up its own tail. She wonders if there will ever be an end to it. She wonders if seeking out Acton and Raum for their crimes means bringing the cave crashing down on the heads of all of her people.)
“Can you stand?” She asks, finally, her eyes darting the length of her broken, twisted frame. It’s a miracle, she thinks, that Bexley even lives; the stones should have stolen her life from her. If she can stand, she can begin the agonizing process of walking her back across the desert, if she can walk at all. If she can’t…there are materials enough to try to make splints. She can’t carry her back, but she can’t leave her to go find help, either. (Or, rather, she won’t.) Thoughts of vengeance and Acton and Raum would have to be filed away until she had time enough to deal with them – for now, it was just Seraphina, a broken golden girl, and a desert merciless enough to swallow up the both of them.
@
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
