☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
and you're on your knees
and your faith in shreds, it seems
White hair, freed of its kempt braids, flows wildly around the silver; she paces.
Occasionally, she glances up fervently at the shrine alongside her. What does she want from the gods, really? (Answers, hisses the voice in the back of her mind. But for what? What is to come, or what has already passed? She doesn’t think that she’s getting either.)
After she abandoned him, or he abandoned her, or they both failed her people, she hadn’t expected to make her way back to his shrine, but there she was; still shell-shocked and tumultuous from the summit, in spite of the cold laced across her charcoal features. It had never been hard to remain in control of herself in the past, and, in truth, she was not entirely sure what she was straining to keep captive. A year ago, she had thought that Viceroy carved so much of her away that there was nothing left, but now she realizes that it – everything - is still there, but she has lost the words to know what it is. She only knows that she wants - needs - it out of her, or smothered down too deep to recognize, or, or, or-
There is no she in ruling a nation, though. Not really. It is in the name of such irrelevance that she manages to bite down the maelstrom that threatens, honing her focus on answers, on solutions, on anything. Statues have been disappearing from Veneror. The gods have revealed themselves, in some fashion. And Tempus’s words, loud as thunder, still ring in her head. Change is coming.
She is not sure that she wants to know what.
She paces. Hooves clack against harsh stone; her eyes catch on the sun medallion that she laid on the shrine not so long after the Davke attack, and, internally, some part of her winces. Once, she had found comfort in the symbol, resting above the throne. Once, she had found comfort in its absence. Now, it sits like a judge on the stairs, watching her accusingly.
She remains tensed, expression unreadable. She paces.
The light catches off the sun god’s statue in a manner that is not quite right - she freezes, then dismisses it. Seeing things. Expecting things. Needing things. But it happens again, and this time she remains frozen, stiff as the statue should be, even as the wind twists and tangles in the sun god’s golden hair.
Then, a snap. Silence.
She takes a reluctant step towards the statue, and her entire body hums.
He is awake. Her mind trails behind her, because he is awake and the same part of her that spent so many desperate nights longing for his voice is nauseated at the sudden presence of it. “We have returned. Let them all witness our glory and power.” Glory? Her own accusations bite back with a vengeance. She stands at the foot of the shrine, unable – or unwilling – to move, mismatched eyes searching for the sun god’s own.
That night with the Stormsinger, they were cold – freezing. Now they are ablaze.
Glowing, golden, flowing, burning; he is everything she ever imagined that he should be and somehow even more. (Bloodthirst and confidence and arrogance topped off with a smile.)
How many times had she whispered his name in prayer? But he was always silent. But you aren’t dead. But you would have rather- Irrelevant. Don’t you have questions for him? He certainly isn’t running. Your own words still ring in your head, animalistic and desperate, accusing, vengeful, clawing, clawing, clawing. You’re a wayward daughter now, Seraphina – and there is no going back to what you were. And it was so much easier, then. So much easier to run blind. But now you have heard the voice of God. What do you do with it?
“Hello,” She says, finally, never looking away from those eyes, “Solis.”
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tags | @Random Events
notes | hooo boy this is going to be a trip and a half. anyways, it's 1:30 AM here, so I'll probably proofread this in the morning (so please forgive me for any egregious errors), but, for now....another weirdly abstract post, I guess, ft. a few references.
and you're on your knees
and your faith in shreds, it seems
White hair, freed of its kempt braids, flows wildly around the silver; she paces.
Occasionally, she glances up fervently at the shrine alongside her. What does she want from the gods, really? (Answers, hisses the voice in the back of her mind. But for what? What is to come, or what has already passed? She doesn’t think that she’s getting either.)
After she abandoned him, or he abandoned her, or they both failed her people, she hadn’t expected to make her way back to his shrine, but there she was; still shell-shocked and tumultuous from the summit, in spite of the cold laced across her charcoal features. It had never been hard to remain in control of herself in the past, and, in truth, she was not entirely sure what she was straining to keep captive. A year ago, she had thought that Viceroy carved so much of her away that there was nothing left, but now she realizes that it – everything - is still there, but she has lost the words to know what it is. She only knows that she wants - needs - it out of her, or smothered down too deep to recognize, or, or, or-
There is no she in ruling a nation, though. Not really. It is in the name of such irrelevance that she manages to bite down the maelstrom that threatens, honing her focus on answers, on solutions, on anything. Statues have been disappearing from Veneror. The gods have revealed themselves, in some fashion. And Tempus’s words, loud as thunder, still ring in her head. Change is coming.
She is not sure that she wants to know what.
She paces. Hooves clack against harsh stone; her eyes catch on the sun medallion that she laid on the shrine not so long after the Davke attack, and, internally, some part of her winces. Once, she had found comfort in the symbol, resting above the throne. Once, she had found comfort in its absence. Now, it sits like a judge on the stairs, watching her accusingly.
She remains tensed, expression unreadable. She paces.
The light catches off the sun god’s statue in a manner that is not quite right - she freezes, then dismisses it. Seeing things. Expecting things. Needing things. But it happens again, and this time she remains frozen, stiff as the statue should be, even as the wind twists and tangles in the sun god’s golden hair.
Then, a snap. Silence.
She takes a reluctant step towards the statue, and her entire body hums.
He is awake. Her mind trails behind her, because he is awake and the same part of her that spent so many desperate nights longing for his voice is nauseated at the sudden presence of it. “We have returned. Let them all witness our glory and power.” Glory? Her own accusations bite back with a vengeance. She stands at the foot of the shrine, unable – or unwilling – to move, mismatched eyes searching for the sun god’s own.
That night with the Stormsinger, they were cold – freezing. Now they are ablaze.
Glowing, golden, flowing, burning; he is everything she ever imagined that he should be and somehow even more. (Bloodthirst and confidence and arrogance topped off with a smile.)
How many times had she whispered his name in prayer? But he was always silent. But you aren’t dead. But you would have rather- Irrelevant. Don’t you have questions for him? He certainly isn’t running. Your own words still ring in your head, animalistic and desperate, accusing, vengeful, clawing, clawing, clawing. You’re a wayward daughter now, Seraphina – and there is no going back to what you were. And it was so much easier, then. So much easier to run blind. But now you have heard the voice of God. What do you do with it?
“Hello,” She says, finally, never looking away from those eyes, “Solis.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
tags | @Random Events
notes | hooo boy this is going to be a trip and a half. anyways, it's 1:30 AM here, so I'll probably proofread this in the morning (so please forgive me for any egregious errors), but, for now....another weirdly abstract post, I guess, ft. a few references.
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
