☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
- HELL OR GLORY -
I don't want anything in between
The sun splits over the horizon when Seraphina crosses the Eluetheria.
The landscape before her is washed in volatile rays of red-gold that catch on the flickering waves of grass – like flames, or flecks of frothing foam on a storm-struck sea. Red at dawn, travelers beware. Well, she is no longer wary, and she is no longer afraid; as wisps of her white hair trail like strands of moonlight down her brow, she runs forward as a silver stream, her eyes ablaze in the morning light. It casts long shadows in front of her, blurred, distorted reflections of her impaled upon dancing blades of weeds – and all around her, the grass stirs like the sea, whipping to life like a brewing sandstorm. The wind is strong, this morning, and she thinks that she can smell rain in the far distance; tendrils of darkness threaten at her back, clawing like jealous fingers at the burning sunrise above her head.
The thunder rolls. She does not look back to see the lightning.
You have seen the face of god, and what? God is just another obstacle, another stumbling block, another chess piece on a vast, celestial board - god is always watching, but god cannot control you. If she has learned to live with sandstorms and teryrs, she will learn to live with the divine; they are another force of nature, after all, and she has always seen them in the world around her. The only thing that has changed is their form. (And now they are mortal, physical, living - and she wonders if that restrains them in any way, now that their entire essence is trapped in a pitiful, pitiful body.) For now, she has a kingdom to protect, revenge to take, a reputation to rebuild from the ashes…and she has no time to hesitate, and even less time for weakness.
Now, she is outrunning the rain (and the crash) – the storm hisses at her heels, but she does not falter, even as she sprints across unknown, unseen ground.
Passive, desperate urges – so animal and so pitiful, so unsightly – were left on that peak, to rot among the shadows of the stars and the empty circle of pillars. No longer is she simply the silver, no longer a false, fleeting creature, no longer so reserved and hesitant-
She is the sun queen.
She is the sun queen.
The first splash of rain catches her heels, but the clouds have not even begun to overtake the sun; the droplets, suspended in the blinding rays, run like liquid fire down her sides, blending with the salt of her sweat until it trails her, leaving metallic streaks in her coat. She blinks water off her lashes, and, pulling in her chin, forces herself to move faster -
She has not longed so desperately for her desert, for her home, since the attack.
Her pace only slows as she crests the ridge of a great, wavering hillside and comes to a steady halt at its highest point. Below her, a great herd of bison, undisturbed by the coming storm, graze; at the sound of her approach, only a few even bother to raise their heads. Behind her, thunder roars, and, as she turns to stare over her shoulder, her gaze is illuminated by the violent crash of white lightning. (It reminds her of another time, not so long ago. She was younger then, and crushed – beneath the weight of a broken people, barely a child with a massacre to swallow. There was still blood on her hands, and there would be more to come. There is still a weight on her, a leaden mantle cast across her shoulders, but it is as much of a burden as a badge of pride.) Her eyes narrow to burning slits, and her hair, untangled from its braids and curling around her in wild, banshee masses, whips wild as the lightning flashes in the distance.
Just a moment to relish the cool, autumn breeze and the cool tinge of rain before she returned to endless dunes and dry, coarse-hot air – homecoming awaits.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
notes | she's bounced back, or something.
tag | @Thranduil
- HELL OR GLORY -
I don't want anything in between
The sun splits over the horizon when Seraphina crosses the Eluetheria.
The landscape before her is washed in volatile rays of red-gold that catch on the flickering waves of grass – like flames, or flecks of frothing foam on a storm-struck sea. Red at dawn, travelers beware. Well, she is no longer wary, and she is no longer afraid; as wisps of her white hair trail like strands of moonlight down her brow, she runs forward as a silver stream, her eyes ablaze in the morning light. It casts long shadows in front of her, blurred, distorted reflections of her impaled upon dancing blades of weeds – and all around her, the grass stirs like the sea, whipping to life like a brewing sandstorm. The wind is strong, this morning, and she thinks that she can smell rain in the far distance; tendrils of darkness threaten at her back, clawing like jealous fingers at the burning sunrise above her head.
The thunder rolls. She does not look back to see the lightning.
You have seen the face of god, and what? God is just another obstacle, another stumbling block, another chess piece on a vast, celestial board - god is always watching, but god cannot control you. If she has learned to live with sandstorms and teryrs, she will learn to live with the divine; they are another force of nature, after all, and she has always seen them in the world around her. The only thing that has changed is their form. (And now they are mortal, physical, living - and she wonders if that restrains them in any way, now that their entire essence is trapped in a pitiful, pitiful body.) For now, she has a kingdom to protect, revenge to take, a reputation to rebuild from the ashes…and she has no time to hesitate, and even less time for weakness.
Now, she is outrunning the rain (and the crash) – the storm hisses at her heels, but she does not falter, even as she sprints across unknown, unseen ground.
Passive, desperate urges – so animal and so pitiful, so unsightly – were left on that peak, to rot among the shadows of the stars and the empty circle of pillars. No longer is she simply the silver, no longer a false, fleeting creature, no longer so reserved and hesitant-
She is the sun queen.
She is the sun queen.
The first splash of rain catches her heels, but the clouds have not even begun to overtake the sun; the droplets, suspended in the blinding rays, run like liquid fire down her sides, blending with the salt of her sweat until it trails her, leaving metallic streaks in her coat. She blinks water off her lashes, and, pulling in her chin, forces herself to move faster -
She has not longed so desperately for her desert, for her home, since the attack.
Her pace only slows as she crests the ridge of a great, wavering hillside and comes to a steady halt at its highest point. Below her, a great herd of bison, undisturbed by the coming storm, graze; at the sound of her approach, only a few even bother to raise their heads. Behind her, thunder roars, and, as she turns to stare over her shoulder, her gaze is illuminated by the violent crash of white lightning. (It reminds her of another time, not so long ago. She was younger then, and crushed – beneath the weight of a broken people, barely a child with a massacre to swallow. There was still blood on her hands, and there would be more to come. There is still a weight on her, a leaden mantle cast across her shoulders, but it is as much of a burden as a badge of pride.) Her eyes narrow to burning slits, and her hair, untangled from its braids and curling around her in wild, banshee masses, whips wild as the lightning flashes in the distance.
Just a moment to relish the cool, autumn breeze and the cool tinge of rain before she returned to endless dunes and dry, coarse-hot air – homecoming awaits.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
notes | she's bounced back, or something.
tag | @Thranduil
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
