☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
THE SUN IS MY UNDOING
Seraphina burns.
Unstable tremors still wrack the wire-frame of her body, palpable and violent as earthquakes; she drags her tongue along her sweat-stained, ashen lips, and, as she does, they curl up into a vicious mockery of a smile. She might have laughed – she feels like she could have laughed, and she thinks that it would have come out all twisted-up and bitter and crackling, because her lungs felt so dry and torn from the dusty air and the heave of pressure and exhaust. She is an ash-heap; all of her silver is coated in sweat and grime, and the gold streaks painted beneath her eyes feel more like a mockery than anything now that they are so nearly obscured by grit and salt-stain. Her legs are gelatinous heaps beneath her, dragged down and pinned to the forest floor like lead weights, but she presses deeper and deeper into the musty darkness of the woods with an urgency that belies none of her weakness; but still it feels like her body trails a thousand miles behind her mind, which stumbles urgently over the right words to tell her people. The kicked-dog darkness that eats at the back of her heart whispers hungrily in her ear: The gods have betrayed you. They have betrayed us all. Don’t waste your prayers on them. The rational part of her that stands resolute, like a thick – bent, beaten, breaking – iron clasp tangled round her throat reminds her: They have not told you anything yet. You cannot know why they have come, or what they intend…and if you are not careful, your words could further endanger your people.
She knows which voice is right – and yet – and yet – and yet -
Dry autumn leaves crunch beneath her hooves, and, caught amidst the pounding of her head, they might as well have been claps of thunder. She doesn’t know where she is - not really. Her mind is racing, and, even if she were paying any attention to the densely-forested landscape rolling alongside her, she’s sure that, in the homogenous darkness that stretches out under Caligo’s (she could have laughed) night, it would have made navigating no easier. Instead, she chases after little snippets of voices, rare, sharp clarities that break through the static fuzz of her own tumultuous thoughts. Noises. Life. When she closes her eyes – each little blink – brings her back to that falling rubble, to the howl of the gods over her head, to the sudden realization that they are not what she thought they were that none of them were what she thought they were that nothing is what she thought it was-
A glimmer of light through the trees ahead sends her surging forward; the noise is louder now, the distant hum of voices nearly enough to consume the cacophony of her own thoughts. Where is Eik? Where is Bexley? flickers through her haze, faintly. Somewhere behind her – outside of the rubble, and that is all that matters. They would catch her eventually. For now, she is a sleek shadow of silver, and, like a droplet of water wriggling free from a stream, she breaks out of the darkness of the forest and into the edges of the cleared ground for the Summit, her chest still heaving with exhilaration.
She is met with the wildflower tang of Delumine almost immediately, but she offers little more than a sidelong glance to the gold-painted woman that is its source before brushing on by her without even a word of greeting – her people need her, and she has no time to waste on pleasantries.
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tags | @Soleil
notes | let's do this <3
THE SUN IS MY UNDOING
Seraphina burns.
Unstable tremors still wrack the wire-frame of her body, palpable and violent as earthquakes; she drags her tongue along her sweat-stained, ashen lips, and, as she does, they curl up into a vicious mockery of a smile. She might have laughed – she feels like she could have laughed, and she thinks that it would have come out all twisted-up and bitter and crackling, because her lungs felt so dry and torn from the dusty air and the heave of pressure and exhaust. She is an ash-heap; all of her silver is coated in sweat and grime, and the gold streaks painted beneath her eyes feel more like a mockery than anything now that they are so nearly obscured by grit and salt-stain. Her legs are gelatinous heaps beneath her, dragged down and pinned to the forest floor like lead weights, but she presses deeper and deeper into the musty darkness of the woods with an urgency that belies none of her weakness; but still it feels like her body trails a thousand miles behind her mind, which stumbles urgently over the right words to tell her people. The kicked-dog darkness that eats at the back of her heart whispers hungrily in her ear: The gods have betrayed you. They have betrayed us all. Don’t waste your prayers on them. The rational part of her that stands resolute, like a thick – bent, beaten, breaking – iron clasp tangled round her throat reminds her: They have not told you anything yet. You cannot know why they have come, or what they intend…and if you are not careful, your words could further endanger your people.
She knows which voice is right – and yet – and yet – and yet -
Dry autumn leaves crunch beneath her hooves, and, caught amidst the pounding of her head, they might as well have been claps of thunder. She doesn’t know where she is - not really. Her mind is racing, and, even if she were paying any attention to the densely-forested landscape rolling alongside her, she’s sure that, in the homogenous darkness that stretches out under Caligo’s (she could have laughed) night, it would have made navigating no easier. Instead, she chases after little snippets of voices, rare, sharp clarities that break through the static fuzz of her own tumultuous thoughts. Noises. Life. When she closes her eyes – each little blink – brings her back to that falling rubble, to the howl of the gods over her head, to the sudden realization that they are not what she thought they were that none of them were what she thought they were that nothing is what she thought it was-
A glimmer of light through the trees ahead sends her surging forward; the noise is louder now, the distant hum of voices nearly enough to consume the cacophony of her own thoughts. Where is Eik? Where is Bexley? flickers through her haze, faintly. Somewhere behind her – outside of the rubble, and that is all that matters. They would catch her eventually. For now, she is a sleek shadow of silver, and, like a droplet of water wriggling free from a stream, she breaks out of the darkness of the forest and into the edges of the cleared ground for the Summit, her chest still heaving with exhilaration.
She is met with the wildflower tang of Delumine almost immediately, but she offers little more than a sidelong glance to the gold-painted woman that is its source before brushing on by her without even a word of greeting – her people need her, and she has no time to waste on pleasantries.
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tags | @Soleil
notes | let's do this <3
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
