✩ v i r u n ✩
collecting pictures from the flood that wrecked our home
it was a flood that wrecked this home
She remembers that coldcoldcold darkness – the space between worlds, fluid and constricting as the darkness of the womb. Hold on to me Virun, a sweet hum of a thousand voices in her ears. Hold on to me and everything will be fine, you will be fine, it will all be over soon. And then she remembers salt and cold seawater, the thick plaster of her coat against her trembling, bone-thin skin; she remembers the way that rain pooled in her mouth and nose when she tried to breathe, or scream for help, and she remembers the coldcoldcold approach of the hungry, hungry tide, the way that the salt stung her lips.
She remembers. She remembers. She remembers.
She is in the fields when she notices the silence, a quiet that is too quiet; the emptiness is vast and gaping. No birdsong. The air hums with some strange intensity, an energy that she can’t quite fathom – when she leaps into the air to return to the Court, the tense jolt of electricity that burns through her frame is enough to send her crumpling back to the ground, shuddering like a leaf. A storm is coming, Virun! A storm! The thunder rolls. Lightning crashes, but she can’t see it.
Her sightless eyes pool with rain – and drip free, like tears.
The wind howls all around her, and she can’t tell what direction she moves in, so she ceases to move at all; occasionally, there is a violent rush, like the ocean, but she’s so disoriented that she can’t determine where it’s coming from. The ground is slick and unstable, and she wishes that she could fly - in fact, she’s sure that she could, but the violent crash of rolling thunder keeps her grounded, at least until it subsides.
Time drags on. She nests into a heap of grass and muck, the vast expanse of her violet wings encircling her like a shrine. Virun. Hallowed, sacred place. Shrine. You’re like a little shrine – a place of peace. When has she ever been at peace? The world is nothing but black. Vast, formless black that stinks of mud and uprooted grass and rain. Her lungs feel constricted, and she’s nauseas and wet and her limbs feel stuck-together with mud and sweat and stillness, but she hunkers down and tries not to move at all, like a turtle. A turtle, Virun? You’d make a poor turtle. Look at you, so gangling and awkward; at least turtles are graceful in the water. But she’s never actually seen one, so she doesn’t actually know.
An innocuous slosh.
Her stomach lurches and tangles itself into knots. Fly fly fly little bird-
But it’s too late, and the water is all around her before she can move – it catches her up in its embrace and sweeps her from her makeshift roost, dragging her high high high, tumbling and stumbling and tangled around herself. Delicate limbs scrape against branch and stone, and she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe and it’s all so dark too dark strangling suffocating she doesn’t know where the surface is what is up what is down where to go where to go where to go-
But she spreads her wings, even as they slam into gnarled branch and sharp stone, and she kicks against the tide, because she is not ready to die yet. Her eyes, blind as they are, squeeze shut, and the roar of thunder echoes just over the water swirling past her ears; it is the dull, throbbing noise, the howling wind, that she uses to struggle her way towards the surface. For a moment, her velveteen muzzle slips above the water, and she sucks in gasping breath after gasping breath before the tide drags her down again.
Celes, she begs – prays, even. Celes, please. I want to go home.
The water does not hear her prayers.
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tags | @Random Events
notes | virun is being swept away. pls save her from death someone, thanks.
collecting pictures from the flood that wrecked our home
it was a flood that wrecked this home
She remembers that coldcoldcold darkness – the space between worlds, fluid and constricting as the darkness of the womb. Hold on to me Virun, a sweet hum of a thousand voices in her ears. Hold on to me and everything will be fine, you will be fine, it will all be over soon. And then she remembers salt and cold seawater, the thick plaster of her coat against her trembling, bone-thin skin; she remembers the way that rain pooled in her mouth and nose when she tried to breathe, or scream for help, and she remembers the coldcoldcold approach of the hungry, hungry tide, the way that the salt stung her lips.
She remembers. She remembers. She remembers.
She is in the fields when she notices the silence, a quiet that is too quiet; the emptiness is vast and gaping. No birdsong. The air hums with some strange intensity, an energy that she can’t quite fathom – when she leaps into the air to return to the Court, the tense jolt of electricity that burns through her frame is enough to send her crumpling back to the ground, shuddering like a leaf. A storm is coming, Virun! A storm! The thunder rolls. Lightning crashes, but she can’t see it.
Her sightless eyes pool with rain – and drip free, like tears.
The wind howls all around her, and she can’t tell what direction she moves in, so she ceases to move at all; occasionally, there is a violent rush, like the ocean, but she’s so disoriented that she can’t determine where it’s coming from. The ground is slick and unstable, and she wishes that she could fly - in fact, she’s sure that she could, but the violent crash of rolling thunder keeps her grounded, at least until it subsides.
Time drags on. She nests into a heap of grass and muck, the vast expanse of her violet wings encircling her like a shrine. Virun. Hallowed, sacred place. Shrine. You’re like a little shrine – a place of peace. When has she ever been at peace? The world is nothing but black. Vast, formless black that stinks of mud and uprooted grass and rain. Her lungs feel constricted, and she’s nauseas and wet and her limbs feel stuck-together with mud and sweat and stillness, but she hunkers down and tries not to move at all, like a turtle. A turtle, Virun? You’d make a poor turtle. Look at you, so gangling and awkward; at least turtles are graceful in the water. But she’s never actually seen one, so she doesn’t actually know.
An innocuous slosh.
Her stomach lurches and tangles itself into knots. Fly fly fly little bird-
But it’s too late, and the water is all around her before she can move – it catches her up in its embrace and sweeps her from her makeshift roost, dragging her high high high, tumbling and stumbling and tangled around herself. Delicate limbs scrape against branch and stone, and she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe and it’s all so dark too dark strangling suffocating she doesn’t know where the surface is what is up what is down where to go where to go where to go-
But she spreads her wings, even as they slam into gnarled branch and sharp stone, and she kicks against the tide, because she is not ready to die yet. Her eyes, blind as they are, squeeze shut, and the roar of thunder echoes just over the water swirling past her ears; it is the dull, throbbing noise, the howling wind, that she uses to struggle her way towards the surface. For a moment, her velveteen muzzle slips above the water, and she sucks in gasping breath after gasping breath before the tide drags her down again.
Celes, she begs – prays, even. Celes, please. I want to go home.
The water does not hear her prayers.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
tags | @Random Events
notes | virun is being swept away. pls save her from death someone, thanks.
