[P] i can't be alone with all that's on my mind

[Marisol]

i wish i could say everything i've done and still be loved.

It’s a joke, that anyone thinks she could sleep tonight.

Her whole body is in pain. It’s worse than being beaten in a fight, it’s worse than the weight of ill-fitting armor. The pulsating sore that is her heart feels like a ball of concrete in her chest; if she could, today would be the best of all days to be rid of it.

But somehow Mari gets the sense it would be impossible now more than ever.

Her body hurts and her heart hurts and her brain hurts and the only way to get rid of it is to focus on something else. She knows this. You don’t fix a wound by picking at the scab. So instead of wallowing, as tempting as it is—instead of relegating herself to the bedroom that still hosts letters from Asterion and flowers from Florentine and the smell of a reign that has passed as suddenly as the scythe of death—she forces herself out of the barracks and into the cool night.

Overhead are the insistent pinpricks of stars, and a little sliver of moon shining in the darkness, stubborn to the end. Mari shivers against the new fall breeze as it bites through her short hair. Seasons are changing, she realizes, and everything with it—her heart, her friends, her regime—

Suddenly her chest squeezes in a spasm of pain so intense she stops moving for a second as it rises and then ebbs away, and by the time it disappears completely she’s out of breath, teeth grit and eyes teary.

For a moment the world is quiet, and there could be absolutely nothing worse.

With a grimace she moves towards the arena, and is disappointed (though not surprised) to see Theodosia’s silhouette outlined by the silver light that sweeps down from above like a kiss. A little movement rushes through her—a shudder, or maybe just a cramp—but either way it slows her step, and by the time she emerges into the light her face is calm and still as ever.

Underneath it something cold and vicious roils, and she is fighting hard not to let out her new set of teeth in frustration.

“Go to bed,” Marisol says; how can a voice be so compassionate and so harsh at once? 

@Theodosia

"Speaking."

queen marisol

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