and bury it before it buries me
Men only lead to trouble. She might have believed her. But there is a boy that found her as the snow sparkled underneath a setting sun, who made her laugh, who made her smile and asked nothing of her in return. He saw her light and he had only asked to brighten it. She might have believed her—if she never met him.
Maybe it has been Elena all along, leading into trouble.
But this is a dance.
And Elena isn't supposed to be leading.
He has something of darkness and light within him and she is mesmerized by the way that they coil in his chest. She does not have words to explain what she finds so fascinating about it—whether it is the way he moves or how his shadows spread. His shadows come for her and she isn’t scared. Maybe she should be, standing here like this, looking at him like that. Maybe she should be. But Elena has felt so much fear all of her life, that she doesn't think she can bring herself to feel it in this moment. She has felt a sweet caress on her check, has felt it in hands of men who have loved her and those who have used her, in the end it all feels the same.
It ends as abruptly as it begins, it always does.
What other things are you made for?
Than just love and lust and breaking and mending?
Smiles and starry nights and healing and laughter and quiet moments and beautiful sunrises.
“It is a beautiful and gracious thing then that we are not made of stone,” she says. Moveable, shapeable. He allows her close, and his body near hers is gentle, sensitive and kind, and she cannot help but compare it to the hunger, the demanding touches of Tunnel. He had never been gentle with her; he had been a wildfire that had consumed her whole. He ravaged and burnt all of her, leaving her with singed palms and an empty chest. He took, and he took, and she was always so eager to give. She gave him everything, emptied herself out for him—and the worst part was knowing she would do it again. She was helpless not to.
But here, she finds comfort as she lightly brushes against him to show him how to move to the rhythm of the music.
Elena is made of less rigid things than of iron and steel. She is flames in the night and as the metal finds her, as they find their feet, her fire flickers and dances around the tough metal that binds his bones and stays his blood. It is when the heat makes the metal bend and she relinquishes her hold upon the fire that had been burning.
‘I will follow you.’
This is not the first time she has made this promise in her life,
though it is the first time she has made it tonight.
At his words, she just laughs softly, shaking her head as the music dies and the they are left with chattering dancers and vibrant stars. “I long for nights like this, an easy life,” she says, turning blue eyes to face him, the truth of it wrapped and pressed into his palms. “Is that weak of me to say? You seem so strong and courageous, it is hard for me to imagine you would choose the same,” she says, watching him with a careful intention. “Yet here I stand longing for easy.” Oh how she wants this. Soft afternoons and quiet evenings. She wants to wake up surrounded by those she cares for, longing for simple pleasures and kind smiles.
She wants nothing more than she wants easy. So she says.
Elena is the most honest liar in the world.
But she knows that isn’t possible and so she doesn’t push the subject, instead she closes her eyes and turns that golden head upwards as if it were sunlight brushing against her face instead of moonlight. The song that plays is beautiful and vulnerable and she wants to cry with the stars that twinkle with tears, but she stays quiet for a moment. Twilight had evaporated from the horizon and the constellations have been thrown long and wide above them.
She owed him a name.
“Names are powerful things,” she says, he had taught her that in another land, another place, beneath the boughs of forest trees. “You ask for mine yet you have not offered me yours, Denocte,” she says to him, quickly following her sentence before he can answer. “Don’t tell me—not yet,” she says, those eyes of frost perched with a secret in hand. <>“Come to Terrastella, and tell me then,” she speaks softly, there is still flickering candlelight that rivets off her skin like the fog over the redwood forests she once frequented. “I have seen your darkness, and your stars and your moon, I think it right I ought to see you in the sun too.” She tilts her head, that smile that flitters like butterfly wings on her lips feels familiar. (It is familiar because she had given it to a brooding cousin as she dragged him flower to flower like honey bees.)
She blinks, there is a star caught in the corner of her eye.
“My name is Elena.”
@Tenebrae
Maybe it has been Elena all along, leading into trouble.
But this is a dance.
And Elena isn't supposed to be leading.
He has something of darkness and light within him and she is mesmerized by the way that they coil in his chest. She does not have words to explain what she finds so fascinating about it—whether it is the way he moves or how his shadows spread. His shadows come for her and she isn’t scared. Maybe she should be, standing here like this, looking at him like that. Maybe she should be. But Elena has felt so much fear all of her life, that she doesn't think she can bring herself to feel it in this moment. She has felt a sweet caress on her check, has felt it in hands of men who have loved her and those who have used her, in the end it all feels the same.
It ends as abruptly as it begins, it always does.
What other things are you made for?
Than just love and lust and breaking and mending?
Smiles and starry nights and healing and laughter and quiet moments and beautiful sunrises.
“It is a beautiful and gracious thing then that we are not made of stone,” she says. Moveable, shapeable. He allows her close, and his body near hers is gentle, sensitive and kind, and she cannot help but compare it to the hunger, the demanding touches of Tunnel. He had never been gentle with her; he had been a wildfire that had consumed her whole. He ravaged and burnt all of her, leaving her with singed palms and an empty chest. He took, and he took, and she was always so eager to give. She gave him everything, emptied herself out for him—and the worst part was knowing she would do it again. She was helpless not to.
But here, she finds comfort as she lightly brushes against him to show him how to move to the rhythm of the music.
Elena is made of less rigid things than of iron and steel. She is flames in the night and as the metal finds her, as they find their feet, her fire flickers and dances around the tough metal that binds his bones and stays his blood. It is when the heat makes the metal bend and she relinquishes her hold upon the fire that had been burning.
‘I will follow you.’
This is not the first time she has made this promise in her life,
though it is the first time she has made it tonight.
At his words, she just laughs softly, shaking her head as the music dies and the they are left with chattering dancers and vibrant stars. “I long for nights like this, an easy life,” she says, turning blue eyes to face him, the truth of it wrapped and pressed into his palms. “Is that weak of me to say? You seem so strong and courageous, it is hard for me to imagine you would choose the same,” she says, watching him with a careful intention. “Yet here I stand longing for easy.” Oh how she wants this. Soft afternoons and quiet evenings. She wants to wake up surrounded by those she cares for, longing for simple pleasures and kind smiles.
She wants nothing more than she wants easy. So she says.
Elena is the most honest liar in the world.
But she knows that isn’t possible and so she doesn’t push the subject, instead she closes her eyes and turns that golden head upwards as if it were sunlight brushing against her face instead of moonlight. The song that plays is beautiful and vulnerable and she wants to cry with the stars that twinkle with tears, but she stays quiet for a moment. Twilight had evaporated from the horizon and the constellations have been thrown long and wide above them.
She owed him a name.
“Names are powerful things,” she says, he had taught her that in another land, another place, beneath the boughs of forest trees. “You ask for mine yet you have not offered me yours, Denocte,” she says to him, quickly following her sentence before he can answer. “Don’t tell me—not yet,” she says, those eyes of frost perched with a secret in hand. <>“Come to Terrastella, and tell me then,” she speaks softly, there is still flickering candlelight that rivets off her skin like the fog over the redwood forests she once frequented. “I have seen your darkness, and your stars and your moon, I think it right I ought to see you in the sun too.” She tilts her head, that smile that flitters like butterfly wings on her lips feels familiar. (It is familiar because she had given it to a brooding cousin as she dragged him flower to flower like honey bees.)
She blinks, there is a star caught in the corner of her eye.
“My name is Elena.”
@Tenebrae
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
![[Image: ddvotwe-59302ba6-6a81-47bf-9846-30c5a5db...0iFb4PvyXE]](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/8026a53b-dc57-41ab-b574-9f8a8fe57ce4/ddvotwe-59302ba6-6a81-47bf-9846-30c5a5db0780.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzgwMjZhNTNiLWRjNTctNDFhYi1iNTc0LTlmOGE4ZmU1N2NlNFwvZGR2b3R3ZS01OTMwMmJhNi02YTgxLTQ3YmYtOTg0Ni0zMGM1YTVkYjA3ODAucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.ujCJH7FAbsQhfZlQniMmEd_vw-VmvaTDn0iFb4PvyXE)
let's light this house on fire
we'll dance in the warmth of its blaze
pixel made by the amazing star
