and bury it before it buries me
Would he think lesser of her if knew what a scarred thing she truly was?
Would he think of her as a broken, used toy to know about the way she had been hollowed out? She had been so small when she had been swept away by the dark like an ocean of shadows, tossing and turning until she was inside out and utterly alone. She had handed her heart away so easily, so eager to lose herself into something that had felt epic only to find it rotten from the inside out. It had left her scarred and alone—shattered. It has taken time, and leaving them all behind to pull herself back together, to begin to bring the semblance of wholeness back to herself.
Would he think less of her to know her scars?
“She was, for what little I knew of her,” she says with a lonely smile. They are more alike than they would think, standing there thinking things about mothers they never really knew. Azrael as a star and Elena as an orphan. “We used to wait outside by the lake for the first star to appear each night,” she says, a family tradition, when the dark, with her family beside her, had not been frightening, but inviting. “I don't know much about my parents either,” she admits. “They died when I was young.” She says, quickly moving forward, she has dwelled within her thoughts far too long in regards to her mother and father, she knows there is only sorrow and grief when she lingers in that corner of her heart. “Do you wish you knew them?”
She does not know that she will appear in his dreams.
Maybe, if she did, she would tell him he shouldn’t waste such precious slumbers on thoughts of her.
You cannot lose me. She wants to tell him not to make promises he isn't sure he can keep. If there was one thing Elena could do splendidly, it was lose somebody. But as he places the amulet on her neck, Elena cannot help the way she lights up. She arches that golden neck to look down at it, following with glacial blue eyes the light it creates. She leans close to him, to walk the same steps he does. She only moves her eyes from the path to the star-horse when she speaks to him. “I’ll follow you,” she says for not the first time this evening.
Elena has always been so willing to let another guide her, praying that this time they would not lead her astray.
He guides her through the arch, her eyes taken in the awe and beauty of the decorative pieces that she had not noticed on her way into Denocte. She remains close as they climb, higher and higher, and higher. It is only when the footing begins to even out that she dares to glance upwards. The stars are overwhelming tonight in their beauty, and she feels breathless in their presence, her golden head flings back to take them in—soak in the impossible infinity of their existence. Her pulse is pounding and it is enough to make her breathless. How had she not taken the time to stare up at the constellations and revel in them? How had she lived so wordlessly beneath the heaven’s reign? Forgetting to stare up in awe at the swirling chasms above her.
Is when she looks up as she stands beside him on the mountain top. It almost causes the breath in her throat to catch, all of the ghosts crawling out and into her flesh, but his voice banishes them, opening the windows wide and letting the light pour in. She tilts her chin up to him, watching the starlight cross his features, shimmering beneath it. He is beautiful, she thinks, but it feels foolish to tell him this. It feels foolish to tell him, a stranger she has just met that in his presence, with him beside her, she feels braver than she has in a long time.
It feels foolish to admit this aloud.
Instead she follows him to the constellations that have unfurled before them like secrets told. “There is a crown too, right?” She asks, and she feels childhood stories bubbling in her chest as something similar to hope. “Although, I am not sure where,” she says, scanning those blue eyes across the heavens. Corona Borealis – The Northern Crown, a favorite story from her childhood. Who would have known she would come to live so similar a story.
His question brightens Elena’s sunshine face. She touches his shoulder with all the delicacy and gentleness of butterfly wings and dewdrops on spring leaves and leaves the crinkle of a smile there before pulling away. “I don’t think so,” she says, a thought shared. “But, I think I may like it that way,” she says. “I am beginning to find that the mystery is not fearsome as I may have once believed.”
Would he think of her as a broken, used toy to know about the way she had been hollowed out? She had been so small when she had been swept away by the dark like an ocean of shadows, tossing and turning until she was inside out and utterly alone. She had handed her heart away so easily, so eager to lose herself into something that had felt epic only to find it rotten from the inside out. It had left her scarred and alone—shattered. It has taken time, and leaving them all behind to pull herself back together, to begin to bring the semblance of wholeness back to herself.
Would he think less of her to know her scars?
“She was, for what little I knew of her,” she says with a lonely smile. They are more alike than they would think, standing there thinking things about mothers they never really knew. Azrael as a star and Elena as an orphan. “We used to wait outside by the lake for the first star to appear each night,” she says, a family tradition, when the dark, with her family beside her, had not been frightening, but inviting. “I don't know much about my parents either,” she admits. “They died when I was young.” She says, quickly moving forward, she has dwelled within her thoughts far too long in regards to her mother and father, she knows there is only sorrow and grief when she lingers in that corner of her heart. “Do you wish you knew them?”
She does not know that she will appear in his dreams.
Maybe, if she did, she would tell him he shouldn’t waste such precious slumbers on thoughts of her.
You cannot lose me. She wants to tell him not to make promises he isn't sure he can keep. If there was one thing Elena could do splendidly, it was lose somebody. But as he places the amulet on her neck, Elena cannot help the way she lights up. She arches that golden neck to look down at it, following with glacial blue eyes the light it creates. She leans close to him, to walk the same steps he does. She only moves her eyes from the path to the star-horse when she speaks to him. “I’ll follow you,” she says for not the first time this evening.
Elena has always been so willing to let another guide her, praying that this time they would not lead her astray.
He guides her through the arch, her eyes taken in the awe and beauty of the decorative pieces that she had not noticed on her way into Denocte. She remains close as they climb, higher and higher, and higher. It is only when the footing begins to even out that she dares to glance upwards. The stars are overwhelming tonight in their beauty, and she feels breathless in their presence, her golden head flings back to take them in—soak in the impossible infinity of their existence. Her pulse is pounding and it is enough to make her breathless. How had she not taken the time to stare up at the constellations and revel in them? How had she lived so wordlessly beneath the heaven’s reign? Forgetting to stare up in awe at the swirling chasms above her.
Is when she looks up as she stands beside him on the mountain top. It almost causes the breath in her throat to catch, all of the ghosts crawling out and into her flesh, but his voice banishes them, opening the windows wide and letting the light pour in. She tilts her chin up to him, watching the starlight cross his features, shimmering beneath it. He is beautiful, she thinks, but it feels foolish to tell him this. It feels foolish to tell him, a stranger she has just met that in his presence, with him beside her, she feels braver than she has in a long time.
It feels foolish to admit this aloud.
Instead she follows him to the constellations that have unfurled before them like secrets told. “There is a crown too, right?” She asks, and she feels childhood stories bubbling in her chest as something similar to hope. “Although, I am not sure where,” she says, scanning those blue eyes across the heavens. Corona Borealis – The Northern Crown, a favorite story from her childhood. Who would have known she would come to live so similar a story.
His question brightens Elena’s sunshine face. She touches his shoulder with all the delicacy and gentleness of butterfly wings and dewdrops on spring leaves and leaves the crinkle of a smile there before pulling away. “I don’t think so,” she says, a thought shared. “But, I think I may like it that way,” she says. “I am beginning to find that the mystery is not fearsome as I may have once believed.”
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@Azrael <3
![[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
