and bury it before it buries me
It feels to heavy to carry sometimes, and there are times, that Elena will swear she can feel her bones bending beneath it. She carries them with her, an unbearable weight, but one she carries all the same. But she is nothing if not her parents’ daughter, and so she will always put one foot steadily in front of the other.
Sometimes, she doesn't feel like herself any longer. She doesn't recognize the face that greets her in the water. The beat of her heart will sound foreign in her golden breast, hollow, quiet, broken.
She knows this now, she knows it and she hates to admit it. They had been silly, foolish, naive, ignorant, simple children. There, sitting in the grass staring up at the clouds making meaningful shapes from meaningless tufts of white against a cerulean sky. They had thought themselves so untouchable, that danger could never brush its wretched hand against their soft, young, supple skin. Each of them so believed that they were safe within the walls of their valley home. Tragedy, it had already reached each of the girls, and that had to have been enough, in their lives, there had to be no more. They had held hands and whispered secrets in each other’s ears, shared a handshake meant only for the other, daisy chains strewn up in the valley. Nothing could touch them, the orphan girl and the child from a family torn apart by war. They were free.
They had been so wrong, just neither of them had been able to see it.
Elena had been too soft, and the world had punished her for it with hard edges and sharp corners.
She cannot help but think of them. She had told herself she would not, but this had been a lie. They permeated her thoughts even as she tried to stop them from living there, they were not unwelcome, but she thinks that perhaps her thoughts should be directed to other things. To set a broken bone one must carefully…
Starlight, bone fires, sea breezes, dancing, constellations, blue eyes.
It was always when night would steal upon the land, when her mind should slow to a lazy crawl, when exhaustion raked at her eyes that she would fall victim to them. She had no defense against them.
Perhaps this is what has driven her through the mountains from her seaside home. She could stand their absence, all of them, because has grown accustom to people leaving, but tonight, tonight, this loneliness is heavy, and she feels the gravity of it pulling her downwards like the infamous apple from the tree.
It is then the stench reaches her and all of Elena’s nerves go on overdrive. She forgets the men (the dancing, the constellations, and blue eyes.) And runs, she runs with panic in her blood, charing her limbs forward. Death, is what the stench says and Elena is so tired of death that she cannot remain behind to see anymore. She is reminded of stories of Bloodvale, of Underworld’s land she had been trapped in, of Tunnel and his forest he had told her to return to. All of this sends a striking fear directly into her chest. It is only when a distant voice reaches her that she stops, slowing down, realizing, again, she had been foolish. “You give too much rein to your imagination, Elena. Imagination is a good servant, but a bad master.” It is Marcelo who speaks to her, with that sound, steadfast sense of logic. Each breath brought a sense of clarity to her, cleared the haze that lodged within her. Those winter blue eyes calm.
She continues to walk through the forest that still feels mysterious but she thinks of the star man and the light he had taught her to see.
They lied you know. When they said little red riding hood came across a wolf in the woods.
It wasn't a wolf at all—but a tiger.
She feels another’s thoughts reach her own and Elena’s blue eyes drift around the trees trying to find the source. “That is something I know too well,” she says out loud to the mysterious voice. She sees a feline outline and a name rises to her lips, even as she speaks it she knows it isn't it, the voice fair too feminine. But this is magic, Elena has been plagued by it far too many times not to recognize it. “Litotes?” She asks, the lion shifter the Elena had saved. “Who are you?”
Sometimes, she doesn't feel like herself any longer. She doesn't recognize the face that greets her in the water. The beat of her heart will sound foreign in her golden breast, hollow, quiet, broken.
She knows this now, she knows it and she hates to admit it. They had been silly, foolish, naive, ignorant, simple children. There, sitting in the grass staring up at the clouds making meaningful shapes from meaningless tufts of white against a cerulean sky. They had thought themselves so untouchable, that danger could never brush its wretched hand against their soft, young, supple skin. Each of them so believed that they were safe within the walls of their valley home. Tragedy, it had already reached each of the girls, and that had to have been enough, in their lives, there had to be no more. They had held hands and whispered secrets in each other’s ears, shared a handshake meant only for the other, daisy chains strewn up in the valley. Nothing could touch them, the orphan girl and the child from a family torn apart by war. They were free.
They had been so wrong, just neither of them had been able to see it.
Elena had been too soft, and the world had punished her for it with hard edges and sharp corners.
She cannot help but think of them. She had told herself she would not, but this had been a lie. They permeated her thoughts even as she tried to stop them from living there, they were not unwelcome, but she thinks that perhaps her thoughts should be directed to other things. To set a broken bone one must carefully…
Starlight, bone fires, sea breezes, dancing, constellations, blue eyes.
It was always when night would steal upon the land, when her mind should slow to a lazy crawl, when exhaustion raked at her eyes that she would fall victim to them. She had no defense against them.
Perhaps this is what has driven her through the mountains from her seaside home. She could stand their absence, all of them, because has grown accustom to people leaving, but tonight, tonight, this loneliness is heavy, and she feels the gravity of it pulling her downwards like the infamous apple from the tree.
It is then the stench reaches her and all of Elena’s nerves go on overdrive. She forgets the men (the dancing, the constellations, and blue eyes.) And runs, she runs with panic in her blood, charing her limbs forward. Death, is what the stench says and Elena is so tired of death that she cannot remain behind to see anymore. She is reminded of stories of Bloodvale, of Underworld’s land she had been trapped in, of Tunnel and his forest he had told her to return to. All of this sends a striking fear directly into her chest. It is only when a distant voice reaches her that she stops, slowing down, realizing, again, she had been foolish. “You give too much rein to your imagination, Elena. Imagination is a good servant, but a bad master.” It is Marcelo who speaks to her, with that sound, steadfast sense of logic. Each breath brought a sense of clarity to her, cleared the haze that lodged within her. Those winter blue eyes calm.
She continues to walk through the forest that still feels mysterious but she thinks of the star man and the light he had taught her to see.
They lied you know. When they said little red riding hood came across a wolf in the woods.
It wasn't a wolf at all—but a tiger.
She feels another’s thoughts reach her own and Elena’s blue eyes drift around the trees trying to find the source. “That is something I know too well,” she says out loud to the mysterious voice. She sees a feline outline and a name rises to her lips, even as she speaks it she knows it isn't it, the voice fair too feminine. But this is magic, Elena has been plagued by it far too many times not to recognize it. “Litotes?” She asks, the lion shifter the Elena had saved. “Who are you?”
so take away this apathy
bury it before it buries me
@Boudika (Sorry, this is clearly a sangria post.)
![[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
